Wonder Light (11 page)

Mrs. Murley led Twig to the office.

Keely rose from the office couch as soon as she saw Twig. “I got hold of your dad. He's concerned, and—”

“I'm happy here,” Twig blurted. “I'm me here. Doesn't that count for anything?” Daddy knew? He'd make Keely take her home for sure!

“Twig, you just disappeared! You were gone all morning, and you won't tell anyone where you went or why. It's clear you aren't making much progress here. I mean, you did your schoolwork this spring and that's good, but you haven't even spoken about what happened. Before you came here, I mean. It's important to talk about things if you're going to get better. And you haven't even mentioned…Twig, sweetie, maybe you need a professional with a different approach.”

“You're going to send me somewhere else? Just because you don't want me doesn't mean nobody else does. People want me, Keely. People want me here!”

As soon as she said it, Twig throbbed with the fear that it wasn't true. What if the Murleys didn't want her anymore after what she'd done? She'd just broken their trust, and she couldn't even offer them an explanation, and now Keely was reminding them why she'd been sent here in the first place.

“This isn't about you not being wanted, for Chr—for heaven's sake. We want you to get better so you can come home. But if you're still a danger to other children…”

There was an awful silence. Twig squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to remember the thud of Emily's body on the hood of the car. It had been the most awful sound Twig had ever heard, and Twig had heard a lot of awful things. But then the tires had screeched and the driver had screamed and Emily had bounced and landed with a horrible crunch on the road, and that had been worse.

Twig's mind rewound the memory, back to when she'd tried to stop Emily from riding that bike. “Wait!” she'd said. “Please!” Emily hadn't listened. Twig had run after her, down the hill, but it had been too late. Emily had picked up speed and picked up speed until she was hurtling down the hill. The wheel of her bike had flown off and so had Emily. And then the car had come, with terribly perfect timing.

Twig opened her eyes and met Mrs. Murley's grief-filled gaze. Grief for what Keely had told her Twig had done, or grief that Twig was going to have to leave? It was too much.

“I never hurt anybody!” Twig shouted at Keely. “I never would. Corey did that to Emily's bike, not me!”

Keely gasped. “Now you're going to try to blame Corey? Emily saw you with the tools, messing with her bike right before she got on it!”

“I was trying to fix it! I saw Corey doing something to it, and I was trying to fix it. He was mad at her for smashing his Lego tower to get back at him for—”

“Stop. Just stop with these lies.”

Twig shook her head. “They are
not
lies.” Corey hadn't even had to tell a lie in order for Keely to believe one. He'd sobbed and sobbed when Emily had gotten hurt, so hard he couldn't even talk. Keely and Emily had drawn their own conclusions, and Corey hadn't looked anyone in the eye from that moment until Twig left. Maybe he still hadn't.

It didn't matter much that Emily was all right now. She was only all right because she'd been wearing one of those helmets Keely insisted on and that Twig always forgot to put on.

“Corey didn't think something like that would happen. He felt terrible. He would've fessed up if you'd ever bothered to ask him. But you wanted to think it was me. You wanted me to be as bad as you thought I was. Well, I don't care what you think of me, but this is my home now. Just leave me here, and leave me alone!”

There was a long silence. “Twig,” Mr. Murley finally said, “why don't you go wait in your room for a few minutes while we talk?”

Twig gave Keely a good glare before she went.

She climbed into bed and pulled the grass-green covers over her head. The suitcase was in the closet. She pictured herself having to pull it out and fill it with her things. She imagined it standing on the foot of her bed again like a tombstone. Her new life, over. Ben's plans, ruined. Wild Light, abandoned.

What if Keely believed her? Mrs. Murley did, she was sure of it. What if she convinced Keely? What excuse would Keely have to leave her here then? Oh, she'd messed everything up. Just like she always did.

Twig flung the covers back and bolted upright. If she hurried, if she was quiet, maybe she could make it to the stable in time. Maybe—

“Twig?” Mrs. Murley knocked on the door.

“What?” Twig's voice was little more than a squeak.

“Come on out, honey, so we can all talk.”

