Room To Grow

by BlndDog

Chapter 8

“Eat.”

“No.”

Gemma crossed her arms obstinately for the fourth time in the last two days and pushed herself further into the corner of her cell. When she regained her vision after passing through the mirror Gemma found herself in a hastily-assembled dungeon in the basement of some big building. The bars on the double-wide doorway that served as the only opening to her cell were made of an assortment of chairs fastened together at every conceivable angle. The light from the cooking fire passed through this lattice to cast strange and frightening shadows across every surface, so that Gemma only felt somewhat safe with her back to the wall.

The steaming bowl of rabbit stew sat untouched just inside her cell. She was light-headed from fasting, but each time one of the boys visited she was reminded of the fate that awaited her if she ever gave in.

The unicorn—the witch—had not visited her since the first night. Only the boys attended to her, and they did not speak much. She glared at them when she caught them staring.

Gemma strove to stay awake constantly, but with the warmth of the fire and constant darkness she seemed to sleep more often than ever. She clutched her head every time she awoke, and always found her feathers and beak unchanged save for the incredible messiness of the former. She was sure that no one would recognize her come spring even if she could survive the winter unchanged.

The bowl was no longer steaming when the boy took it away. He poured it back into the cauldron hanging in the blackened stone hearth and prodded the cinders beneath it. Soon the soup was boiling again, and Gemma felt her insides tying into knots. There were onions and cabbage, familiar spices and exotic ones. Gemma covered her face in the smoke-scented brown blanket that was part of her bedding, but even that reminded her of smoked meat.

The boy ladled the soup into eight clay bowls and balanced the trays on his wings. He paused at her cell one last time looking rather sad. She stared back, her beak still hidden in the blankets. She was afraid that if she did anything else she would cry.

He ascended the steps swiftly, and Gemma heard the door close. She was all alone then; lonely, scared, and too hungry to plan an escape. She lay down on her stomach facing the hearth, wishing to be closer to it.

She must have dozed off again, because the next thing she knew Gemma was staring at a pair of ragged hooves, cracked and colored an unhealthy black.

A ball of white fluff dropped right in front of her nose, startling her to full wakefulness. Gemma leapt up and backed into the wall, her nails marking the stones beneath her.

The mare was wearing an ancient black cloak, just like the stories said she would. Bits of blue silk still hung on its hem in a few places, and on her left side a white crescent moon was clearly visible. It had once been quite an ornate garment not nearly so evil-looking.

Her wrinkled, black-blotched muzzle was almost completely hairless. The top of her deep hood fell over her eyes, but from what she could see Gemma got the unsettling impression that she had no eyes at all. She hoped the mare would not draw back her hood. The thought that the unicorn could exist was terrifying enough, and in her presence Gemma dared not move a muscle.

When she spoke Gemma felt all the feathers lift off her skin. Her gums were as black and shriveled as her skin, and there were even slots for her missing teeth. Her tongue had withered into a worm-like thing, yet somehow she was able to speak as fluently as a trained bard in her soft, throaty voice.

“If you do not appreciate our food, eat this instead.”

She prodded the fluffy thing with one hoof, causing it to squirm around. It was a live hare with all four legs bound together with a strip of leather.

“We caught it in a live trap just for you,” the unicorn continued dispassionately. “I have not touched it except to bring it to you. All I ask is that you skin it properly and leave me the pelt.”

With that she left, completely disassembling the barricade with her magic and replacing it as soon as she had passed through.

Gemma sat petrified for a while longer. Sensing the presence of a starving predator, the hare struggled wildly, tumbling and rolling around the floor and grunting aggressively until it was all out of strength.

She sharpened one talon on a stone in the wall and picked up the hare by the back of its neck. Lifting it up to her face, she examined it from its twitching nose down to its comically large feet. It was a completely ordinary hare, just like the unicorn said. She stroked its back until it calmed down, and then snapped its neck in one quick twist. The exercise calmed her enough to dress the rabbit properly.

Hare this late in the season was bony, the flesh tough and dry even without cooking. Gemma drank all the blood she could get, and gnawed on the skull until it was completely clean. She sucked marrow from the tiny bones and even ate the liver, which she usually hated. As she milled the bones of the leg with her beak Gemma began to wish she had eaten the soup instead. The hare had been the only familiar thing she had seen in days, the only sign that the sane world that she had left behind was still out there.

When the unicorn returned only the skin and a pile of broken bones remained. Gemma was still hungry, but the meal had renewed her strength somewhat. Her mind was clearer than it had been for weeks, and when the unicorn placed a mug on the floor in front of her she looked up with an almost defiant air.

“This is water,” said the unicorn as she collected the pelt and bones with her magic. “Drink it.”

She seemed less scary now. Gemma looked into her face, and after a moment she spoke.

“Let me go home,” she said quietly.

“I will,” said the unicorn. “But not immediately. It’s too cold. The road is too hard.”

