EXCERPT:
When he reached the
baobab tree, the unicorn looked around in confusion. The trance of the
moonstone seemed to break with the humans closing in on him. He sniffed the
horns around him, squealing and pawing the ground in distress. Three of the
riders threw their ropes, catching him around the neck. As he struggled to back
away, others advanced. Men taunted the stallion with their whips, making him
kick and try to rear. When his feet lifted, they threw more ropes, circling the
nooses around his powerful feet. As a group, they wrestled the unicorn to the
ground, throwing themselves on top of him the moment his knees touched the
grass.
Even with the weight
of six on his back, and men all around holding ropes anchoring him to the
ground, the stallion kept fighting. His eyes rolled back in his head, his legs
thrashed and I could hear his screams from the cliff. I’d never heard a unicorn
make a sound before, and hearing it now sent a chill through my entire body.
His screams were different than a horse, higher in pitch, with a vibrating
tremor that made him sound almost like a singer at the crescendo of a
performance.
The leader of the
group advanced on the now subdued unicorn, holding what looked like a handsaw.
The stallion tried frantically to spear the man with his horn, but three of the
followers held the animal’s head in place. Still he tried, snorting and staring
his captor in the eye, silver-tipped horn poised like a sword toward the
leader’s heart.
Kill him, I found myself praying. Fight them.
Kill him and this will all be over.
The saw began to
tremble in the man’s hand as he swiped again and again across the base of the
stallion’s horn. Fragments the size of fingernail clippings covered the earth
like snow. Beside me, I felt Kara start to shake. Her whole frame quivered with
silent sobs. The horn fell to the ground and all at once, the stallion quit
struggling. The men climbed off him and loosened their hold on the ropes that
bound him.
The group’s leader
reached for one of the ropes around the unicorn’s neck. He turned and the
stallion followed him, meek as an old broodmare. His eyes seemed to blink back
a heavy sadness, the only echo of his proud battle song.
About the Author
Originally from Chicago, Julia
Ember now resides in Sunny Scotland where she learned to enjoy both haggis and
black pudding. She spends her days working as a professional Book Nerd for a
large book wholesaler, and her nights writing YA Romantic Fantasy novels. She
also spends an inordinate amount of time managing her growing city-based
menagerie of pets with Harry Potter themed names.
A world traveller since
childhood, Julia has now visited over 60 countries. Her travels inspire the
fictional worlds she writes about and she populates those worlds with magic and
monsters.
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