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“And there’s nothing we can do?”
There are tears in Gaby’s eyes, her small, pale hand fisted in the fallen unicorn’s silky mane, sweat slicked flanks heaving as it draws one breath after the other.
It’s a magnificent creature, a buttery palomino- quite possibly a Slavic breed, hardened to the mountains. Its fetlocks are white under the dirt it has kicked up in its struggle, and its tail whips from side to side, as if trying to swat her away. But the pain in its glacier blue eyes keeps her frozen. It’s as if she’s watching a child die, all grave depths and innocence.
Waverly hovers a hand over the wires of the snare, twisted into bloodied gashes in the creature’s thick fur, dark and tacky. Its spiraled horn, longer than her forearm, glitters weakly, sparking like a broken firecracker.
Gaby has to bite back an ugly sob as he shakes his head, almost hesitant, as though he wishes he could have said otherwise. She’s always wanted to help others… to protect those magical beings that needed it. Hell, she had been the youngest ever member of Waverly’s organization, and the first pureblooded human to join at that.
But it’s been two years and with every ugly spectacle she sees, her heart breaks a little more.
The shrill whinny shatters the stillness from nearby, and Gaby turns to watch the other unicorn pawing at the earth not four feet from them. It has been pacing the edge of the trees since they arrived, coat like that of a raven- black, with ripples of iridescent blue and violet, a white sock and star like secrets amongst the darkness. It rears, clacks its teeth, slams its hooves into the grass. If she didn’t know better, she’d say that was fear in its sapphire eyes.
It’s slightly slimmer than the fallen one, with a high, arched neck and shoulders broad and quivering. It looks like a dancer, maybe… or some other western breed.
Gaby murmurs to Waverly, “She looks…” Well, distraught is the right word, but can horses really feel like she can? “…upset.”
“He,” corrects Waverly, shrugging out of his coat to run a palm up the muscled length of the trapped unicorn’s neck. It keens weakly, a low baritone, and Waverly bites his lip.
“What?”
“He. They’re both male.”
“Oh.”
The black unicorn edges closer, nostrils flaring, a low nickering echoing as it, he, nudges the palomino one. Tentatively, as if he’s hoping this is all a dream. His body is warm, solid, and yet somehow as ethereal as a daydream.
Waverly murmurs something in Eldren, something that sounds like the shrapnel of a spell, a song… something meant to soothe. To calm. Perhaps to impart an unwelcome truth. Perhaps a suggestion.
The black unicorn pins his ears black and shakes his head violently, huffs out a breath like the sound of tearing parchment.
No.
Gaby startles, shaken by the fading ring of the word in her skull. Confounded, she stares at the black unicorn, who is poised, sapphire eyes aflame, almost haughty.
There’s nothing more I can do,” says Waverly, tone gentle as the palomino under his hand kicks a leg, foaming at the muzzle. “Unless you allow me to perform the enchantment. Then, perhaps, we can save him.”
I won’t let you take him, protests the black unicorn, eyes shining with something like unshed tears. He rears again, but his movements are uncertain, shaky. He ducks to snuffle at the palomino’s forelock, nudging the other unicorn’s head. Then I’ll never see him again…
The tear escapes from Gaby’s lashes, trailing warm down her skin. She can taste the salt on her tongue.
“There are too many wounds to treat and too little time.” Waverly offers the black unicorn the back of his hand, displaying the arcane sigils inked into the skin there. Marking him as a druid. Gaby can hear the way he’s imploring when he adds, “If you refuse, then he certainly will die.”
What an odd gathering they must make, here in this remote little pocket of grass and flowers. The druid, with his grey suit and world-weary eyes; the slim human woman, with shimmering blood all over her hands; and the two unicorns, one like a starless night, the other like a summer’s day.
The black unicorn hesitates, paws at the torn earth.
The palomino wheezes, eyes fluttering closed, flanks trembling. Time hangs in the balance, gossamer and silk.
Then the black unicorn bows his head, huffs a long sound rather like a sigh.
Alright, druid. Do your worst.
Waverly’s shoulders relax- a bow with the string released. A little life comes back into his eyes as he beckons the black unicorn closer, palm turned outwards. It takes a long moment, the creature sniffing him dubiously, before he allows he druid to touch his fingers to that white star on his head.
It’s done with remarkable little fanfare- a distant flare in the smokewater of Waverly’s eyes, a shivering in the air around them, a few lilting lines spoken once more in Eldren, a soft note as of far away music… shivering the world into mist, fogging Gaby’s sight, and she finds herself holding her breath, floating between myth and the mystic.
There’s silence, a sensation of rippling in the air, before the mist reforms into a tall man with broad shoulders, barefoot and clad in a robe that appears to be made of the very same fur which had belonged to the unicorn. His hair is a dark nest of curls, a silver star-shaped mark shining on his brow between his sapphire eyes. He’s devastatingly beautiful, though the illusion is ruined somewhat when he scowls at Waverly, before kneeling down beside the palomino.
Where now, and Gaby draws back her hands with a soft gasp, there lies a man, robe much the same as the dark-haired one, though thicker and a pale butter blonde, torn and gashed to the pale skin beneath. His hair is spun flax, lidded eyes like a glacier under sunlight, and there’s a similar mark on his brow, lips spotted with blood.
He lets out a soft groan, the snare’s wires loose around his body, no longer grasping. Cutting.
“Shhh,” soothes the black-haired man, sweeping his thumb over the blonde’s cheek. “It’s okay, darling. They’re friends.”
There’s suspicion in his eyes when he glances to Waverly, to Gaby, but she offers a small smile and sees the sharp edges of his face soften a little.
“Cowboy…” tries the blonde, but a cough cuts him short, shaking his body, curling him up with a wince of pain.
“Shhh,” repeats the black haired man, watching intently as Waverly takes full stock of the blonde’s wounds, speaks briskly into his comms device.
“We need extraction and medical, as soon as possible.”
“Copy that, sir,” echoes a voice. “Rendezvous in fifteen.”
“Does he have a name?” asks Gaby, hesitant. Despite the fact that neither of the two of them are looming mountains of unicorn anymore, there is still something other about them. Something that makes her a little wary. A wildness.
The black haired man watches her for a long moment, almost as if he can see right into her soul. Then he says, “Illya. His name is Illya.”
“Illya,” she echoes, gently squeezing the unblemished part of the blonde’s shoulder. “You’re going to be okay, liebling. Waverly does this all the time.”
“What do they call you?” asks the man, a faint kindness seeping in at the corners now. Maybe it’s her small hands on his fallen… friend? No. it looks like more than that. Mate? Do unicorns have mates?
She really needs to study more.
“Gaby Teller,” she says, offering her remaining hand. It’s a bridge between peoples, really, not just a shake.
He quirks a little smile, crooked. And there’s gratitude starting to bloom there, along with pride and anger and fear. “Solo.”
She really does love her job. And it’s moments like this when her broken heart begins to heal, piece by piece. And the more good she does, the more this world stands a chance, to keep ahold of the beautiful things.
Creatures like Illya and Solo.
Pure. Shining.
Magical.