Sol sighed. The coolness of the lake surrounded her, blue-green water washing away the dirt smeared on her flank. Behind her she heard the splashes and joyful cries of her sons playing.
It was a hot and sticky afternoon in late summer. Cicadas buzzed from the trees and the cloying smell of flowers mixed with dry earth made Sol cough. Her children had their own opinions. Earlier in the day, Coricar had complained the sun was drying out his feathers. Aster had called him childish and added smugly that, as a lion, he was perfectly at home in the heat, and as a griffin, Coricar was technically part lion and so had no right to complain. This comment had sparked a playful battle between them. Coricar had pounced on his brother, sending the two young beasts rolling in the grass and generally dealing with boredom the way many young creatures do. Sol called it off when the boys hit a patch of earth and kicked up enough dust to make them all sneeze. A trip to the lake had made them both happy and clean, and, Sol suspected by the sounds she was hearing, provided a much needed swim to cool off.
It was a strange thing, their family. She, a unicorn who’d designated herself as the forest’s protector, and her sons, orphaned creatures rescued from man’s cruelty. Coricar had belonged to the king of the land with whom Sol made a deal and who was more than willing to part with a baby griffin, after she’d bound him with a magical curse. Aster was a young lion she’d rescued from a circus that passed through the kingdom, one she’d found out about when Coricar said he had heard crying when he went flying at night. The two were nearly the same age and bonded quickly over their similar past. Neither had a family to return to, so Sol offered them herself. It was strange seeing them all together, but after a few years (and a trade deal with the king for dried meat; carnivores, even gentle ones, had to eat somehow) both the inhabitants of the forest and the people who lived in the village near them became used to it. Despite the difficulties, Sol had never felt happier.
She was jolted out of her thoughts by the sound of a twig snapping at the clearing edge. She paused her bathing and scanned the trees, but although she saw nothing, a sense of dread crept into her bones. The clearing around the lake suddenly seemed smaller.
Before Sol could call out to her sons, something arced from the trees. It hit the ground a few feet from the lake’s edge: an arrow with red feathers. Then the clearing exploded. Men burst from the treeline, scruffy and fierce, swarming like ants to a drop of honey. Sol heard her heartbeat pound in her ears. The sound of arrows and shouting raised a clamor so loud she could barely hear the startled cries of the lion and griffin by the lake’s edge. She spun, their anguished noises filling her with fear, and charged for the bank. Arrows seemed to rain from the sky. Sol never felt so far away from her sons as she did while the men with bows and knives were closing in on them.
Then, an arrow found its mark and time seemed to stop. The unicorn cried out, a sharp pain shooting through her. She stumbled, but did not fall. Her eyes were fixed on Aster, as the young lion collapsed into the water with an arrow protruding from his side.
No.
Sol’s legs pumped, fighting the water but her limbs felt so slow, so heavy. She used to be called unicorn, creature, holy ghost, now she was Sol, protector, mother. Her life called out to her from the shallows where it bled into the water and she wasn’t moving fast enough — she wasn’t fast enough.
Coricar cried, the men shouted and one raised a rusty axe to strike. Sol heard herself let out an anguished cry as she lunged forward, fearing she would be too late–
And stopped in shock as the sound of a hunting horn echoed through the clearing. Sol froze like a rabbit in the eyes of a fox. Everyone else seemed to freeze too, the attackers looking uncertain. For the second time that day, men burst from into the clearing, their armored helms and shining swords gleaming in the hazy afternoon sun. At first the unicorn felt fear, but when she saw the scarlet emblems flashing at the newcomer’s chests, the fear bled into confusion.
Why were the king’s men here?
A whimper from the bank snapped her back into motion, and she bolted for her son. The men (bandits or rogues, she assumed from their patchwork appearance and grimy weapons) shook off their stupor as well, and turned to face the king’s men, shouting curses and threats in a human tongue the unicorn didn’t bother paying attention to. Aster moaned when she reached him, his head propped out of the water by a quietly crying Coricar. They both coughed at the spray kicked up when she stopped, but her focus rested solely on the red-feathered arrow in her son’s bloody flank. It was not very deep, but she could not grip it to pull it out. Such a thing required precision, and with her only method of extracting it being her teeth, she couldn’t bear the thought of tearing Aster’s flesh so recklessly. For the first time in her recent memory Sol felt helpless and afraid.
Around her a battle raged: the shouts, the scrape of steel on steel, the metallic scent of human blood. After a moment, she realized no one was coming near them and saw they were protected by a ring of men clad in scarlet and silver. They had their backs to the unicorn and her sons, swinging their blades and serving, Sol realized, as a shield against their attackers. It seemed as soon as she comprehended what was happening, the battle ended. The noise and clamor fell away, and Sol heard Aster’s labored breathing in startling clarity. Amid the abrupt silence, the ring around them parted, and the king strode through.
He was just as tall and broad as when Sol had last seen him, just as gleaming. This time, however, concern supplanted his usual haughty expression. He knelt in the water next to the unicorn, ignoring her protective hiss as he reached out to carefully examine Aster’s wound. After a moment he looked up at her.
“I can remove it” he said, touching the arrow’s red feathers. “If you can heal him swiftly after.”
