The Last Unicorn

  “Will it take us long to reach the king?” I asked her. “You said he didn’t live too far, and I’m scared the griffin will eat somebody else while I’m gone. I need to be home.”

  Molly finished with my hair and gave it a gentle tug in back to bring my head up and make me look straight into her eyes. They were as gray as Schmendrick’s were green, and I already knew that they turned darker or lighter gray depending on her mood. “What do you expect to happen when you meet King Lír, Sooz?” she asked me right back. “What did you have in mind when you set off to find him?”

  I was surprised. “Well, I’m going to get him to come back to my village with me. All those knights he keeps sending aren’t doing any good at all, so he’ll just have to take care of that griffin himself. He’s the king. It’s his job.”

  “Yes,” Molly said, but she said it so softly I could barely hear her. She patted my arm once, lightly, and then she got up and walked away to sit by herself near the fire. She made it look as though she was banking the fire, but she wasn’t really.

  We started out early the next morning. Molly had me in front of her on her horse for a time, but by and by Schmendrick took me up on his, to spare the other one’s sore foot. He was more comfortable to lean against than I’d expected‌—‌bony in some places, nice and springy in others. He didn’t talk much, but he sang a lot as we went along, sometimes in languages I couldn’t make out a word of, sometimes making up silly songs to make me laugh, like this one:

  Soozli, Soozli,

  speaking loozli,

  you disturb my oozli-goozli.

  Soozli, Soozli,

  would you choozli

  to become my squoozli-squoozli?

  He didn’t do anything magic, except maybe once, when a crow kept diving at the horse‌—‌out of meanness; that’s all, there wasn’t a nest anywhere‌—‌making the poor thing dance and shy and skitter until I almost fell off. Schmendrick finally turned in the saddle and looked at it, and the next minute a hawk came swooping out of nowhere and chased that crow screaming into a thornbush where the hawk couldn’t follow. I guess that was magic.

  It was actually pretty country we were passing through, once we got onto the proper road. Trees, meadows, little soft valleys, hillsides covered with wildflowers I didn’t know. You could see they got a lot more rain here than we do where I live. It’s a good thing sheep don’t need grazing, the way cows do. They’ll go where the goats go, and goats will go anywhere. We’re like that in my village, we have to be. But I liked this land better.

  Schmendrick told me it hadn’t always been like that. “Before Lír, this was all barren desert where nothing grew‌—‌nothing, Sooz. It was said that the country was under a curse, and in a way it was, but I’ll tell you about that another time.” People always say that when you’re a child, and I hate it. “But Lír changed everything. The land was so glad to see him that it began blooming and blossoming the moment he became king, and it has done so ever since. Except poor Hagsgate, but that’s another story too.” His voice got slower and deeper when he talked about Hagsgate, as though he weren’t talking to me.

  I twisted my neck around to look up at him. “Do you think King Lír will come back with me and kill that griffin? I think Molly thinks he won’t, because he’s so old.” I hadn’t known I was worried about that until I actually said it.

  “Why, of course he will, girl.” Schmendrick winked at me again. “He never could resist the plea of a maiden in distress, the more difficult and dangerous the deed, the better. If he did not spur to your village’s aid himself at the first call, it was surely because he was engaged on some other heroic venture. I’m as certain as I can be that as soon as you make your request‌—‌remember to curtsey properly‌—‌he’ll snatch up his great sword and spear, whisk you up to his saddlebow, and be off after your griffin with the road smoking behind him. Young or old, that’s always been his way.” He rumpled my hair in the back. “Molly overworries. That’s her way. We are who we are.”

  “What’s a curtsey?” I asked him. I know now, because Molly showed me, but I didn’t then. He didn’t laugh, except with his eyes, then gestured for me to face forward again as he went back to singing.

  Soozli, Soozli,

  you amuse me,

  right down to my solesli-shoesli.

  Soozli, Soozli,

  I bring newsli—

  we could wed next stewsli-Tuesli.