Twig wiped her sleeve across her eyes. She opened the door. Mrs. Murley handed her a tissue. The soft kind with scented lotion in it. She was going to miss those tissues. Twig blew her nose hard and Mrs. Murley hugged her harder.

“I don't know why you left, Twig, but I forgive you. I should've told you that right away. I'm sorry, honey.”

Twig shook with a new sob. She was sorrier. Oh, she was so much sorrier.

Mrs. Murley swept Twig's hair out of her eyes, and Twig took a deep breath and gave them another wipe.

“Everyone's in the office.”

Twig balled up the tissue in her fist and kept her arms locked around Mrs. Murley's waist the whole way to the office, not caring one bit how she looked or what anyone thought.
I
love
you, Mrs. Murley. I love it here and I love you.
It was all she could think.

Keely was on the office couch, and Mr. Murley sat on the edge of the desk across from her, looking tired and holding a box of tissues in one hand. The wastebasket at the end of the desk was full of them.

“Twig.” Keely wiped the last bit of her mascara, a black trickle, from the corner of her eye. “I believe you. I just spoke to Corey on the phone. He told me everything. He was afraid to say anything, afraid I'd send him away.”

Twig let go of Mrs. Murley. She took a step backward, toward the door. Keely was going to take her away. Away from Wild Light. Away from Casey. Away from the Murleys and their prayers and their hugs and the bottomless pot of hot chocolate. She should've made a run for it while she had the chance. Maybe it wasn't too late.

“Twig.” Mr. Murley slid off the desk and put a firm hand on her back. He knew what she was thinking. And now there was no way out of this. “Your stepmother wants you back.”

Twig pulled away.

“But,” he said, nudging her back toward him, “she wants what's best for you. We all do. She asked for my opinion, and I told her I think it would be good for you to stay here.”

“Whatever you want, Twig,” Keely said.

Twig dove at Mrs. Murley and threw her arms back around her. She'd been given a lot of hugs since she'd gotten here, but today was the first day Twig had given one to anyone who wasn't a pony—or a unicorn. She ran back to Mr. Murley and she hugged him too.

“This is what I want. I want to stay.”

***

Ben adjusted the leather strap over Twig's shoulder, and Merrill took a step back. He gave her an appraising look, then smiled. Hand shaking, Twig gripped the leather-bound hilt and drew the short sword. It rung in the still, misty night, singing of a different world, making Keely and the hopelessness of last week seem so far away.

“It feels a little heavy now, but you'll get stronger,” Merrill said.

Twig sheathed the sword, and Ben handed her the bow. “It was mine until last year. Father said I was ready for a bigger one, and he helped me make the one I use now.”

“Who made this one?” Twig asked, trying to hold it as she'd seen Ben hold his.

“Darian,” Merrill whispered. “A man of many talents.”

Twig lowered the bow. “I shouldn't—I can't—maybe a different bow.”

“This one's perfect for you,” Merrill said. “You'll see.”

Twig shook her head. “I don't deserve it.”

“Neither did I.” Ben's chin trembled. “It's a gift. You don't have to deserve it. You just have to use it the best you can.”

***

After chores and a big Saturday breakfast, Twig gently lifted the bow out of her closet, where she'd hidden it. The smooth wood was worn smoother where Ben's hands had held it. How many hours had he practiced, starting when he was just a little boy? He'd learned to use it well, but could she, in so little time?

The door flung open and Casey rushed in.

“Twig, want to—wow!” She stopped, staring at the bow in Twig's hands, then the quiver of arrows at her feet.

Janessa ran in right behind Casey. “What
is
that?” she cried, loud enough to draw all the other girls in.

“Where did you get it?” Taylor said.

“Um…my closet,” Twig said lamely.

Mr. Murley passed by the open door. Seeing the girls clustered around Twig, he paused and frowned. “What are you ladies up to in there?”

“Mr. M! Look what Twig's been hiding in that big old suitcase!” Janessa cried.

Twig's pulse raced. What was she going to say? What if they took it away because it was too dangerous? She should've kept it hidden. But she needed to practice in the daylight before she tried to use it in the dark. Though they were keeping her sword in the hollow for her, Ben and Merrill had insisted that she take the bow home and find a way to work with it.

