Ariel Read Free

ferociously when cornered. They are traditionally pictured as being cloven-hoofed. My unicorn ( my unicorn!) wasn't. No illustrations showed the prism effect of the light on the coat, nor did any have silver hooves. The Encyclopedia Britannica said the legend had originated in Greece about the time the Greeks began trading with the Egyptian Empire, and that it probably sprang from muddled accounts of the oryx or the rhinoceros.
    I laughed, and the unicorn watched curiously.
    You had to be a virgin to touch a unicorn  .  .  .  .
    A flush crept up my neck. Okay, so I'd touched her. Being a virgin had some advantages after all. Hooray.
    I read until the light was too dim to see by, then set the book aside, rubbed my eyes, and made a small supper. The unicorn just wanted another piece of candy.
    I was dying for a cigarette. Earlier in the day I had opened up the pack and found them gone.
    "Hey," I'd said to the unicorn, "did you do something with my cigarettes?"
    "Bad," was all she replied.
    To vent the jitters I was getting from my nicotine fit, I decided to take a walk around the library. There was a browse-a-book section filled with art collections and paperbacks, and on one stand was a largish softcover that had a painting of a unicorn on the front. It was golden and quite beautiful, but nothing compared to the real thing. I picked it up and held it high, squinting in the dying light.
    Ariel , proclaimed the title. The Book of Fantasy .
    "Ariel." I said it out loud, liking the sound. It was light and sounded like silver. What the hell. I couldn't keep calling her "unicorn," and Ariel was as good a name as any and better than most.
    I carried the book to the unicorn. "Ariel," I told her. "That's your name, okay?"
    She snorted.
    "I'll take one snort to mean yes and two for no."
    One more snort.
    "Ariel it is, then."
    I set it atop some books on magic and witchcraft I had put aside to read while I walked the next day. Ariel seemed to know I was getting ready to go to sleep and began to pace restlessly around the library. She had tried to lie down earlier, but the splint was too uncomfortable.
    I squirmed into my sleeping bag and sleep came quickly.
    Just before I dozed off I thought, I wonder if she'll ever learn more than baby talk?
    Two
     
    How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child.
    —Shakespeare , King Lear
     
    "Hey, Pete—get your ass in gear!"
    Ariel and I traveled along the abandoned Interstate. We usually didn't say much as we walked; there didn't seem to be a need to. But today I was lagging behind somewhat. I was footsore and fatigued; she was eager and almost hyper. I got the feeling she was a bit apprehensive about going into Atlanta; she was in a hurry to get there and get out again.
    I walked with my head bowed, watching the pavement seem to flow beneath my feet. Every so often one of Ariel's marvelous hooves slid along the asphalt and a stream of sparks scattered. The novelty of walking on paved road never seemed to wear thin on her.
    A unicorn is a rare enough thing to see; burdened ones are unheard of. But she never complained about having to carry one of my packs and whatever weapons I happened to possess at the time. Today I carried the blowgun, broken down and slung onto the magnesium frame of my backpack where I could get to it quickly. Two bags were slung across Ariel's back, and the handle of a pair of 'chuks dangled from a pocket. Poking from the top of her pack was a crossbow, which I'd use only if all else failed. It was powerful and good for long distances, but unwieldy and time-consuming to reload.
    Ariel looked at me as I caught up to her. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Tired?"
    I nodded.
    "How much farther?"
    I reached back and dug out the map from a side pocket, unrolled it, and traced a finger down a line marked US 23/41 . "Let's see  .  .  .  . We left Macon when?"
    "Two days ago."
    "Right. We've been doing a little less than twenty miles a day, and it's