Slaughter of Innocents

Slaughter of the Innocents

A white form glided through the Forbidden Forest, moving too quickly and too smoothly to be a ghost. It glowed very faintly, flickering as it moved through the trees. To look at it directly was like staring at the sun, it could sear and leave black dots dancing before mortal eyes.

A few lucky students would recognize him from their care of magical creatures class. The rest would know him only from the pale imitations of him shown in tapestries and in picture books.

The unicorn stallion stopped and snorted, his nostrils flaring to test the air. There was a strange taint on the breeze. Faintly metallic, like the scent of impure mercury. Or of blood. He stomped a cloven hoof on the ground, barely stirring the earth below it. The delicate feathering settled nervously about his hoof, trembling at his slightest twitch. He tossed his mane, letting it cascade down the crest of his muscular neck like a wave of shimmering sea foam. A small beard emerged from a pointed chin, granting the beast a certain air of venerability. His long spiral horn stretched straight up, aspiring to reach the heavens. It reflected a silver-gold light, casting a spectral halo about his head.

From a distance he was ghostly and beautiful, a wondrously wrought marble statue of eternity. Looking closely he was still magical and beautiful, but each vein throbbed with a silver pulse, sweating fear. His glorious golden eyes were unnaturally wide.

Something was killing the unicorns, something they could only feel as distilled evil in the air, carefully purified and refined into a blackness that weighed heavily on their souls.

I am not all moonlight and mist! I can feel...I can fear...

Tension rippled through his body, and beads of sweat sparkled on him like a dusting of miniature stars.

Fear is destroying us. It is what lets us be killed. Like the worm in a rose. The rose is dead from its heart's invader well before it is plucked, just as our fear kills us before this thing does...

We are supposed to be the keepers of innocence. Of untouchable purity. But we are tainted even as we are being killed. Trapped in this torturous cycle. We fear because we are being killed, and are easier to kill because our hearts have become weak with fear...

His eyes blazed with a peculiar light. Frustration, perhaps anger, had lit them from within.

I wish I could hate. I understand what it is to hate, but cannot bring myself to feel it. Even against this monster. Hate is something most thinking creature know, yet is as alien to us as death. Moreso. Death we may learn, though it will be the last thing we know...Humans and dark creatures feel hate, some feed on it...I feel fear, but it will not turn into hate. It melts like early frost before the sun...I feel I need hate to survive, yet if I learn to hate then I change what I am...I will defile myself.

The unicorn let out an enraged, screaming neigh.

Either way this thing will destroy us.

The unicorn kicked up his back hooves and sprung into motion. He ran as fast as he could, heedless of the trees and branches that moved out of his way, hooves barely touching the ground enough to bend the plants beneath them. Air ripped through his lungs painfully, forcing him to slow to a dignified trot. Nothing changed. He was still trapped.

The unicorn wheezed, panting through his overheated nostrils and mouth. He shook his legs, trying to stretch his painfully tight muscles.

He had never been hurt, except for the time a man sneaked up on him and ripped a few hairs out of his tail. And even then he had managed to force his attacker away with a few feints from his horn. His tail flicked in annoyance at the memory of the episode.

Even in the years of darkness before none of our number here had been killed. But now...Aysel dead less than a week ago, and we can feel it hunting us still...the darkness is growing stronger on our blood and we can do nothing!

He snorted again, nostrils wide, taking in the heavy air.

Once upon a time we were hunted with pomp by men in bright clothes armed with sparkling spears...Young maidens in fine clothes would sit, and we would adore them, not seeing the knights with their adamant blades. We could be captured, and killed. But never before did fear...

Hooves struck the ground angrily.

Even then those who killed us were cursed...

She was lovely, skin almost as pale as ours, with eyes and hair as dark and deep as shadow. Beautiful in a mortal way. Her voice was sweet and as light as a summer breeze. Her gown flowed loose and pooled into puddles of silver-green...

Alkaios was enchanted. He did not see his death hiding behind the trees. He did not see the green-clad knight until the trap was sprung. Enraged, he tried to attack the maiden with his horn. She ducked out of the way with all the grace of a coiled snake and he slammed into the tree. Horn embedded there he met his death.

The knight had all the glory and honor of a traitorous kill. The fickle maiden became his wife.

Later he was murdered, and only then did he realize the depth of his crime. He will forever be haunted by what he did, and will forever haunt these grounds in return.

The unicorn's intelligent ochre eyes were thoughtful and sad; thick silken lashes brushed away a tear.

But now we die and our killer goes unpunished. We are the first to die--we who can outrun werewolves, and time itself. Like all innocents we can be betrayed, without understanding why. But a creeping, skulking death?

The world is losing its innocence.

I am afraid.

A ghastly sound ripped through the air, shaking leaves and making branches creak like an old man's bones. The unicorn shuddered.

I hear a scream. I do not help. I do not run. I stand and wonder when my blood will stain the ground with mercury dew.