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It was raining. The kind that poured relentlessly from the sky like it had a personal grudge against you. Despite being blind, Arthur could vividly imagine the storm he was currently caught up in. He shivered violently and wrapped his right arm around his chest as a half-ditch effort to conserve the scraps of warmth in his body. His other arm hung limply at his side- it did not belong to him as it once had.
“I don’t even know why I bother with you, John.” Arthur spat, feeling John’s mental presence shrink at the venom in his words.
It had only been a month or so, he realized, that John had first occupied his mind. An eldritch being from another plain, a creature that had once been a god, and through trial and tribulation, had become his friend.
And he had betrayed him.
“I see you, John.” Arthur said with an almost desperate hunger. “Constantly struggling within your battle to change, to be something new, but the more you try, the further you seem to be dragged beneath. And I understand, I do. I understand how difficult it is to deal with your emotions- being human is- well its hard.”
He raised his head to the sky, trying to stop the tears that pricked at the edge of his eyes. Arthur was the one here who had borne the brunt of John’s pain and his angry words. Every betrayal cutting even deeper every time, while he was convinced it would be the last.
“It’s tiring for me, especially since I can see the good in you- and you don’t seem to believe that I can. I know… I know you’re afraid. Of my judgement, of me… of me turning on you for what you did- but believe me when I say I would have forgiven you in a heartbeat if you had been honest with me.”
John wanted to curl in on himself, he wanted to shrink into nothingness as if he’d never been, to erase any trace of his voice and his memory of the world. He also wanted to lash out, just as Arthur said, he wanted to defend himself with harsh words, excuses for his behaviour, he wanted to say things that he would regret as soon as he said them.
He knew everything Arthur said was right, painfully right, and he had nothing to say for himself. He felt the guilt of hurting Arthur again, the betrayal weighed heavy on his corporal heart like a sack of rocks.
For the first time, John found himself unable to say anything at all.
“John?” Arthur asked hesitantly, traced with fear as he wondered if his companion was truly gone.
“I-“ He broke off when he realized his words felt caught as if in a snare.
John felt afraid of Arthur hearing the emotion in his voice. What could he possibly say to Arthur, that didn’t turn out angry, or making everything worse, how could he apologize or explain himself without it coming out wrong?
“Act like a toddler then, that’s fine!” Arthur snapped, rising to his feet.
He groaned, wiping his hand across his face to dry it, with little avail. “Where are we, John?” He asked, his voice barely rising over the howl of the wind.
Forcing the words out, he replied. “I- I don’t know. I think we’re at the edge of a forest. We are surrounded by tall, looming pine trees. The sun still hangs high in the sky, but despite the brightness there is a sort of gloominess about the landscape. Fog is thick between the trees, and the sky is grey with clouds... I see a few deer feeding a few meters from us. They seem docile enough, they’re not running away in our presence.”
“For gods sake.” Arthur cursed, though he had to calm his temper. “What else can you see?”
“There is a simple dirt road not far from where we stand.”
“We should follow that, then. Hopefully it will lead us… somewhere.”
The soil beneath them was wet and covered in a layer of melting snow, and quickly enough his shoes were soaked through. They trudged on, following the road hoping it would take them somewhere.
In the silence, Arthur considered the recent events. After John had made a deal with the god Kayne behind his back, they had been sent from 1933 to about 700 years prior, sometime in the 1200s. They had one task, as difficult as it was simple, to recover the Blackstone and give it to Kayne in exchange for returning home. Arthur didn’t want to get caught up in his hopelessness about their quest.
Weighing the odds, he was sure there was a very slim chance of them coming out of this alive, never mind finding the Blackstone. But they had beaten the odds over and over again, and despite his anger with his friend, John was the one who had pulled him through it. His thoughts were broken abruptly when John let out a gasp.
“What is it?” Arthur demanded, immediately on edge.
"Along the path walks a... a white mare, but-"
"John?"
"There is a large, thin horn protruding from its head, the tip of it is sharp and glistening like a dewdrop in the sun."
"... a unicorn." Arthur breathed, wishing that he had control of his sight and could gaze upon the strange, mystical creature himself.