  I learned that the king had lived in a castle on a cliff by the sea when he was young, less than a day’s journey from Hagsgate, but it fell down‌—‌Schmendrick wouldn’t tell me how‌—‌so he built a new one somewhere else. I was sorry about that, because I’ve never seen the sea, and I’ve always wanted to, and I still haven’t. But I’d never seen a castle, either, so there was that. I leaned back against his chest and fell asleep.

  They’d been traveling slowly, taking time to let Molly’s horse heal, but once its hoof was all right we galloped most of the rest of the way. Those horses of theirs didn’t look magic or special, but they could run for hours without getting tired, and when I helped to rub them down and curry them, they were hardly sweating. They slept on their sides, like people, not standing up, the way our horses do.

  Even so, it took us three full days to reach King Lír. Molly said he had bad memories of the castle that fell down, so that was why this one was as far from the sea as he could make it, and as different from the old one. It was on a hill, so the king could see anyone coming along the road, but there wasn’t a moat, and there weren’t any guards in armor, and there was only one banner on the walls. It was blue, with a picture of a white unicorn on it. Nothing else.

  I was disappointed. I tried not to show it, but Molly saw. “You wanted a fortress,” she said to me gently. “You were expecting dark stone towers, flags and cannons and knights, trumpeters blowing from the battlements. I’m sorry. It being your first castle, and all.”

  “No, it’s a pretty castle,” I said. And it was pretty, sitting peacefully on its hilltop in the sunlight, surrounded by all those wildflowers. There was a marketplace, I could see now, and there were huts like ours snugged up against the castle walls, so that the people could come inside for protection, if they needed to. I said, “Just looking at it, you can see that the king is a nice man.”

  Molly was looking at me with her head a little bit to one side. She said, “He is a hero, Sooz. Remember that, whatever else you see, whatever you think. Lír is a hero.”

  “Well, I know that,” I said. “I’m sure he’ll help me. I am.”

  But I wasn’t. The moment I saw that nice, friendly castle, I wasn’t a bit sure.

  We didn’t have any trouble getting in. The gate simply opened when Schmendrick knocked once, and he and Molly and I walked in through the market, where people were selling all kinds of fruits and vegetables, pots and pans and clothing and so on, the way they do in our village. They all called to us to come over to their barrows and buy things, but nobody tried to stop us going into the castle. There were two men at the two great doors, and they did ask us our names and why we wanted to see King Lír. The moment Schmendrick told them his name, they stepped back quickly and let us by, so I began to think that maybe he actually was a great magician, even if I never saw him do anything but little tricks and little songs. The men didn’t offer to take him to the king, and he didn’t ask.

  Molly was right. I was expecting the castle to be all cold and shadowy, with queens looking sideways at us, and big men clanking by in armor. But the halls we followed Schmendrick through were full of sunlight from long, high windows, and the people we saw mostly nodded and smiled at us. We passed a stone stair curling up out of sight, and I was sure that the king must live at the top, but Schmendrick never looked at it. He led us straight through the great hall‌—‌they had a fireplace big enough to roast three cows!‌—‌and on past the kitchens and the scullery and the laundry, to a room under another stair. That was dark. You wouldn’t have found it unless you kne
w where to look. Schmendrick didn’t knock at that door, and he didn’t say anything magic to make it open. He just stood outside and waited, and by and by it rattled open, and we went in.

  The king was in there. All by himself, the king was in there.

  He was sitting on an ordinary wooden chair, not a throne. It was a really small room, the same size as my mother’s weaving room, so maybe that’s why he looked so big. He was as tall as Schmendrick, but he seemed so much wider. I was ready for him to have a long beard, spreading out all across his chest, but he only had a short one, like my father, except white. He wore a red and gold mantle, and there was a real golden crown on his white head, not much bigger than the wreaths we put on our champion rams at the end of the year. He had a kind face, with a big old nose, and big blue eyes, like a little boy. But his eyes were so tired and heavy, I didn’t know how he kept them open. Sometimes he didn’t. There was nobody else in the little room, and he peered at the three of us as though he knew he knew us, but not why. He tried to smile.