The girls parted and let Mr. Murley through. His eyes widened, and he reached out to run his finger over the bow. “Incredible craftsmanship! It looks like something straight out of history. What kind of fiber is this bowstring made of?”

“I—I don't know,” Twig said. “A friend gave it to me to use. I don't know how yet…but I'm going to learn.” Twig lifted her chin, daring him to tell her she couldn't.

But Mr. Murley's eyes sparkled with interest. “Archery! I always wanted to practice archery. I'll make you a target, Twig—I've got some plywood in the shed—if you let me try my hand at it too.”

Twig relaxed. “Deal,” she said.

“I could do some research,” Taylor said, “about technique, how to take care of it…”

All the girls began talking at once, clamoring to touch the bow.

“Hey!” Casey pushed in front of Twig, and they all stopped. “It's Twig's.” Casey looked Twig right in the eye. At first she didn't say anything more. But her eyes said she knew this bow was special, that it hadn't been in her suitcase all this time. “Twig,” she finally said, “it's the coolest thing I ever seen. None of us'll touch it, except Mr. Murley. We promise.”

The girls nodded solemnly. Mandy scowled, but she said, “Promise.”

Mr. Murley gave Casey a squeeze. “That's right. This isn't a toy. Fun as it is, it's a weapon. And a beautiful replica. We'll all help Twig, and she'll be handling it like a pro in no time.”

If only Mr. Murley knew just what Twig had to handle. Learning to shoot an unmoving target in the daylight was one thing. Firing from the back of a leaping unicorn in the black of night was another.

November

Twig slipped through the night, head ducked against the pouring rain. The soggy earth sucked at her boots as she darted behind one of the pasture shelters. It was Friday, practice day.

Anxiously, Twig peered into the brush. Ben raised a hand to greet her, his cloaked figure barely visible on Indy's back. Relieved, Twig scrambled over. She didn't like to enter the woods alone, even after all this time, even though she knew the herd wouldn't be on the hunt tonight. She'd learned that wild unicorns' scents and moods changed with the seasons. Now that it was well into fall, the herd was much less active, saving their energy in a natural response to the colder weather and the scarceness of food. The instinct to go after their rivals kicked in only in the spring.

Twig climbed up behind Ben.

“Should we cancel when it rains like this, do you think?” Ben's words were muffled by his hood and an even more vigorous pelting of rain.

“It's fall. It's always raining. It'll be worse in winter.”

“Unless it snows.” Ben urged Indy on. His voice lifted with excitement. “I'm glad you came anyway. We have something new to show you.”

“What is it?”

Had Merrill made a new dummy for her to slash at with the sword he'd given her from Terracornus? Her arms ached at the idea. She'd spent too many nights lifting that sword, swooshing and stabbing through mist and rain, hoping she'd never have to use it and, at the same time, praying she'd use it well if she did.

“You'll have to see it to believe it.”

Indy bounded through the darkness and the driving rain. When he slowed down, Twig knew they were near the hollow. She looked up and saw Indy's horn extending, all on its own, as it did only when another unicorn was present. Twig went cold with fear. Without thinking, she reached for Ben's sword.

Ben put his hand over hers. “It's all right. You'll see.”

“But they must be here!”

At the edge of the hollow, rain cascaded down the evergreen branches. Twig braced herself for a dousing, but Ben steered Indy through a gap between waterfalls, and then they were safe under the perfect umbrella of trees—where another unicorn was waiting, its horn fully extended in a deadly spiral.

Twig choked on a cry, then saw the rope around the creature's neck, tethering it to a tree, and Merrill standing nearby. The lantern hanging from a branch overhead cast a dim, bobbing light over the unicorn and the herder, illuminating a slice of apple in his open palm.

Twig let out a breath. “You got one!”

She undid the Velcro at the collar of her shell and pushed her hood back to get a better look. It was a young stallion, a mottled gray-white, with a whiter mane. He bent his knees and ducked his head nervously, submissively to the side. Indy gave him a superior nicker, then turned away, accepting his desire for peace with an air of indifference.