He continued his description in awe, but unlike his usual narration of the horrific creatures they faced, his voice held a sense of reverence. "To call it anything like a horse wouldn't be doing it justice. Its flank is the pale colour of snowdrops, its legs thin and delicate, walking so softly and so smoothly, the creature could almost be a breeze. Its eyes are ancient, though… they hold a sense of sorrow in them. It holds its head with the demeanor of a creature whose mind is heavy with the weight of incomprehensible grief.”
Arthur drank in John's narration, feeling almost as if he could reach out and touch the animal, sensing the hauntingly beautiful presence of the unicorn.
"Beside the unicorn walks a man, so overshadowed by the creature’s beauty that he may as well be a shadow himself. He is tall, wearing a long black coat which is torn and frayed at the edges, and a wide brimmed hat. He carries a wooden staff as he walks, his eyes glinting an unnatural green in the light. Both of them walk with a weary purpose."
“Same as us, I suppose.” Arthur said quietly. “This world is much stranger than ours. More openly, it seems.”
“Should we approach them?” Asked John. “They’ll likely have a better idea of where we are and hopefully lend us directions or shelter.”
“But they may also be wary of a lone traveler appearing the way I do- from a different timeline. It could be risky. We may be attacked.”
“Maybe, but they seem unarmed. Unless you count the unicorn's horn,” he joked. “But unicorns are widely known for being pure creatures, and I doubt it would attack a lone traveler such as you.”
“Not alone, John.” Arthur corrected, softly.
“I… Yes. Should we approach them?”
Arthur agreed that it would be their best course of action. They continued down the path and from behind the bushes that concealed them from the man and the beast.
“Who goes there?” The tall man called out cautiously as Arthur approached, his fist visibly tightening around the staff.
“Just a traveler,” said Arthur, holding up his hands to show they were weaponless. “Just like you.”
“The man seems wary, but not frightened.” John described “There is something about him, though, just like the unicorn- something ancient and knowing. His gaze is searching your clothing, noting its strangeness.”
“A traveler, huh? You don’t look like you’re from around here.”
“N-no, I’m not,” he replied nervously. “My name is Arthur. I’ve been wandering for some time, I think I may be lost.”
“His gaze is still a little skeptical, though he looks sympathetic.” John explained.
“That makes the three of us, then.” The stranger replied. “My name is Schmendrick.”
“He’s holding out a hand for you to shake it,” John described.
Much like his own, the traveler's hands felt rough with the wear of hard work, though his fingers were long are scarred.
“Do you have a destination?” Arthur asked. “I have no knowledge of these parts.”
“Yes,” the man replied. “We are heading to Hagsgate.”
We? Arthur thought. “He seems to be referring to the unicorn.” John explained, as though sensing his confusion.
“Hagsgate?” He asked instead.
“It’s a town not far from here,” Schmendrick explained.
“Do you know of the Red Bull?” Another voice chimed in, a soft feminine tone that was, though gentle, was devoid of emotion.
“The unicorn.” John told him, sounding as amazed as Arthur felt.
“... You can hear her too?” Schmendrick asked, obviously noticing the shock on his face. “I thought I was the only one-”
“You can see me?” The unicorn demanded. “Tell me you can, human, you can really see me?”
“I...” He trailed off, unsure of how to explain. “Y-yes, I can. Is that unusual?”
“It is more than unusual,” she said. “Those who can are often only creatures like me, or magicians such as my companion.”
“Schmendrick shuffles his feet awkwardly, seeming displeased with unicorns mention of him being a magician.” John narrated. “The unicorn’s gaze settles on us, hard and searching.”
“Would you like to come with us?” Schmendrick asked. “At least, if that is what you so desire.”
“He addresses the unicorn, whose head dips slightly in agreement, neutral on the matter, like the decision will not effect her either way.”
“Alright.” Arthur agreed. He wasn’t sure if going to Hagsgate would even help them in their task, but it was better than nothing. His disliked the idea of having nowhere to go, no idea of their destination. He felt a sort of comfort about being with someone who knew their way around this timeline, either way.