Sol was startled and wary, but she was more concerned about the pained noises her son was making than the king. She nodded at him. He gazed at her a moment longer, then braced one hand on Aster’s flank and gripped the arrow’s protruding shaft with the other.
“This will hurt,” he warned Coricar, who watched with wide eyes. “Make sure his head stays above the water.”
After a moment’s hesitation, the griffin nodded. The king inhaled sharply, gripped the arrow with a firm hand, and pulled it out.
Aster yowled, thrashing as the barbed head came free. As fast as she could, Sol leaned down and touched her hornfire to the bleeding wound. The tiny blue flame at the tip of her horn made the blood and water fizzle when it made contact with the lion’s flesh, but caught quickly and burned at the torn edges of the wound until the bleeding stopped and Aster’s flesh was whole again. At that, all three creatures let out a relieved sigh and Sol pushed down the urge to cry. The king stood and handed the bloodied arrow to one of his men, who handed it to another man carrying a bag filled with weapons taken from the bandits. As she stood, the king’s men withdrew. A short distance away the bandits had been bound and surrounded by a ring of soldiers, though this time intended to contain instead of defend. Many of the captives were wounded, and although none had died, their faces were pale as they eyed the soldiers’ swords.
Hot rage bubbled up in the unicorn at the sight of their sweaty, bleeding faces. With uncharacteristic malice, she wanted to burn their hearts out. She’d barely had the thought, however, when the king coughed to get her attention. Whether he’d spied the flash of murderous anger in her face or not, he seemed uncomfortable under her gaze when she faced him.
“Why did you help me?” Sol asked, cutting off whatever he was going to say. His expression faltered. He looked nervous, almost bashful.
“Because you… help me,” he said. “And despite our deal, I wished to… return the aid in equal measure.”
Sol blinked at him. “But I am the one who caused your blindness in the first place. Had I not cursed you, you would not have need of my help.”
The king surprised her by smiling.
“I suspect,” he said with sudden warmth in his tone, “that no matter what condition my eyes are in, I see more clearly now than I ever did before.”
Sol was taken aback. This man, who years before had tried to capture her and use her powers for his own gain, now seemed a stranger to the man who stood in front of her. This king was somehow softer, older, and Sol felt a summery warmth bloom in her chest.
“You are offering an alliance?” she asked.
The king nodded, all nervousness melted away. “Or even friendship, if it please you. I wish to help you as you have helped me, be it in resources, knowledge, or protection.”
“A generous offer,” Sol admitted. “And one I will consider. If you hold to your word, in return, I too will provide aid if you need it, be it in magic, knowledge, or protection.”
The king smiled at her and swept into a bow. His cloak and boots were wet with lake water and his hands smeared with blood, but he looked every inch his ancestor, the ruler Sol made the first deal with so many years ago. But kinder, perhaps. She wondered at how quickly he was able to change, how different he was now. Perhaps he was not even changed at all, and merely seeking to manipulate himself into her favor. His eyes, however, seemed sincere. Coricar and Aster, who until then had been silently watching the proceedings, chose that moment to speak up.
“Mother!” Coricar cried behind her. He seemed indignant. “How do we know he isn’t lying?” Beside him Aster sat with evident fatigue, but seemed equally indignant. He let out a grunt.
“He saved our lives,” Sol reminded them, clicking her tongue in disapproval. She looked directly into the king’s eyes and spoke gently. “He must prove his intentions are good before I trust him fully. But if he truly seeks an alliance, or friendship, I would welcome it.”
The king nodded respectfully.
“I thank you for your help,” Sol said. She turned to her children and flicked her tail dismissively. “Now I ask you to leave. I want those men,” she hissed at the bandits, “out of my forest.”
“Yes,” the king waved his hand, indicating to his soldiers to shepherd the bandits out of the clearing. With a final bow to Sol, he waded out of the lake to where a footman held the reins of his horse. The unicorn was focused on her sons before his scarlet cloak had even left the water.
“Are you alright?” she asked, leaning down to nuzzle their faces and necks for any other injuries. Coricar spluttered with embarrassment at her fretting, but Aster just sighed tiredly and closed his eyes.
“We’re fine, mother,” he said. His mane was slicked down by water and it made him look somehow older.
“Let’s get out of the water, my feathers are wet!” Coricar complained, in an attempt, Sol suspected, to lighten the mood.
“Of course, dear,” Sol replied, smiling at him gratefully. Aster just frowned and squinted accusingly at his brother.
“I thought you said the heat was drying out your feathers,” he said. Coricar shrugged.
“It was.”
“Then what are you complaining about?”
“They’re too wet now,” Coricar said in the tone one used to explain simple things to children. Aster growled. He’d seemingly forgotten his exhaustion at being shot.
“I can’t believe you!” he cried, lunging at the griffin. Coricar laughed and dodged easily, dancing out of the water and flicking his tail in a teasing manner, which only riled his brother up more.
Sol watched them play from the shallows, a funny feeling in her chest. She had the sudden notion that the thing she felt was not her heart, because indeed it seemed her heart was running around a flowering clearing in front of her. She realized with a sudden terrible clarity that if her sons were to die, she would surely die as well. And as long as they were happy, she was happy. She’d never understood the claims humans made about this feeling before this moment. Now, it was as strong as the sun shining down on her and the humming of the cicadas in the trees.
How strange, she thought. How wonderful.