Wonder Light (12 page)

February

As soon as her schoolwork was done, Twig put on her boots and grabbed her bow and quiver from the entryway. It was February, and as Twig headed for the pasture that now served as her bow range, she noticed that the crocuses were up in the flower beds around the porch, slim, green buds anxious for spring. Rather than a welcome reminder that glimpses of sunshine were just a couple months away, for Twig they were tiny warning flags, soon to unfurl.

Wild Light was nearly grown, almost as big as Indy, and Ben thought she was ready to ride. He wanted Twig to try tonight. The days of the unicorn wearing herself out bounding around the pasture and testing the ponies, then curling up, asleep in the pasture shelter, while Rain Cloud stood there looking after her were now few and far between.

More and more, Wild Light was separate from the ponies and Feather, searching and calling out to the woods, leaping, weaving, often with a sense of fierceness rather than playfulness. Sometimes she even seemed to charge at invisible opponents, tipping her head down, then up, to thrust with a horn that wasn't there—a horn that was supposed to be there.

Soon spring would be here, and the hungry howls would be back. Twig had to practice every chance she got. She took aim and shot. Her arrow hit its mark with a satisfying twang. But the real test, for her and for Wild Light, would come tonight.

***

Twig crept to the stable. Ben slipped out of the shadow of the eaves. There was no moonlight tonight, only darkness shrouded in mist. He gave her a nod. Ben believed she could do this. Who had believed she could do anything before she came to Lonehorn Island?

“I'll be right here,” Ben said.

Twig nodded back, heart fluttering. She went into the tack room and took down what she needed from the pegs on the wall, and then she went to Wild Light's stall. Wild Light stirred from her sleep. She smelled Twig and she nickered at her, in the way she only did at Twig.

“Wild Light,” she said lovingly, “it's Twig. I know you want out. I know you want to run. You can run all over the island, but I have something to talk to you about first.”

Twig willed her hand to stop trembling. It was no use. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for courage, for a courage Wild Light could feel.

What was she doing? This was stupid. No one was listening. Why would they? She was no unicorn rider. She was a worthless throwaway girl. She hadn't been able to keep her family together. She hadn't been enough for Daddy to stay or enough to make Mom happy. She hadn't managed to stop her mom from getting worse and worse. And then she'd done things for Mom. Stolen things. Helped her do things she knew she shouldn't. And all that time she'd been too big a coward to tell anyone what was going on. A coward, just like the night she'd first heard the howls.

It shouldn't have been Twig who got to be there when this unicorn was born. It should've been Taylor or Janessa who witnessed such a wonder. Or even Mandy.

She put a hand on Wild Light's muscular back. She was so beautiful—perfectly if unusually formed, her coat moonlight white perfection. The old Twig never would have thought such wonders were possible. The old Twig had never had friends like the Murleys and their girls—or like Ben.

But what if she wasn't a new Twig at all? What if she was just pretending she was more? That she ever
could
be more?

She felt her tears, hot streaks on hotter cheeks. Not as hot as the burning lump in her heart. Feeling that lump again, she realized how long she'd been free of it. Even with all there was to fear on Lonehorn Island, she hadn't been weighed down by that searing, heavy lump of worthlessness. It had died down to an ember of pain she could barely sense, a mere ash waiting to be blown away by a new wind. But now it was back, in full flame.

She snapped the stall door shut without a word of explanation to Wild Light, without another glance. She ran outside, pulling on her hood and thinking only of sneaking back into the house and drawing her grass-green covers over her head. But Ben blocked her path.

“What happened?”

Twig shook her head.

“Twig! I didn't even hear her make a fuss.”

“I can't do it.”

“You didn't try. You gave up. You just gave up.”

You
said
you
wouldn't.
He didn't say it. Didn't throw her words back at her, but he didn't have to.

She couldn't let him count on her. She would fail. Everything would go wrong, just like it always had for Twig Tupper.

“I thought I was someone new, but I'm not. I'm still Twig. Still the same.”

“No,” he said gruffly, “you're not somebody else.”

Twig choked back a sob. She knew it. She knew it was true, but hearing Ben say it—

He grabbed one of her shoulders in each of his hands. “You're still Twig. But you're the Twig you were supposed to be. The Twig she needs you to be.” He nodded back at the stable. “The Twig”—he let go of one of her shoulders and pushed her hood back and looked her in the eye—“I need you to be.”

He turned away, and Twig knew there were tears in his eyes. Her own desire to cry evaporated. He was just as much afraid to fail as she was. Maybe this wasn't a worthless Twig thing, this fear. Maybe it didn't mean that she was still worthless Twig at all. She reached for his hand.

“I'll do it. I'll do it. Everything will be okay.”

Ben's hand tightened around hers. “Come out riding. I want to see you come out riding.”

“I will.”

