It was my love of wondrous creatures that eventually got us into trouble.
I listened to Robby’s tales of his world, but accepted his warning that I could never go there—that was, until he told me about the unicorns. More than anything else, I wanted to see unicorns, so I probably pestered him entirely too much about it.
It was a stifling hot August the tenth. The next day was my birthday, the day I turned thirteen and my world changed. We sat on the back doorstep savoring the cherry Popsicles my mother gave us. Robby whispered that he had a special treat for my birthday. He would take me to meet a unicorn.
“I canna take you to Mycon. Master Procyon Bey would know about it if I did, and we would both get in a lot a trouble. He probably would no longer allow me to come see you. I can get you onto the Road, though, without anyone finding out, and Esmeralda is waiting outside the Gate in Mycon. I can sneak her through, and the two of you can meet right there on the Road. You will like Esmeralda. She is really cool. For a unicorn.”
I squealed. “Robby, that’s the bestest birthday gift anyone could give me. A real unicorn.”
He clasped my sticky hand and led me to the pergola. My father had just finished building it, and the bougainvillea bushes were small and newly planted. Standing in the archway, Robby did wizardy stuff, said magic words, and waved his hand, making sparkly lights in the air that I thought were so pretty.
He urged me forward and we stepped into…nothing.
It was a vast and empty expanse, not so much light as the absence of darkness. There were no walls, no ceiling, only a surface beneath my feet, hidden by a colorless mist that flowed and eddied around my ankles. It smelled like the old used book store, the one with the back room where there was no air conditioning, and the really old books were stacked in cardboard boxes. Although no breeze stirred my hair, I felt currents, a soundless singing moving across my outstretched hands.
I wiggled my fingers. “What is this?”
“That is magic,” he whispered. “Arising from the Source and flowing out along the Road.”
“I don’t see any road,” I said, my voice soft. Whispering seemed appropriate in that place.
“’Tis there. I can see, but you probably canna, so you have to hang onto my hand so you do not get lost.” He clutched my cherry stained fingers tighter. “My master went to help a farmer in Anders Ford with a sick cow. He will not be back for hours.”
The emptiness before us parted and a thin old man stepped through. The boy stopped so quickly, I plowed into him. He pushed me behind him, situating himself between me and his master.
“Robert,” the wizard said. “What are you doing? I forgot my satchel and came back for it. I wondered by Esmeralda was standing by the Gate with such a guilty look on her face.”
I looked over Robby’s shoulder at the old man. He didn’t look like a wizard. No pointy hat or long robe. In fact, he looked like the ragged men I sometimes saw picking up aluminum cans along the highway.
“I just wanted to see a unicorn, sir.”
The old man squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I was afraid of something like this when I agreed to let you go into Vayron to study, Robert. You know the rules about Vayronii learning about magic. And now I have to clean up the mess you have made.”
“I will not allow you to hurt her,” Robby declared.
“Oh, do not be silly. No one is going to get hurt, except perhaps your bottom. Now, you run along to the tower and get my satchel and wait for me at the bridge. And inform Esmeralda that she will not be getting any apples for several weeks for her part in this little misadventure.”
Robby let go of my hand and sidled around Procyon Bey, but instead of leaving, he stayed to watch. The wizard approached, leaning down to regard me gravely. I’d expected him to smell like the homeless men, but instead his scent reminded me of freshly cut hay and cups of strong tea.
“I am so sorry about this, my dear.” He sighed.
“I only wanted to see a unicorn.” My voice was tiny in the echoing vastness.
“I know. It is so painful when our dreams die.” He raised his hand to my face. Sparks of colored light danced on his fingertips.
“I will never forget you, Laura,” Robby yelled from behind the wizard.
I felt a slight sting as the old man’s finger touched my temple, and then hands turning me gently around and urging me forward. I found myself standing in the sunshine under the arch of my father’s newly built arbor. All I could remember was that I hadn’t been able to find Bob the kitten all day, and I was afraid he’d run away.
Sixteen years later, standing in the same spot, I recognized the worth of the gift Robby had given me, and tears streamed down my cheeks. He’d been true to his promise. He hadn’t forgotten, and he’d given me back a piece of my life I hadn’t known I was missing.