  Schmendrick said very gently, “Majesty, it is Schmendrick and Molly, Molly Grue.” The king blinked at him.

  “Molly with the cat,” Molly whispered. “You remember the cat, Lír.”

  “Yes,” the king said. It seemed to take him forever to speak that one word. “The cat, yes, of course.” But he didn’t say anything after that, and we stood there and stood there, and the king kept smiling at something I couldn’t see.

  Schmendrick said to Molly, “She used to forget herself like that.” His voice had changed, the same way it changed when he was talking about the way the land used to be. He said, “And then you would always remind her that she was a unicorn.”

  And the king changed too then. All at once his eyes were clear and shining with feeling, like Molly’s eyes, and he saw us for the first time. He said softly, “Oh, my friends!” and he stood up and came to us and put his arms around Schmendrick and Molly. And I saw that he had been a hero, and that he was still a hero, and I began to think it might be all right, after all. Maybe it was really going to be all right.

  “And who may this princess be?” he asked, looking straight at me. He had the proper voice for a king, deep and strong, but not frightening, not mean. I tried to tell him my name, but I couldn’t make a sound, so he actually knelt on one knee in front of me, and he took my hand. He said, “I have often been of some use to princesses in distress. Command me.”

  “I’m not a princess, I’m Sooz,” I said, “and I’m from a village you wouldn’t even know, and there’s a griffin eating the children.” It all tumbled out like that, in one breath, but he didn’t laugh or look at me any differently. What he did was ask me the name of my village, and I told him, and he said, “But indeed I know it, madam. I have been there. And now I will have the pleasure of returning.”

  Over his shoulder I saw Schmendrick and Molly staring at each other. Schmendrick was about to say something, but then they both turned toward the door, because a small dark woman, about my mother’s age, only dressed in tunic, trews and boots like Molly, had just come in. She said in a small, worried voice, “I am so truly sorry that I was not here to greet His Majesty’s old companions. No need to tell me your illustrious names‌—‌my own is Lisene, and I am the king’s royal secretary, translator, and protector.” She took King Lír’s arm, very politely and carefully, and began moving him back to his chair.

  Schmendrick seemed to take a minute getting his own breath back. He said, “I have never known my old friend Lír to need any of those services. Especially a protector.”

  Lisene was busy with the king and didn’t look at Schmendrick as she answered him. “How long has it been since you saw him last?” Schmendrick didn’t answer. Lisene’s voice was quiet still, but not so nervous. “Time sets its claw in us all, my lord, sooner or later. We are none of us that which we were.” King Lír sat down obediently on his chair and closed his eyes.

  I could tell that Schmendrick was angry, and growing angrier as he stood there, but he didn’t show it. My father gets angry like that, which is how I knew. He said, “His Majesty has agreed to return to this young person’s village with her, in order to rid her people of a marauding griffin. We will start out tomorrow.”

  Lisene swung around on us so fast that I was sure she was going to start shouting and giving everybody orders. But she didn’t do anything like that. You could never have told that she was the least bit annoyed or alarmed. All she said was, “I am afraid that will not be possible, my lord. The king is in no fit condition for such a journey, nor certainly for such a deed.”

  “The king thinks rather differently.” Schmendrick was talking through clenched teeth now.

  “Does he, then?” Lisene pointed at King Lír, and I saw that he had fallen asleep in his chair. His head was drooping‌—‌I was afraid his crown was going to fall off‌—‌and his mouth hung open. Lisene said, “You came seeking the peerless warrior you remember, and you have found a spent, senile old man. Believe me, I understand your distress, but you must see—”

  Schmendrick cut her off. I never understood what people meant when they talked about someone’s eyes actually flashing, but at least green eyes can do it. He looked even taller than he was, and when he pointed a finger at Lisene I honestly expected the small woman to catch fire or maybe melt away. Schmendrick’s voice was especially frightening because it was so quiet. He said, “Hear me now. I am Schmendrick the Magician, and I see my old friend Lír, as I have always seen him, wise and powerful and good, beloved of a unicorn.”