Twig walked briskly back to the stall and lifted the saddle out of the cedar shavings, then set it down again. She was supposed to be taming a unicorn. Wild Light had better have her horn. She ran one palm up Wild Light's forehead, found the smooth, round spot under her forelock with the other, and drew her horn out. Wild Light held her head even higher, and a new pride swirled in her quicksilver eyes.

“Wild Light,” Twig said, loud and clear. Then she realized that she had no idea what to say next. She said a silent prayer that she wouldn't run out of the stall again, and she blurted the only thing she could think of. “You're a wonder. I'll be your rider and we'll ride into the darkness together and you'll be a wonder and a light. How would you like a new name? Wonder Light.”

Wonder Light raised her forelegs and gave an eager neigh.

“Steady, girl. I'll call you Wonder for short, okay?”

She settled down, and with a deep breath, Twig picked up the saddle pad and laid it on her back. It would be a miracle if this worked.

When Twig added the saddle, Wonder stiffened and gave her a curious glance but didn't protest. The bitless bridle went on without incident. At least, with Mr. Murley's encouragement, she'd already gotten Wonder used to that, as well as a halter. But leading an animal around while walking was hardly the same as riding.

“You're such a good girl. Be my Wonder, please, girl.” Twig gave her a big hug around her muscular neck, and then she led her out of the stall, into the stable aisle. “This is so important. I'm going to get on now. You'll let me ride, won't you?”

Would she? She was so headstrong. But Wonder nickered and tickled Twig's neck. Twig slid a boot into the stirrup and hoisted herself up. Wonder whinnied questioningly, but she didn't resist. Twig buried her face in her mane and thanked her and told her what a good girl she was. Then she lifted her head and she gripped the reins and gave Wonder's sides a gentle squeeze.

Ben always said unicorns were smarter even than the smartest horse, and Twig had never doubted it was true. Wonder took a step forward. Twig urged her gently onward, through the stable and to the open door. She seemed to know exactly what Twig wanted, and she seemed to want it too.

Ben appeared in the doorway with a big grin on his face and pride gleaming in his eyes.

“I renamed her,” Twig said shakily. “Wonder Light. From now on I'm going to call her Wonder.”

“Perfect,” Ben said. “She is a wonder.” His voice caught. He cleared his throat and glanced at the ranch grounds behind him. “It's safe. I haven't heard or seen a thing. I'll go get the gate. Remember which way to go?”

“I remember.”

She was supposed to take the long way around, behind the buildings, through the far pastures, then follow the fence line to the gate and ride to the hollow. Merrill had taken Marble for a ride, away from the hollow, so Wonder wouldn't have to adjust to too many new things at once.

“Be good and quiet now, Wonder.” Ben slipped her an acorn. “If she makes a fuss, dismount and try to lead her instead.”

“She won't fuss.”

“No.” Ben stroked Wonder's flank. “I don't think she will.”

Twig waited just outside the hollow until she saw Ben breathlessly approaching behind her. From the hollow, Indy neighed a curious, longing greeting, but stayed put, as he'd been taught. Twig was glad—Ben should be there when Indy met Wonder for the first time. Wonder sniffed and replied, anxiously leaping against Twig's attempts to hold her back.

Ben hurried to Indy, and Twig rode Wonder in. She dismounted, keeping hold of the young unicorn. But there was no need for concern. Wonder bowed her head, and Indy nuzzled his daughter, welcoming her to his side.

Once they were outside the fence and in the woods, Twig mounted Wonder again. Twig felt her own excitement echoed in Wonder's prance. The unicorn seemed to welcome the challenge, the chance to be like Indy. Wonder's muscles moved beneath Twig, ripples of energy that stirred her heart. She bounced straight up in the air, so high that Twig thought her insides would be left behind. Wonder landed and danced triumphantly.

I
did
it! I can jump like no one else, even with this girl on my back.
No doubt Wonder would love to show this trick off to the ponies.

Indy, bearing Ben, neighed a calming warning, then bounded deeper into the woods. Wonder followed, more purposefully now, leaping just high enough to clear the underbrush, up and over, in a steady rhythm, copying Indy's pace. They glided through the mist, leaving Twig's troubles on the ground. Wonder was a streak of white, Twig's jacket no longer a shell but a wave of bright red, her hair flowing like Wonder's mane and tail.

But as they rode, the night grew mistier around them, the trees and the brambles harder to see. Wonder kept up her swift pace, her enthusiasm undaunted by the near-blinding mist. Twig's heart raced. The reins grew slick with the moisture in the air, her hands slippery with the cold sweat of fear.

The fog wrapped itself around them, cutting them off from Ben and Indy. They had to turn back, but she couldn't see. They were lost, caught in the web of mist, helpless prey.

Wonder tossed her head wildly.

“Ben!” Twig screamed.