I washed the breakfast dishes, cleaned out the refrigerator, and mopped the kitchen floor, but that didn’t help. The emptiness simmering in my chest kept me moving, looking for one more mindless task to make me forget. I tidied up the chaos on the bedroom floor, but as I slipped the paperbacks into the bookshelf, I spied my old mythology dictionary. Returning to the kitchen table, I leafed through the pages until I came to the listing for dragons and its picture of a knight cowering before a fire-breathing monster.
In all those fairy tales, the damsel waited in her castle while her man went off to do battle. How many of those stories ended badly because the stupid knight got his head bitten off?
I considered myself a twenty-first century woman. Women today didn’t sit around and wait for the one they cared about to come home from the fray. We were out there with our follow Marines kicking down doors in Iraq and Afghanistan. We flew fighter jets. I ought to be able to face one little dragon. He did say Shakagwa Dun was a small dragon, but then “small” might be a relative term when it came to dragons.
I studied the map in the living room, my finger tapping the glass over the spot Robby had indicated. The Federal government put more and more land under its jurisdiction with the Everglades Restoration Project and closed it to recreational vehicle use, but I thought I could slip in there unnoticed and take a look around. The terrain started out primarily pine forests but gave way to sawgrass prairies dotted with cypress hammocks. It might be empty wetlands, but how hard would it be to miss a wizard fighting a dragon?
I changed into a pair of jeans and pulled a denim shirt on over my tee. The long sleeves would be hotter, but offered protection from scratches, bugs, and sunburn. I laced a pair of sturdy, high-top boots over my pants legs and collected my hair into a twist. In case I could get a picture of the mythical Shakagwa Dun, I grabbed my camera bag—not that anyone would believe it was a real dragon. Only I would know the image hadn’t been computer generated.
My dad had always stressed the importance of having the right supplies and equipment when we went into the wild, citing the rash of idiots who were rescued from the glades every year. Even in the days before GPS units, he said there was no excuse for getting lost. Just head west and you’re bound to hit civilization. And if you couldn’t find west? Well, then you had no business being out in the swamp. The important thing was not to panic and be prepared for every emergency, and Dan Chambers had a safety checklist as long as an airline pilot’s that he never deviated from before each outing.
The old Jeep had been my father’s passion. Many a night, I’d lie awake in bed and listen to him and his buddies out in the garage, tinkering, getting ready for the next weekend’s excursion. Keeping the Jeep in tip-top shape was my tribute to my father.
I grabbed a case of bottled water, filled a tote bag with energy bars, apples, and junk food, and then headed for the garage. Circling the Jeep, I confirmed each item on that mental checklist I inherited from my father. All the fluid levels were topped off, the battery charged up. In the back, a toolbox held spare fan belts and radiator hoses, a box of matches and a flare gun—just in case the worse happened and I needed to signal a rescue aircraft. An extra can of gas and the spare tire completed my list of necessities.
Like many southern children, I’d been taught proper respect and usage of firearms, but I hadn’t touched one since before I left home for college. If my anemic checking account could stand the shock, I’d be able to pick up a rifle from any sporting goods store or big box discounter, but in some ways, Naples is still a small town. My neighbors would wonder why the quiet, young veterinarian next door needed a weapon capable of bringing down an elephant—if even that would stop a dragon.
As a vet, I’d devoted my life to saving animals. Could I kill one—even a dragon? Robby was right. Out there in the glades, my presence would only be a liability to him. I’d given him my word that I’d stay here and wait. I picked up the tote bag and started out of the garage, but a disturbing image flashed across my mind, jolting me to a stop.
Robby injured, perhaps bleeding, alone out there in the wild, miles away from my help.
The thought sent my pulse thudding against the inside of my skull. Would he have enough magic left to heal his wounds after battling the dragon? He’d sought me out last night when he needed help, so I had to be there for him. Be it as a man or a cat, he would need my healing skills. I tossed the tote into the back of the Jeep and clambered behind the steering wheel. Half an hour later, I rolled off the Interstate and turned inland, the oversized, knobby tires singing on the pavement. I stopped at a convenience store, topped off the tank and the spare can, and got ice for my cooler.
