“How long ago was that?”
Chicory shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t foaled. Years and years and years ago. Maybe a hundred of them? I don’t think my mother was foaled yet, either. Maybe her mother was, but Grandma Borage died two seasons ago.” She didn’t sound particularly sorry about it.
“Oh,” said Regan, subdued. “I can’t summon rainbows, or lightning, or anything like that. I can do my spelling worksheets, and skip a rope, and I’m a good rider, but if there aren’t horses here, that’s not going to do me very much good.”
“Rider? You mean that thing where humans sit on centaurs’ backs because their legs are too short and they can’t keep up otherwise?” Chicory waved a hand dismissively. “It’s good you already know how to ride. Humans have short little legs. We’d leave you behind in a blink, and that wouldn’t be nice of us. Something would eat you if you went wandering alone, without your herd.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Regan.
“Most people don’t, which is why they stay with their herds.”
“It isn’t offensive for me to ride you?”
Chicory shrugged. “Not if you ask first. We carry injured unicorns all the time. Sometimes it’s the only way to keep the herd together. Or you could ride one of them! You don’t have to ask a unicorn, since they’re not smart enough to answer one way or another.”
Regan’s breath caught at the thought of riding a unicorn. She nodded slowly. “I think I’d like that,” she said.
Chicory grinned. “See? You’ll stay with our herd and be happy, and we’ll have a human, and it’ll be ever so good! We’re going to have so much fun!”
After a pause to consider, Regan grinned and nodded her agreement. By the time the adults realized the two of them were missing, they were deep into the contents of a bowl of mixed fruit, chattering away like they had been friends for years. Which maybe, in a way, they had.
8
TIME AND TRANSFORMATION
CHICORY’S HERD CONSISTED OF nine centaurs, including Chicory and Pansy, who had been gracefully accommodating when it became apparent that Regan had a new favorite. According to Chicory, this was an average size for a farming herd; any larger and it got difficult to feed everyone, any smaller and it was hard to keep track of the unicorns. It worked for them.
Chicory’s mother was Aster, whose sisters, Rose and Lily, were also with the herd. Clover and Lilac did most of the scouting, while Pansy, Bramble, and Daisy kept track of the animals. Daisy was a healer, and saw to the unicorns during foaling season, making sure the mothers were comfortable when it came time for the birthing, which required care to ensure the infant unicorns didn’t accidentally gore their mothers on the way into the world. Wild unicorns were born with blunter horns, Daisy said, but these were domesticated unicorns, and they’d been bred to look as impressive as possible, which meant their horns were larger and sharper from the beginning.
The longhouse where the centaurs had been staying when they found Regan was one of many dotting the farmlands, each reserved for the use of whichever herd was currently grazing their flocks on the associated field. In addition to the unicorns, Regan saw centaurs tending sheep, long-legged deer, goats, and even fluffy, long-horned cattle; different herds had different specialties, including a primitive level of veterinary care for the beasts in their care. Daisy and the other healers did their best, but there was only so much they could manage with the level of technology they had access to. Regan asked once about antibiotics, and got stared at like she was trying to cast spells in a language none of them had ever heard before.
Pansy repeated her offer to take Regan to the Queen several times. The law of the Hooflands said all humans must be presented to the king or queen, but there was nothing in the law that said exactly when it had to happen. Regan demurred, saying she preferred to stay with the herd, and the centaurs listened to what she had to say. It was an amazing change from home, where she was sometimes catered to but never really listened to about important decisions.
They left the longhouse after a week, when the unicorns had grazed out their field. By that time, Regan had come to grips with the fact that she was going to be very, very late getting home from school; that her parents had, most likely, decided she was missing, and put up flyers at the grocery store. She was young enough yet that the idea of anything further didn’t occur to her; she didn’t realize they would be terrified, or that her father might be questioned in the matter of her disappearance, coming as it had in the wake of another student accusing Regan of being a boy who’d been attending school in girl’s clothing for years. No one would question Laurel’s accounting. After all, Regan wasn’t there to defend herself. She was far, far away, learning to sleep in beds of woven grass, gradually losing her awe over unicorns, climbing trees for late summer apples, and sharing blackberries with the centaur girl who was her new best friend.
The Hooflands were warm and temperate; it rarely rained, but when it did, the storms lasted for days, lighting up the horizon with lightning, shaking the walls with thunder. Pansy’s dire proclamation proved to be just shy of true; the unicorns would run from thunder and then stand in the middle of the field with their heads tilted back and mouths open, watching the lightning. They would have drowned if they hadn’t been herded into the longhouse, where they filled the room with heat and the wet animal smell of sodden equine. More of Regan’s awe died during the first storm. It was hard to be dazzled by a wet, muddy unicorn that was attempting to eat your mattress.
And time marched on. Regan had been with the herd for the better part of a season when foaling time arrived. It seemed like all the unicorn mares had gotten pregnant at the same time, and Daisy’s hours were filled with constructing nests of hay and sweetgrass and luring gravid unicorns into them, or sending Pansy off to look for a mare who had decided to go into the wild and give birth on her own. Regan and Chicory were frequently called to help both Daisy and Pansy at first, but as the season went on, Daisy requested Regan more and more often. Regan’s hands were smaller than any of the centaurs’, and she was better built for kneeling, and she could handle fine details of care that Daisy herself was no longer capable of.
The first time Regan was called to assist with a birth, Pansy boomed with laughter and slapped her on the shoulder so hard she staggered. “I told you. Thumbs! It’s all about the thumbs with you humans.” And then she cantered off to round up the unicorns, who were closer to a gully than was good for them.
That night, Regan helped Daisy ease a foal with a dappled coat and a needle-sharp horn the length of Regan’s own index finger into the world, wiping him clean before settling him beside his mother, who lowered her head and shook her horn at the interlopers. Daisy laughed, swatting her on the flank.
“Be quiet, you old thing,” she said. “My apprentice is only here to help, and she got you a fine boy instead of an early grave. Appreciate what you have and let yourself be happy.”
“Apprentice?” Regan asked, voice trembling.
“If you want to be,” said Daisy. “You’re our human, and you don’t have to work if you don’t want to; just having you with us is a sign of status in the eyes of the other herds, and I know you must go to the Queen in her castle when it’s time. You can be indolent and foolish until then, if it’s what makes your heart happy. But I don’t believe it is. You’re too slow to scout and too small to handle the stallions, so you can’t work the herd. Yet you volunteer whenever there’s something you think you can do. This is something you can do. You can help me save lives. I can teach you.”