Room To Grow

by BlndDog

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Gemma woke up with one wing frozen to the ground. Gus was stirring the ashes with his hand. Behind him was a pile of bushes. Most of the crowns were intact as if they had been ripped out of the ground.

“Don’t move,” he said without looking up.

The bushes burned fast and hot. Gus used the hatchets to break the ice and helped Gemma sit up.

They sat around the fire for the whole morning, burning through many more bushes. Neither of them talked much. Gemma felt nauseous. Her skin was raw and dry, and she felt like her bones were being roasted in a fire.

“Come on,” Gus said as the last twigs of another bush disappeared into the ashes. “We’re going back to the farm. Stay with me, and don’t go into any more houses.”

“Papa, we should leave,” Gemma said.

“I will not discuss this now,” Gus said sternly. “Pack up the tent.”

On the south end of the beach Gemma’s worst fears were confirmed. Many hoof prints led out of the bushes, and a perfectly circular slab of ice marked the spot where the unicorn had teleported away. The prints were just bigger than Gemma’s hand with fingers splayed; ponies were not as small as she thought.

This time they took the most direct path possible. There was still much light left in the day when they reached the farmhouse. Nothing had changed since they left. Gemma found the main room oddly comforting after the harrowing night on the beach. Mostly she was relieved to finally get a break from the wind.

After making a fire and lighting two more candles Gemma took off her cloaks and wrapped a blanket around herself. Gus was already reclined with only his face exposed.

“Papa,” Gemma said. “We should leave. A unicorn just tried to drown us! We won’t survive another night!”

“Slow down, Gemma,” Gus said, raising one hand. “Tell me exactly what happened last night. Why did you not wake me?”

“I TRIED!” Gemma screamed, jumping out of her blanket only to return immediately. “I did everything I could! You were under a spell!”

“So I was,” Gus said, putting a hand on his chin. “Go on. Did you see this unicorn? Was she old or young? Tall or short?”

“Really tall,” Gemma replied. “She was blue. She was wearing black. Her eyes were shining like lamps, and she came all the way to our fire.”

“Did you attack her?”

“I meant to,” Gemma said uncertainly. “I went out, but she was so tall! I thought you said ponies were small!”

“They’re bigger than you,” Gus said. “I believe you, Gemma, but…”

“You saw the prints!” Gemma interrupted. “Papa, we have to leave! There is a unicorn here, and she’s trying to kill us!”

“Gemma.” Gus sighed. “I believe you. There’s something else here, and it wants us to leave. But this place is important to me.”

“We’ll both die if we stay here!” Gemma screamed.

“I won’t make you stay,” Gus said, looking Gemma straight in the eyes. “Take the tent and as many snake skins as you can carry. They’re worth something to the Goldenhands, but now I doubt you’ll run into any. You remember the path, right?”

Gemma stared at her father with her mouth hanging open.

“Are you sending me away?” She said in a small voice. “What about you? If I take the tent…”

“I won’t need it,” Gus said. “Gemma, don’t take this the wrong way. I don’t blame you for what happened here. I am proud of you for all that you’ve done, but I can’t ask you to stay any longer. Take whatever you need and leave in the morning, or leave now if you prefer. Tell the tribe that I sent you. Tell them that all is well, and have them come as soon as the snow is clear.”

“You can’t stay the winter here!” Gemma argued. “You know what’s out there! The unicorn will get you!”

“Then she will only get me,” Gus said flatly. “Gemma, I grew up in a prosperous age completely unlike yours, so I don’t hold it against you that you don’t share my vision. But my intentions have not changed. You will achieve nothing arguing with me.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the rattling of snow and ice tumbling off the overburdened roof. Gemma pulled her blanket over her eyes and groaned. When her father said something like that, the chief and her entire council could not change his mind. But here was not an impromptu hunt in a blizzard or a late-autumn journey to the Hookmouths’ forest. Those things were survivable, as he demonstrated many times.

Gemma cried and cursing evilly until she was screaming nonsense. Gus watched her with a grim face.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked when Gemma finally lie down on the floor.

“No,” she said stubbornly. “Papa, come with me.”

“What did I just tell you?” He said. “There is no shame if you returned to the tribe. In all likelihood they will welcome you as a hero. Your mama will be so happy to see you again. I know you miss her. But for me things are very different.”

Gemma looked out through the door. The sun was getting low, but she could cover miles yet before the night set in.

Her bag was bulging with string, hardtack, new blankets and leather patches when she set out. Gus insisted she take at least one candle. Gemma did not look him in the eyes.

She ran until her cloak was soaked with sweat. The land east of the city was a long rocky incline. Gemma did not look back as her shadow grew longer and longer, until it covered the whole world.

She set up camp beneath a tall tree. The forest ahead was dense and completely black, and Gemma thought she had made good time. She could barely see the shadowy outline of Kelp Town in the distance. By tomorrow she would be deep in the foothills with no view of water anywhere.

Gemma pitched her tent and lit a small fire. After dulling her beak on a hardtack she retired for the night. Already she was feeling lonely. Griffins rarely slept alone, and traveling alone was almost unheard of. The tent was too big, and she had never before reflected on how delicate it was. A few layers of stretched leather would be little protection against a bear or a pack of wolves.

She did not know whether she slept at all. Sometimes Gemma opened her eyes and saw shimmering daylight coming through the vestibule, but felt too sluggish to get up.

The knife pierced the tent with a loud pop that jolted her to full wakefulness. Gemma bolted out of her tent with nothing but the blanket and her tools.

The tent shook violently, and its leather shell slid off the poles. Her fire had been thoroughly doused as she slept. Gemma could just make out the small figure that stood amidst the skeleton of her tent. It was a little shorter than her and had a big blunted nose. Its torso was too long and its legs too short to be a pony.

Suddenly emerging from her stupor Gemma drew her dagger and pounced. Unfortunately the thief had a sufficient head start by then. Extending a pair of big wings, it leapt straight up. Gemma’s dagger sank two inches into a tree. By the time she freed it the thief was a hundred metres ahead and flying straight towards Kelp Town with a large package dangling from his shoulder.

Gemma took off after it with dagger in one hand and hatchet in the other. Flying unburdened, she rapidly gained on the odd-looking creature.

Hearing her wingbeat, it pulled back its hood. Two ears perked up. Not like the horns of the Owlkin tribe, these were large, triangular ears.

Gemma faltered. The thing turned its head backwards and glared at her with two big bright eyes. Steam billowed from its open mouth and through its nostrils. It had lips and teeth, not a beak.

Firelight drew her attention to the ground. She was almost at the farmhouse. A big bonfire was roaring in the field; she could already feel its heat. The thief disappeared into the column of smoke, but Gemma had already forgotten about him. She landed hard in the snow. The air currents from the fire made flying difficult.

“Papa!” She yelled, as she ran towards the farmhouse. “Papa! Where are you?”

The house was surrounded by a thick ring of little footprints, but there was no sign of movement anywhere. Gemma did not hesitate to enter the completely dark room.

She fumbled around the floor, knocking over jars and woodpiles. Finally she found a flint kit and a candle.

The house was completely empty. Blankets were strewn all over the floor, soiled with bits of hardtack and syrup. It looked as if a jar of jam had exploded.

A familiar hatchet protruded from the doorframe like it had been thrown. Buried in the floor up to the hilt was a dagger with an antler handle, like the one Gemma had in her hand but significantly longer. Its last owner had dragged it several inches across the wood floor before his grip failed and he was pulled into the night.

Author's Note:

Hope you like the story so far. Comments are always appreciated.

Comments

[themouthofmush]

well then, stuff just got real. interesting.