River's Song

It was the funniest thing you see; many times, people walked straight into those acres of boreal forest that certain authorities had forbidden them to access. Among these folks, were adolescents looking for adventures, hunters hoping for illegal profits, fugitives looking for places of refuge. But in rare cases, there were also those who entered searching for someone, some name that was lost among the evergreens. And within those who had found what they were looking for, there was one rather peculiar individual.

He came on a fall evening, when the sun was still on its way to meet the earth. His name was Albus, the first child of the Dumbledores, who were shepherds living in the Highlands for centuries.

That was a hard time. The Great War was at its height, the earth’s surface was scorched with fires and poisons, fields reek of decomposition. Hunger strike like vultures, peeking into ever decaying homes, preying on its latest victims.

Albus was one of the three Dumbledore children left behind when their father and mother were drafted to fight, they were all trusted in the care of Albus’s grandmother, Eleanor. Eleanor was a graceful lady; she spent most of her days talking to the Fairies that were migrating through spring.

Albus speak no Faerie, nor did his siblings, it was an antiquated language that has been eclipsed by all the new tongues men had come up with. It has complicated grammar yet serves no usage in the rapidly spinning world. Even the Fairies themselves started to speak something else, a beautiful new creole that sounded like music yet illegible in human ears. But Grandma Eleanor still likes good old Faerie, she had learnt it from her great-great grandfather, who was a fearsome warlock that once defeated the army of Goblins that invaded the valley. She talks to the Fairies, of their family, their migration, and sometimes, of the unicorns.

Unicorns were a specialty in the Highlands, which was rumoured to be one of the last homes these beautiful creatures had on earth. The patriarch of one of the Fairies tribes claimed that he had just seen the Unicorn herd on the other side of the mountains.

“The King is still here, just up the hills among those dense trees. He protects the Herd; the hunters are no use.” Thus said the Fairies patriarch to Grandma Eleanor.

There were many myths about the Great King of the Unicorns, some, mostly hunters that came back empty handed, said that he was a tower like warrior who can command an army of giants. Others, mostly elders that sometimes go up the mountains to collect Saussurea, said he was the ghost of a boy that once lived in the village long ago.

The boy, according to some elders, was an orphan who ran away from the south during the great famine. He came in the winter of the 49 and would sometimes sleep in people’s backyard. The villagers bathed him and fed him; during the night they gave him some rags to cover up his body. In return the boy would tend the villagers' sheep. He eventually died in the mountains after getting attacked by the wolves, his limbs were brought back by the unicorns, while his spirits linger with the Herd. When you follow the Herd, they shall lead you to the boy.

The Fairies, of course, would reject such sentimental tales. In the wonderful songs and poems these beautiful creatures had written, the Great King was an ancient deity that has no earthly form. He was the hands that wrote the rules, the eyes that watched over the crowds. He was the beginning and the end, the God of life and death. He protects the unicorns as they still believe in Him.

But the Fairies themselves don't believe in the Great King, at least not for a long time. There were still a few tribes that migrated from the continent to the Highlands every decade or so in hope of seeing the unicorns, but they wouldn’t follow the Herd anymore. They no longer needed to go into the woods to ask for the King’s blessing, for they were strong enough to bless themselves. They had wings that could transport themselves for thousands of miles just in fractions of times, they had potions that could grant them life in eternity.

The first time Albus went to the woods to look for the King was with his brother Aberforth, who, after listening to the elders’ stories, insisted on meeting the King to ask the whereabouts of his two missing lambs. It was a tiresome search; the pair sneaked out before Grandma Eleanor could cook them breakfast. It was a cold foggy day up in the mountains, they had spent all morning and afternoon running up and down the hills looking for the Herd, yet not even a single feather of the unicorns was seen. By the time the sun had hit the western horizon, Aberforth was exhausted and fell asleep on Albus’s back. Just when Albus was about the head down back to the valley, he saw an Oak tree in front of him, an unusual species to be found at such altitude. That was an enormous tree, perhaps the most massive Albus had ever seen in his life. It is also dying; its roots and core were eaten away by the termites and fungus. At the foot of this forest giant, a boy stood.

He was about the same age as Albus, with bright red hair and shiny green eyes in the shape of almonds. Beside him there were two lambs, their wools were as white as white could be.

Albus’s next meeting with the King was almost five years after his first. In those five years, Albus changed from a cheerful child into a shy recluse teenager. Those were not good years. Each year, there were fewer and fewer Faries migrating from the Continents, fewer and fewer sightings of the Unicorns. The valley was dying, young men and women are fleeing. The war was spreading like a plague, it seems like it was only a matter of time before the Highlands were infected with armies and bullets.

It was a hot summer morning when Albus and Aberforth left the house with Ariana, their young sister. They were in the hope of finding some restricted potion ingredients to exchange for some gold coins. The children were trading with a businessman named Elphias. Who once grew up in the valley and moved to the Riverside during his twenties. He now owns a sizeable apothecary in which business was blooming with wartime supply orders. Grandma Eleanor was not supportive of such activities, as she despised Elphias, who, in her opinion, was a greedy traitor with wit equal to that of a chimpanzee.

It was a search started with joy, as the siblings sang and danced along the way. The children of the Dumbledore were all very musical, Albus was the singer of the group, while Aberforth played the hunting horns and Ariana was a natural for the recorders. They were growing fast, Aberforth was getting taller every day and clearly inherited the strong body frame from Eleanor; Ariana on the other hand was showing wisdom that went beyond her youthful demeanour.

It was beside the moon-lit creek Albus had seen Unicorns for the first time. It was a young creature, not yet full of feathers on its wings. The creature had noticed the existence of Albus, its ribcage shook violently out of fear, then ran away to the other side of the creek. The King was standing beside the young creature. This time, he was a boy a little older than Albus, his hair was black, and his eyes were grey. He smiled nervously while whispering songs to calm the Unicorn. It was a strange tone, something ancient that can’t be understood.

The third time Albus had met the King was during the most desperate moment of his life. It was a year after the war, his father had been brought back home. His wand snapped; his body lies beneath a red cross lifeless. His grandmother was talking to Mr. Joseph about embalming and funeral services. Albus ran up hill with a knife in his hand, his friend Gallert had told him that unicorn blood can bring back life. It was a cold autumn day, late in the afternoon, grey clouds cast shadows on the diminishing sun.

“Just a small cut Albus, one drop. It won’t hurt the animal.” Gallert said with a smile on his face, he was a soldier from the continent. His troops set up a camp in the north of the valley.

He did find a Unicorn this time, it was standing there in front of him. The creature already knew what Albus’s intentions were. It reached its neck to him, offering to be cut. But Albus did not do it, instead he cried. He cried like he never did before, his throat gagged like being choked. He cried and screamed, until passing out.

When Albus woke up he was in the depth of the forest, an old man stood in front of him, the unicorn was nowhere to be seen.

“My child, what do you wish for?” The man asked.

“I want the one who loved me.” Albus answered.

The man smiled; his white hair shined in the morning sun like gold. He reached out to Albus, patted lightly on his shoulders.

“Now go. Go to the one who loves you.” The man said, then vanished into the woods.

When Albus reached his house, he saw his father standing in the doorway to greet him, he saw his grandmother whispering to the fairies in the front yard, his brother holding up a lamb, his sister playing with her China dolls.

In Albus’s room, in the bottom left drawer under the bed, there was a single piece of Unicorn tail hair hidden beneath the layers of books and cloth.