Each time I passed someone walking with a knapsack, I slowed to see if he had a staff and silver-striped hair, but none of them were Robby. The path he traveled was not one I’d find in this world.
The area bounding Naples on the east had been laid out as a development in the sixties by speculators who’d carved miles of roads into the land, brought in uninformed buyers, and pressured them to purchase property that was little more than swampland. It was a pattern repeated often in the history of Florida, and like the others, this area had been caught up in one of the cycles of boom and bust so common to the state. Eventually it had grown into a prosperous bedroom community for the city, a curious mixture of suburban and rural, where McMansions rubbed shoulders with modest tract homes.
As I continued eastward, the houses grew sparser, finally disappearing altogether. Cypress trees dotted the upland forest of slash pine and sable palm, signaling the land was growing lower and wetter. Soon the pavement ended, and I continued onto a graded road of hard-packed shell, following it until I found a track that led off to the northeast. I splashed through flooded ruts left by last night’s rain, veering toward the north and east at each fork. Often they curved around, leading me in the wrong direction, forcing me to backtrack and seek another route.
By mid-afternoon, the temperature hovered in the mid-nineties, and the humidity wrapped around me like a parka in a steam room. The trail meandered into a thick stand of melaleuca trees. Grateful for the shade, I stopped to drink a bottle of cold water, leaving a little to pour on a bandana to mop the sweat trickling down my face. I started on a second water and reached for an apple. Closing my eyes, I let the quiet of the forest unravel the knot of tension in my neck and shoulders.
I stiffened.
Too quiet.
Attuned to its sounds, the land was never silent to me. Squirrels chattered in the pines or songbirds called, but now there was nothing. Even the omnipresent drone of insects had disappeared. No breeze stirred the leaves overhead. Only the occasional ping of the Jeep’s cooling engine broke the silence. The world held its breath, waiting. Waiting for what?
Doubt crept into my thoughts. What was I doing out here in the wetlands alone? I hadn’t even thought to tell anyone where I was going. I could well imagine my father’s reaction to that bone-headed maneuver. And if I told him I was trying to locate a dragon? And a wizard?
My fingertips brushed my mouth as I remembered the touch of Robby’s lips and the taste of him as his tenderness turned to passion.
That’s why I’m here, Dad. You always told me I could have anything I wanted—if I was willing to go after it. Well, that’s what I’m doing; I’m going after Robby, and that overgrown lizard isn’t going to get in my way.
What would my life have been like if I’d remembered my summer with Robby? Would I have been a different person, or would it all have played out just the same with a few bittersweet memories? I had a second chance now, an opportunity to bring magic back into my life. And I was damn well going to take it.
As I reached to start the Jeep, an odd noise shivered in the air, a sound that felt wrong for this time, this place.
Whoosh
.
Whoosh.
It was faint, distant, and followed only by silence. I puzzled over it, almost dismissing it, when it sounded again, this time louder and closer, moving toward me. From the northeast. The cadence of the sound reminded me of great turkey buzzards riding the thermals, flapping their wings and gliding. Flap, flap, glide.
Whoosh. Whoosh. Silence.
Much closer now. An unreasonable yearning to cower beneath the Jeep’s dashboard seized me. My gaze darted around, seeking safety. I noticed a rabbit in the shadows beneath the trees, all but invisible against the fallen leaves, frozen in place, waiting for death to pass it by. I could taste the tiny creature’s fear in the back of my throat. Or was it my own?
The thrum of the wings pounded against my eardrums. A wave of reptilian musk swept over me carrying an undertone of death and rotting flesh. Bile burned my throat.
A shadow the size of a small corporate jet soared overhead, so low its wings stirred the tops of the trees. The primitive voice at the back of my brain yammered at me to run, but I chose the rabbit’s tactics and froze, the air going still in my lungs. I had only enough time to judge its size before it was gone, and yet the wings had seemed to hover over me for an eternity in an odd, fear-induced time distortion. The bottle fell from my fingers and water splashed onto my thighs. The coldness freed my mind from the dark cave where it cowered. My breath exploded in a ragged cough.