Last Friday, Twig, Ben, and Merrill had been debating how to deal with the herd. They all agreed it would be ideal to track the herd, to go on the offensive during their months of winter lethargy, and try to eliminate Dagger before they started hunting again in the spring. If they all had unicorns to ride, Ben could take Dagger out with his bow, then join Twig and Merrill in herding the others. The problem was, they were two unicorns short.

Maybe now they were a step closer to being able to carry out that plan.

“We call him Marble. His coat looks like the stone. He wandered away from the others while they were asleep,” Merrill explained. “I'm sure the trail of carrot pieces I dropped helped him wander farther than he would've.”

“Too bad Dagger never wanders away from the others,” said Twig.

“I know,” Ben said. “But this one's been so easy.”

“He does give us hope for the rest of the herd, though I've had a little help from the mixture of herbs I wrapped around those carrots. A little something to help keep him docile.”

“Will you be able to ride him, Merrill?”

“In time, I hope. But it's too soon to try. He's still wild, still looking for the others.”

Twig looked into the unicorn's eyes. “He doesn't look so wild to me. His eyes look kind of cloudy.”

“That would be the concoction I fed him. Hate to do it, but we cannot have him calling out to the others, stirring them up. I'm hoping if we keep him away from them for a while, if he gets used to us and appreciates our tasty oats and apples, he'll calm down a bit on his own.”

“That's going to take a long time, isn't it?”

“That filly was born in April by your calendar, right?” Merrill said.

“Right.”

Merrill turned to Ben. “You've seen her. When do you think she'll be ready to ride?”

“February at the earliest. About three months from now.”

“That just might be enough time for Twig to learn to ride her before spring comes in full force. We'll have to hope I have Marble's trust by then and that it's not too soon for Wild Light.”

“Or too late for the rest of us,” Twig said.

“None of that, now, Twig,” Merrill said. “You've got training to do tonight and quick, so you can slip back into bed before the sun rises.”

Ben's eyes glittered with new excitement. “Tonight you're going to practice shooting while you ride.”

“Indy?”

Ben nodded, and Twig gulped.

Though Ben kept him warm with blankets and, with Twig's help, well fed, Indy was less energetic than he had been in the warmer months. As Twig approached him, contemplating this impossible new task, she was glad he was a little slower, that he couldn't jump quite as high.

Twig began to pull herself up, but Indy neighed his refusal, and she backed away. The last thing she wanted was for Indy to move to the next phase. For a pony, that would mean showing his teeth. But Indy's horn was extended, and that's what he'd show her, with little jabbing motions meant to remind her he could run her right through.

“Whoa, boy,” Ben said, “I'm coming too.” He mounted and calmed Indy, then Twig joined him. “It will be different with Wild Light,” he told Twig.

But what if it wasn't? What if the unicorns knew something Ben and Merrill refused to see—that she wasn't fit to ride?

Soon they were bounding out of the hollow and through the shadows and Twig was nocking arrows, trying to shoot at the tree trunks Merrill had marked with bands of white cloth whenever he said, “Now!” Her aim wasn't so bad, but she dropped every second arrow.

Twig's shell kept her warm, but she'd thrown off her hood in order to see better and her head was completely drenched. She tried to control her shivering, but it was so hard. She thought of the warm yellow house and the people she loved. She wanted to go back, and yet she wanted to keep trying, to do what she'd promised to do. Was this how Daddy felt when he went away for training, when he was deployed? The excitement mixed with the fatigue and the regret that it had to be done at all?

“All right. That's enough now, Twig-girl,” Merrill said.

“It's a miserable night, and you've worked hard,” Ben agreed.

Twig shook her head. “A few more minutes. One more time around.”

This time, she dropped only two. She dismounted, and Merrill caught her cold, thin hand in his leathery one. “Well done. You're quite the archer.”

“And soon you'll be a unicorn rider too,” Ben said.

Twig smiled, but her stomach tightened. If Wild Light refused her, it wouldn't matter how good an archer she was. It wouldn't matter that she was one of the ranch's strongest riders now. All this would be for nothing.