  And with that word, for a second time, the king woke up. He blinked once, then gripped the arms of the chair and pushed himself to his feet. He didn’t look at us, but at Lisene, and he said, “I will go with them. It is my task and my gift. You will see to it that I am made ready.”

  Lisene said, “Majesty, no! Majesty, I beg you !”

  King Lír reached out and took Lisene’s head between his big hands, and I saw that there was love between them. He said, “It is what I am for. You know that as well as he does. See to it, Lisene, and keep all well for me while I am gone.”

  Lisene looked so sad, so lost, that I didn’t know what to think, about her or King Lír or anything. I didn’t realize that I had moved back against Molly Grue until I felt her hand in my hair. She didn’t say anything, but it was nice smelling her there. Lisene said, very quietly, “I will see to it.”

  She turned around then and started for the door with her head lowered. I think she wanted to pass us by without looking at us at all, but she couldn’t do it. Right at the door, her head came up and she stared at Schmendrick so hard that I pushed into Molly’s skirt so I couldn’t see her eyes. I heard her say, as though she could barely make the words come out, “His death be on your head, magician.” I think she was crying, only not, the way grown people do.

  And I heard Schmendrick’s answer, and his voice was so cold I wouldn’t have recognized it if I didn’t know. “He has died before. Better that death‌—‌better this, better any death‌—‌than the one he was dying in that chair. If the griffin kills him, it will yet have saved his life.” I heard the door close.

  I asked Molly, speaking as low as I could, “What did he mean, about the king having died?” But she put me to one side, and she went to King Lír and knelt in front of him, reaching up to take one of his hands between hers. She said, “Lord…Majesty…friend…dear friend‌—‌remember. Oh, please, please remember.”

  The old man was swaying on his feet, but he put his other hand on Molly’s head and he mumbled, “Child, Sooz‌—‌is that your pretty name, Sooz?‌—‌of course I will come to your village. The griffin was never hatched that dares harm King Lír’s people.” He sat down hard in the chair again, but he held onto her hand tightly. He looked at her, with his blue eyes wide and his mouth trembling a little. He said, “But you must remind me, little one. When I… when I lose myself‌—‌when I lose her—‌you must remind me that I am still searching, still waiting…that
I have never forgotten her, never turned from all she taught me. I sit in this place…I sit…because a king has to sit, you see…but in my mind, in my poor mind, I am always away with her…”

  I didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. I do now.

  He fell asleep again then, holding Molly’s hand. She sat with him for a long time, resting her head on his knee. Schmendrick went off to make sure Lisene was doing what she was supposed to do, getting everything ready for the king’s departure. There was a lot of clattering and shouting already, enough so you’d have thought a war was starting, but nobody came in to see King Lír or speak to him, wish him luck or anything. It was almost as though he wasn’t really there.

  Me, I tried to write a letter home, with pictures of the king and the castle, but I fell asleep like him, and I slept the rest of that day and all night too. I woke up in a bed I couldn’t remember getting into, with Schmendrick looking down at me, saying, “Up, child, on your feet. You started all this uproar‌—‌it’s time for you to see it through. The king is coming to slay your griffin.”

  I was out of bed before he’d finished speaking. I said, “Now? Are we going right now?”

  Schmendrick shrugged his shoulders. “By noon, anyway, if I can finally get Lisene and the rest of them to understand that they are not coming. Lisene wants to bring fifty men-at-arms, a dozen wagonloads of supplies, a regiment of runners to send messages back and forth, and every wretched physician in the kingdom.” He sighed and spread his hands. “I may have to turn the lot of them to stone if we are to be off today.”