Wonder leaped and reared. Twig lurched and lost the reins; she grasped at the chill winter air. She flew upward, grazing a tree branch, and then she was tumbling down. Leaves brushed her face and things crunched around her. Her elbow struck something hard. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. She waited for a howl, for a horn to strike.

A scuffle of hooves in the mist. Ben's muffled voice.

Hoof steps approached, but instead of a howl, there was a familiar nicker. Wonder nuzzled Twig's face, whinnying her concern. Ben, still riding Indy, held Wonder's reins.

“Twig? What happened?”

“That you, Ben-boy? What's going on?” Merrill's voice called in the distance. Marble whinnied anxiously.

“I'm all right.” Twig wobbled to her feet, still shaking.

Light bobbed in the mist, and Merrill rode into view, Marble's reins in one hand, a lantern in the other.

Indy gave Marble a warning neigh.
This
is
my
kid. Don't mess with her.

Marble took a step back.

“So, Twig-girl,” Merrill said, holding Marble steady, “how's that first ride going?”

Twig looked down at her boots.

“I took enough tumbles myself when I first started. It's a wonder you made it this far with a feisty young one like this. Never even known a saddle, has she?”

“That's what Twig's named her now—Wonder.”

“Is that right? Don't you worry, Twig. You're the one who's given her what she needs since the day she was born. She's happy to give you her heart in return. But you must teach her how to know what you want, what you need.”

“How to not toss me into the bushes.” Twig rubbed her sore elbow.

Merrill laughed softly. “Yes. But you must learn to trust her at the same time. You were frightened by the mist?”

“I couldn't see Indy. I couldn't see anything.”

“But Wonder could,” Ben said.

“You're her rider. She felt your fear even more powerfully than Indy's lead.”

“So she got spooked,” Twig said.

“That's right.” Marble whinnied at Wonder, and Merrill stroked his neck, calming him. “Why don't we let these two meet each other properly and then give it another try? You'll follow Ben and Indy. Just make a nice, wide circle, Ben, and come right back to me.”

Twig hesitated.

Ben leaned down. “You can do this, Twig. You're her rider. It isn't easy in the mist, at night, over rough ground, but it's better this way, don't you think?”

“It's how I'll have to ride, if—when we go after Dagger.”

“That's right,” Merrill said. “You'll learn to ride, to stay on even when your unicorn charges.”

“Eventually, you'll learn to shoot while you ride, like me.”

It was so much, and there was so little time. Twig hopped back up into the saddle. She rubbed Wonder's neck. “We can do it,” she whispered. “You're my Wonder after all.”

***

Twig touched a fingertip gently to the fresh paint. It was dry enough. She couldn't stop thinking about last night, about leaning into Wonder's neck as she flew through the woods, about the way Wonder had begun to respond to her commands and her subtle nudges as she rode. She cleaned up her mess in the carport and picked up the wooden plaque. Balancing its edges between her fingertips, she carried it to the stable.

She paused at her pony's stall. “Hey there, Rain Cloud.” He'd never been jealous of Wonder before. Would he now? The Murleys might not know what she and Ben were up to at night, but there was no hiding it from the ponies. Rain Cloud had seemed to catch Indy's scent on Wonder when Twig brought her back to the stable. The unicorn and the pony had a little conversation about it. Twig was pretty sure that Rain Cloud knew the baby he'd watched over since her arrival had met her father.

Rain Cloud gave Twig an indignant blow.

“Come on, don't pout. I can't scratch your belly with my hands full. I'll be back.”

Twig proceeded to the bigger stall at the end of the stable. Mr. Murley had taken Caper's plaque down recently and hung it in the den. Twig held the plaque she'd just painted up to the stall door, trying to eye the right spot, to make sure it looked just right. Wonder Light poked her head out and nuzzled Twig's neck. Twig laughed. The unicorn knew how to tickle her, and she returned Twig's laugh, as always, with her own nickery one.

Mr. Murley emerged from the tack room, whistling. “What've you got there, Twig?”

Twig held the plaque up. Her smile wavered and her hands shook a little. Mr. Murley came closer.

“Wonder Light?”

“That's her name.”

“Not Wild Light?” he said gently, reaching out to tip up her chin with his hand.

“Not anymore. I like to call her Wonder.”

Twig held her head up straight, the way the Murleys always wanted her to. She made herself look Mr. Murley right in the face, the way Ben did when he was being brave. “Will you help me put it on? We're sure about each other now. I know I can't start riding her right now, since she's so young…” Twig swallowed back the truth. The Murleys wouldn't understand that this creature wasn't like a horse of the same age, that she could be ridden. “But…since I'm going to be here for a while…”

They both knew she was asking for more than his help; she was asking for the beautiful little filly—now nearly a mare herself—that had taken the place of his beloved mare.

Mr. Murley put his arm around her shoulders. “Sure, Twig. I'll go and get my drill.”