Skye City: The Darkness of Emmilyn

Claudius the Unicorn

Days pass without news on Arturo and the others, but Jardine insists they could be stranded in a wilderness and mentions something about a possible signal. This obviously raises our spirits, reminds us hope is not lost, but frustratingly, Jardine refuses to elaborate because he cannot discuss intel and insists we must be patient. Patient.

The not knowing is destroying my sanity and yet I get the impression Jardine knows something, believes they are okay, but feels reluctant to confirm without concrete information. He has this weird ability to calm me down when he talks sense, talks with confidence, with a gentle authority, but his vagueness is frustrating.

Blood testing shows Oscar and Rupert are fully immune to the plague which is obviously good to hear. Fantastic even. Bex and myself have partial immunity, meaning our symptoms would be less severe if we were infected, but we would still get those yucky boils, I presume. Shudder. Smig has low immunity and is lucky to be alive, but we are assured the Rebellion is working to obtain San Teria's vaccine.

We are still staying on the farm and the gang are each given a chance to prove themselves on the training grounds, but none can match my performance. Scoop, who now has a shaven head, proves a hazard to himself and others, and I can only hope the Rebellion revokes his phaser privileges.

One evening, the gang are chatting in the farmhouse after an exhausting day tending to the livestock. Nelson beckons me into the passage and takes my hand, pulling me into the lobby without explanation.

No-one notices us leaving the building as Nelson gently closes the front door. He leads me into the farmyard and around the barns to a hidden paddock where pure white unicorns are eating grass, drinking from troughs, and trotting in the twilight.

So. Damn. Beautiful.

'How did I not know these were here? I spent all day with the animals. This is–'

'Fancy a ride?' Nelson says and my eyes roll sideways.

'A unicorn ride, are you serious?' I lean on the fence to admire the silky manes and twirling horns and swaying tails as a foal rubs its lovely face against its mother's side.

'Well, technically they're not unicorns, they're–'

'Getenically-mofidied horses. I'm not an idiot,' I say, remembering Arturo using that exact phrase.

'Well, you may be in the minority there, smarty pants. Alternative medicine practitioners pay a fortune for unicorn horns.'

Nelson opens the paddock gate and approaches a nearby stallion already fitted with a large saddle. He guides it through the gate by its reins, strokes its snorting nose, locks the gate, and uses the dangling foothold to climb aboard. 'Give me your hand.' I grab Nelson's hand and he pulls me onto the saddle, holding the reins with his arms around my waist.

'Claudius, go.'

Nelson's legs twitch, kicking his heels I assume, and I jolt as our steed accelerates with alarming power. The unicorn gallops past the barns, along a dirt path and over a grassy field; its hooves thundering as our bodies jerk and bounce, and I swear we will fall if we are not careful. The wind ruffles my hair as I struggle to breathe, or see the countryside clearly – my eyes are streaming.

We gallop over field after field, leaving the farm behind and crossing the stream with a breathtaking leap as we pass the woodland where the mannequins roam. I grab the unicorn's neck as we thud onto the bank; its rear hooves causing a loud splash.

Claudius races on before I can compose myself and my laughter comes from nerves as much as excitement. It comes as quite a relief when he finally slows to a trot during sunset and I notice the lights from a small settlement on the horizon.