Split Infinity

They ran until well clear of the herd. Then they slowed, their harmony slowing with them. Neysa finally deposited Stile by a handsome nut tree and started grazing. It was the middle of the day: lunch break. She would probably insist on grazing for an hour or more, and he did not begrudge her that. She needed her strength, still not entirely restored after yesterday’s trial. He removed the saddle and set it under the tree.

The strange unicorn did not graze. He watched Stile, looking him up and down. He took a step forward, horn pointed at Stile’s navel. The musical instrument was now a weapon, without doubt. Stile stood still, chewing on a nut, relaxed but ready to move in a hurry if the creature charged.

The unicorn blew a single derisive note, shimmered—and became a man. The man was clothed. He wore furry leather trousers, a blue long-sleeved shirt, solid low boots, red socks, and a floppy light-blue hat. His hands were covered by heavy fiber gloves. A rapier hung at his side.

Astonished, Stile stared. A Citizen—here?

“So thou’rt the creep who’s been messing with my sister!” the man said, his right hand fingering the hilt of the rapier.

Just what he needed: a protective brother! Now Stile saw the forehead spike, similar to Neysa’s. No Citizen; ordinary people wore clothing here, he remembered now. “It was voluntary,” Stile said tightly.

“Ha! I saw her charging up Snow Mountain yesterday, trying to shake thee off. Thou’rt lucky she changed not into a firefly and let thee drop in a crevasse!”

Oh. The unicorn was talking about the day, not the night. “She changes into a firefly, too?”

“And pray what’s wrong with that? Most beasts are lucky if they can change into one other form. We each have two.” He shimmered again, and became a hawk.  The bird winged upward at a forty-five-degree angle, then looped and dived toward Stile.

Stile threw himself aside—and the man was back, appearing just as the bird seemed about to crash into the ground. “Well, there’s no accounting for tastes.  Thou’rt a shrimp, and thou’rt naked, but if she lets thee ride her I can’t say nay. I want thee to know, though, that she’s the best mare in the herd, color or not.”

“Color?” Stile asked blankly.

“Don’t tell me thou noticed not! Let me warn thee, man-thing: an thou dost ever use the term ‘horse-hued’ in her presence, I will personally—“

Neysa had come up behind her brother. She blew a warning note.

“All right, already!” he snapped. “She is one season my senior; I may not talk back to her. But remember what I say: there is nothing wrong with Neysal”

“Nothing at all,” Stile agreed. “She’s the finest-performing and finest-looking mare I’ve encountered.”

The man, evidently braced for doubt or argument, was briefly nonplused. “Uh, yes. Exactly. Then let’s get on with it. What’s thy problem?”

“My name is Stile. I am a stranger in this world, without information or clothing, someone is trying to kill me, and magic is being performed around me whose ultimate purpose I can not fathom.” Stile had the gift for succinct expression, when required.

“So.” The man frowned. “Well, my name is Clip. I’m Neysa’s little brother. She wants me to help thee, so I’ll help. I’ll fix thee up with information and clothing. And a weapon to defend thyself from thine enemy. As for the magic—concern thyself not about it. Unicorns are immune to magic.”

“Immune!” Stile expostulated. “Here you stand, a shape-changing unicorn, and you tell me—“

 “Other magic, nit. Of course we do our own, though easy it is not. Like learning another language—which is part of shape-changing, of course; can’t be human if thou canst not talk human idiom. Can’t be avian if thou canst not fly. So most unicorns bother not. But none other can change a unicorn, or enchant one. Or anyone in contact with a unicorn. Was that not why thou didst desire her? So long as thou stayest with Neysa—“ He frowned. “Though why she’d want to stay with thee—“ Neysa’s note of protest cut him off again. “Well, there’s no comprehending the ways of mares.” He began to remove his clothing.

“No comprehending!” Stile agreed. “Look, Clip—I rode Neysa as a challenge, because I needed a mount.  In the end I couldn’t keep her—but she joined me by her own choice. I don’t know why she didn’t jump off the mountain and change into a firefly and let me drop to my death, as I gather she could have—“ And he had thought he was sparing her, when he released her at the ledge! “And I don’t know why she’s not talking to me now. When she—changed to human form, all she said was my name. She didn’t explain anything.” At the time he had thought no explanations were necessary; he had been naive!