As they walked, the rain ceased, and dawn followed at its hind. Schmendrick turned out to be easy conversation. Though surprisingly charismatic, he was also strangely melancholy and self-deprecating at times. Arthur found himself unable to tell his age. Meanwhile, the unicorn trotted quietly behind them.
When night fell, they decided to make camp at the edge of a wood. Arthur volunteered to collect firewood as a chance to talk to John again without appearing insane to his companions.
“What do you make of them?” Arthur asked.
“Odd.” John admitted. “The magician is more than he appears to be, I think. His face is young, but his eyes... they are that of a much older man.”
“Is that so?” Arthur mused. “I suppose that is not all too shocking. We probably make a strange sight as well, but he is too polite to mention it.”
“The unicorn, though.” John said. “I feel like she suspects us.”
Arthur didn’t have anything to say to that. After a few minutes of collecting wood, he spoke. “I’m sorry that you cannot talk with them. Or I with you, unless we are alone like this. I am aware that you feel... trapped. And seeing me being able to communicate freely with others reminds you of that.”
John did not reply, but he did not expect him to. “The sun lingers low in the sky, as if hesitant to dip below the horizon,” he narrated. “The dim light casting an orange glow over the distant hills, a few stray birds begin to circle, eager to snatch the first few insects of the night. It is rather peaceful.”
“I can imagine,” said Arthur, letting a trace of longing into his voice.
“You miss your sight.” John said, not as much as question but an observation.
“Here and there, yes.” He shifted his armful of wood. “But over these past for months it has begun to be second nature.”
They headed back to the campsite, for Arthur wasn’t keen on staying in the woods as the darkness set in.
“Schmendrick has cleared out an area, with a circle of rocks for a fire. He sits on a log, a somewhat large rabbit corpse by his side. He is sharpening a knife, presumably preparing to butcher his catch.”
Arthur’s mouth watered at the prospect of a meal. Straight away he went to creating the fireplace, placing the logs and sticks into a point, before using his lighter out of Schmendrick’s view. He wasn’t keen on explaining why and where he got the lighter, as in this age it hadn’t been invented yet.
“I see you’ve gotten the fire going already.” The man commented, surprised. “I could have used magic.”
Arthur found a seat opposite the traveler. “Is that so? I’m very curious about how your… magic works.”
“Magic is a tricky thing,” he said. “It doesn’t come naturally to everyone. It has its own mind and soul, you can’t always will it to follow a certain course.”
“How come? If magic is a kind of energy, wouldn’t it be like fire?” He gestured at the flames that flickered and crackled a few feet from him. “Can’t you contain it, force it into a form for your own use?”
“Perhaps,” he said, “but magic is less like fire and more like a stream. You can alter its path by using sticks and stones, change its course if you wish. But the stream still has a mind of its own, it still can choose to go in its own direction. As a magic wielder I can only suggest a way forward, but ultimately, the magic knows what it wants to be.”
Arthur nodded. “So, what are its limits and capabilities? Can you do anything if the magic lets you?”
“Not entirely. It can be used to manipulate the senses, disguise, change one thing from another or make an environment look and feel different from what it is like in reality.”
Arthur nodded slowly, understanding. “Magic cannot create new matter, it can only change something that has already existed.”
There was a lull in their conversation as the stranger quietly whistled a tune to himself.
John explained, “he has begun to butcher the rabbit carcass with a familiar hand.”
The sound of tearing and cutting meat made Arthur wince slightly. “It reminds me of things I’d rather not recall,” he told John, his voice merely a breath.
“You have no prior understanding of these things?” Schmendrick asked suddenly. “Magic, that is.”
“No, not until a few months ago,” he confessed. “But I have seen things beyond comprehension-“ he paused at the irony of his wording before continuing. “I have faced horrors… and beings and creatures that cannot be explained by normal means. I guess you could call them magic of a sort, but not the kind you have described.”
“Magical beings? Like the unicorn?”
“No, not like her,” he laughed dryly. “Not mythical creatures, and far too many to count of even attempt to explain.”
“The creatures you speak about, they are more malevolent ones.”