“I’ll be fine,” Gemma said, getting up. “I got here just fine. I can hunt and put down snares.”

“You left your village with fresh provisions,” said the unicorn. “We have nothing to give you, and the winter has been hard in these parts.”

“Why do you care?” Gemma asked. “If you want me gone, I’ll go! I’ll never come back! Why do you care what happens to me, as long as I leave?”

“I am not evil, Gemma,” said the unicorn, steady and patient as always. “I only wish to be left alone. This city is not yours. Your tribe did not build it, and as long as I am here your tribe will have no part of it. If you leave, you must never return. But I will not cast you out to your doom.”

“I will not stay here,” Gemma said stubbornly.

“You will do everything I tell you to do,” said the unicorn. “I will send you on your way at the first sign of spring, this I promise. And when you go, you must never look back. Tell your tribe that this is a cursed and haunted city. Tell them that no one else will be spared.”

Gemma opened her mouth, but a powerful wind filled her cell. She gasped as the unicorn turned to fine dust before her eyes and flowed through the barricade, rattling against the bars and the stones of the floor. Just outside her cell the countless grains coalesced into the unicorn, and her cloak fluttered for a moment on the tail end of the magical breeze. Then all was still.

“Be good, Gemma,” she said, her cracked lips smiling slightly. “Good night.”

The unicorn did not visit her again, and from that day onward Gemma ate whatever she was given. She also watched the boys more closely than ever. One or two of them did the cooking on a semi-regular rotation. The food was always some kind of stew served with bread. Every second or third meal they gave her something. Perhaps it was punishment for what she had done.

The boys did not know her language, but they spoke freely to one another. One of them, an older one with a grey head and blue eyes, stopped by her cage almost daily. He could speak a few words clumsily, and made many hand gestures. Gemma understood that his name was “Jacob”. At first she found him and all the others utterly repulsive, but as the novelty of their appearance wore off she became more curious about them. Jacob seemed as lucid and alive as any ordinary child; they all did. In the light of the hearth she saw that their eyes were bright and clear, and their voices and movements seemed natural enough.

The third time Jacob came around Gemma replied to him.

“Good soup… salt?” He asked. It was meal time, and after bringing up food for the others he had returned to the basement to eat with her.

“Yeah, it’s great,” she said without looking up from her bowl.

The boy was taken off guard. He stuck his face right against the barrier, resting his chin upon a chair. His shadow fell over her bowl, obscuring its contents completely.

“The spices are nice,” she said. The boy had his mouth open in a half-smile, hanging on to her every word. It didn’t matter that he could not understand most of what she said.

Gemma took a sip of the salty broth and set her bowl on the floor.

“What are you?” She asked, pointing a finger at the boy.

She had not expected him to understand. Instead what she saw in his eyes was a mixture of excitement and trepidation. His ears perked up, and he put down his own bowl and stared at her as he thought over his answer.

“I’m a griffin,” he replied. “I’m… rare kind… griffin… not pony.”

Gemma missed most of what he said, but those words were from her language. Jacob stared at her expectantly when he finished talking.

“You’re a griffin?” Gemma said slowly, pointing at him and then waving her hand over her own face to emphasize her point. “What happened to your head?”

“I’m a griffin,” he repeated.

“Griffins don’t look like that!” Gemma said, clutching a handful of feathers on top of her head with one hand and pointing at Jacob with the other.

“I am rare griffin kind,” he said, digging deep into his vocabulary. “Only exist here.” He pointed down at the floor.

“Only in Kelp Town?”

He nodded, saying what must have been “yes” in his language.

Their food was lukewarm by then. Gemma was about to ask something else when the door opened upstairs. Jacob turned, picking up his bowl and jumping away from the cell. Gemma picked up her own bowl and emptied it in one big mouthful.

The intruder was a younger boy, six years old perhaps. On one wing he carried a stack of dirty dishes. He had a light brown head topped with messy orange hair, and a sour look on his face. The dishes rattled loudly when he slammed them down. From the conversation that followed Gemma gathered that the unicorn was not pleased. She heard a few names: Joey, Sam… this one was Joshua. They referred to her a few times; she could tell because Joshua would glance at her pointedly.

In the end Joshua was placated with a salted fish on a piece of bread. He took a quick look into Gemma’s cell before retreating up the stairs. She met his gaze calmly.

When Jacob had finished cleaning the dishes he left Gemma with her usual mug of warm water and took the slob bucket upstairs. With no one to keep her company Gemma was soon asleep.

The fire was nearly out when she awoke to the sound of muffled voices.

It was the unicorn.

Gemma sat up and tilted her head. When the cloudiness of sleep was gone completely she realized that she was hearing her own language.

“… Ten long years. Such a shame.”

She flew up to the ceiling, ripping away the cobwebs and pressing her ear to the floorboard, but whoever the unicorn was speaking with replied too softly. The next thing she heard was the sound of hooves: five steps, and then nothing.