Tanith Lee - Black Unicorn

by Tanith Lee

Part One

The first thing Tanaquil saw almost every morning on waking was her mother's face. But that was because a painting of Tanaquil's mother, the sorceress Jaive, hung opposite the bed. The painting of Jaive had a great bush of scarlet hair in which various jewels, plants, implements, and mice and other small animals she used in her researches were caught. "Good morning, Mother," said Tanaquil to the picture, and the picture vigorously answered: "Rise with the sun, salute the day!" As it always did. Since it was anyway usually midmorning when Tanaquil woke up, the greeting was completely unsuitable.

Once the business with the picture was over, Tanaquil got out of bed and went to see what had been left for her breakfast. Sometimes nothing had. Today there were some pieces of cold toasted bread without any butter, an orange, and green herbal tea in a glass. Tanaquil tried the tea, then peeled the orange cautiously. As she split the segments a bird flew out.

"This way, this way," said Tanaquil impatiently to the bird as it dashed round the room, sticking its beak into the bed curtains. The bird hurtled to the window and flew into the hard red sunshine. Tanaquil stood at the window, looking away across the roofs and battlements of her mother's fortress, at the desert. It was the same view she had seen since she could remember. For nearly sixteen years this had been her bedroom and that had been the view. The long tawny sands, with their glints of minerals, which changed shape after the wind blew, the march of rock hills half a mile off, some pointed like cones, some with great natural archways that ran through them, showing the endlessness of the desert beyond. From any part of Jaive's fortress, if you looked out, this was the kind of thing you saw, dunes and rocks, and the hot sky. By day the fortress and the desert baked. At night it grew cold and a thin snow fell, the sand turned to silver and the stars burned white.

"Hey," said a high-pitched voice outside, "hey."

Tanaquil glanced and saw one of the peeves was sitting on the roof below her window. It was about the size of a large cat, with thick brown fur over a barrel-shaped body and short muscular legs. It gripped with three paws and with the fourth scratched itself busily. It had a long dainty muzzle, a bushy tail, and ears that would go up in points, although just now they flopped down. In its big yellow eyes was an urgent look.

"Want a bone," said the peeve.

"I'm sorry I haven't got one," said Tanaquil.

"No, no, want a bone," insisted the peeve. It hopped up the roof and jumped into the embrasure of the window like a fat fur pig. Tanaquil put out her hand to stroke the peeve, but it evaded her and plopped down into the room. It began to hurry about scratching at things and poking its long nose under the rug, upsetting the stool. It pattered across Tanaquil's work table, through her collection of easily damaged fossils, and over a small clock lying on its back. The peeve scattered cogs and wheels. It sprang. Now it was in the fireplace.

"There are no bones here," said Tanaquil firmly.

The peeve took no notice. "Want a bone," it explained, and knocked over her breakfast. The herbal tea spread across the floor, and the peeve drank it, sneezing and snuffling. A piece of toast had fallen on its head, and it threw it off with an irritated "Bone, bone."

Tanaquil sighed. She went into the marble bath alcove and pressed the head of the lion for a fountain of cool water to wash in. The water did not come. Instead a stream of sticky berry wine poured out.

"Oh, Mother!" shouted Tanaquil, furiously. She ran out, kicked the stool across the room, and then the pieces of bread. The orange had turned into a sort of flower that was growing up the left-hand pillar of the fireplace. The peeve was nibbling this. It turned and watched as Tanaquil dressed herself in yesterday's crumpled dress and ran a comb through her hair, which was a lighter red than Jaive's.

"Got a bone?"

"I haven't got a bone for heaven's sake! Be quiet."

The peeve sat down and washed its stomach, now muttering anxiously. "Flea, flea." Then abruptly it threw itself up the chimney and was gone, although a shower of soot fell down into the hearth.

Tanaquil left the room a moment after, slamming the door.

Four flights of wide stone stairs, with wooden bannisters carved with beasts, fruits, demons and so on, went up from Tanaquil's level to the haunt of her mother. On each landing there was an opening to the roof walks and battlements, and in one place Tanaquil saw three of the soldiers sitting on the wall playing a game of Scorpions and Ladders. They were all drunk, as usual, but, noting Tanaquil passing, one called out: "Don't go up, Lady. The sorceress is busy."

"Unfortunate," said Tanaquil. And she climbed the last flight, out of breath, and reached the big black door that shut off her mother's Sorcerium.

In the center of the door was a head of green jade, which addressed Tanaquil. "Do you seek Jaive?"

"Obviously."

"What is your name, and rank?"

"Tanaquil, her daughter."

The head seemed to purse its lips, but then the door gave a creak and swung massively open.

The chamber beyond was full of oily smoke and pale lightning flashes. Tanaquil was used to this. She walked in and found her way among looming chests and stands cluttered with objects, some of which cheeped and chittered. Suddenly there was a great mirror, and in it Tanaquil caught a glimpse of a burning city, towers and sparks and creatures flying through the air. Then the vision vanished, and the smoke sank. Jaive appeared out of the sinking smoke. She stood behind a table covered with books, globes of glass, instruments, wands, and colored substances that bubbled. In a large cage sat two white mice with rabbit ears and the tails of serpents, eating a sausage. Jaive wore a floor-length gown of black-green silk sewn with golden embroidery. Her flaming hair surrounded her face like the burning city in the mirror. She frowned.

"What do you want?" asked Tanaquil's mother.

"Would you like a list?" said Tanaquil.

"I am engaged" said Jaive.

"You always are. Did you enjoy your breakfast, mother? Mine had a bird in it and then turned into a flower. One of the peeves spilled the rest. My fountain water was berry wine. Most of my clothes have disappeared. I'm sick of it!"

"What is this nonsense?" said Jaive.

"Mother, you know that everything is in an eternal mess here because of your magic, because of leaks of power and side effects of incantations. It's awful."

"I search for knowledge," said Jaive. She added vaguely, "How dare you speak to your mother like this?"

Tanaquil sat down on a large dog of some kind that had temporarily turned into a stool.

"When I was little," said Tanaquil, "I thought it was wonderful. When you made the butterflies come out of the fire, and when you made the garden grow in the desert. But the butterflies went pop and the garden dissolved."

"These childish memories," said Jaive. "I've tried to educate you in the art of sorcery."

"And I wasn't any good at it," said Tanaquil.

"Dreadful," agreed her mother. "You're a mere mechanical, I'm afraid." She made a pass over a beaker and a tiny storm rose into the air. Jaive laughed in pleasure. Tanaquil's stomach rumbled.

"Mother," said Tanaquil, "perhaps I should leave."

"Yes, do, Tanaquil. Let me get on."

"I mean leave the fortress."

"Tiresome girl, where could you go?"

Tanaquil said, warily, "If my father"

Jaive swelled; her robe billowed and her eyes flashed; small faces, imps perhaps, or only tangles, looked out of her hair.

"I have never told you who your father was. I renounced him. I know nothing of him now. Perhaps he no longer lives."