“You could say that.”
“The unicorn and I seek a beast such as that, one called the Red Bull. I imagine he is similar. Though, not all magical beings are evil.” Schmendrick argued. “Some of them can be docile and neutral if not bothered. Though if wronged, like a harpy for example, they can have a nasty temper.” He audibly shivered.
“I have had similar encounters,” he reminisced. “I suppose I tend to paint them all in the same light, but they are just complicated as we are, as humans.”
They fell into an easy silence as Schmendrick started to cut the pieces of rabbit and put them into a small dented pot over the fire, the sound and smell of meat filling Arthur’s senses. The wizard left to fetch water and herbs for the stew, leaving Arthur by the fire.
“It will be nice to eat,” he said. “I feel as though I haven’t eaten in years...” he trailed off, the hidden memories in his words leaving the both of them tense.
“It won’t like last time.” John reminded him. “I promise that.”
Arhtur nodded, about to speak again when his companion interrupted him.
“The unicorn has finally resurfaced, emerging so quietly from the dark depths of the wood that I didn’t notice her immediately.”
“Did she hear us?” Arthur hissed under his breath, startled.
“When you speak of painting all creatures in the same light,” the unicorn began, “one that is sick with anger and fear... does that also include the voice in your head?”
Arthur stared in her general direction, unable to respond.
“Or do you resent him as much as the others?” Her hoof steps were quiet as she strode closer, the leaves crunching ever so slightly beneath her weight. “Do you secretly shudder to consider what he may do... when he is wronged?”
“I-I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have misheard o-or-”
“Arthur, I have a bad feeling about this!” John warned.
“I wouldn’t say I misheard,” the unicorn spoke, “as I can hear his warnings.”
“... You can hear me?” John gaped. “How?!”
“The human world is desperate to forget the magic that once walked among them. They choose to be blind and deaf than to accept things beyond their comprehension.” She said with an air of distain. “But I am not so ignorant to the things that hide, even in the crevices of man’s mind.”
“That is not an answer.” John growled.
“So, you can hear him because... humans have chosen to be deaf to him? Is that why Schmendrick can’t?” Arthur asked.
“That is what I suspect,” she replied. “Though is more aware than others, despite his other flaws.”
“You were surprised that Arthur could see you,” said John. “Most humans cannot?”
“They can see me,” she said, bitterly. “Though, all they see is a white mare, not a unicorn. I presume that your host would see the same, if you hadn’t possession of his eyes. A magical being can always recognize another.”
“Both of our true identities are concealed.” John said. “Trapped within the image of something that humans are capable of understanding.”
All three of them fell silent as Schmendrick returned to the clearing, and added the water and whatever herbs he could find to the stew.
Arthur contemplated his recent discovery about the unicorn. He supposed John would have formed a sort of kinship with a creature in a position so much like himself. Even though John had come to terms with sharing Arthur’s body, he knew he still longed for the autonomy he used to have. Breaking his thoughts, Schmendrick offered Arthur a bowl of the rabbit stew. The bowl was wooden and crudely cut, paired with a dented metal spoon. He ate like a starved animal, too hungry to be ashamed of his lack of manners. The rabbit meat was tender and warm, falling apart in his mouth with little chewing necessary. He had had rabbit only a few times in his youth, when he was a part of the boys brigade. It tasted as he remembered, almost like chicken, but sweeter and more gamey. When he was done eating, his stomach felt, for the first time in months, full. He and Schmendrick fell into a comfortable silence, as was familiar after a good meal.
The magician quickly went to sleep, and Arthur found a place among tall grass at a comfortable distance, so he could speak to John without being heard.
“I suppose being sent to the 1200s could have been worse, considering how today went.” Arthur commented dryly.
“Don’t get your hopes up.” John warned.
He laughed softly, letting himself settle into the grass. “You’re probably right.”
“I’m always right.” John corrected dryly.
Arthur was already half asleep and too tired to respond. He fell into the first sleep devoid of nightmares that he had had for months. The unicorn watched from the trees, her eyes expressionless, and John felt her presence like a splinter that was somehow always there.