Gillie Blue's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The dark trees closed over Gillie and the unicorn like a lid. Under the split birch the air had held some sun. Ten steps past it, the light thinned to gray. Gillie could still see the unicorn's white flank ahead of her, but the trail between the roots was already going soft at the edges. She checked her watch. An hour until dusk, maybe less under this canopy. She had a flashlight at home on the kitchen counter. She had matches in the pack, but nothing dry enough to burn long. If night fell here, she would lose her friend's trail and probably her own. The unicorn stopped. It looked back at her, then at the ground. Gillie crouched. A boot print, half filled with leaves. Red thread caught on a thorn. Her friend had come this way. She pressed the thread flat against her palm and made herself breathe. "I need light," she said. "I can't track him in the dark." The unicorn walked to a thick stand of ferns beside the path. It lowered its horn and touched one frond. Gillie pushed the fronds apart with her stick. A butterfly sat on the underside of a leaf. Its wings were the color of a lit lamp. A red ladybug clung to its back. When the butterfly opened its wings, the ground under the ferns turned gold. Gillie could see every root, every beetle, every wet stone. She held out her hand slowly. The butterfly stepped onto her knuckle. The ladybug did not move. The light came with them, a small clean circle around her fist. "Thank you," she said. She meant it for all three of them. She stood and lifted her hand. The circle widened enough to show the next boot print, and the next. The unicorn started walking again. Gillie followed with her stick in one hand and the butterfly in the other. Above the canopy the sky was going the color of iron, but inside her circle it stayed bright. They walked for a long time. The prints led downhill, then along a shallow creek, then up between two mossy boulders. Gillie kept her hand steady. The butterfly did not tire. At the top of the rise she stopped. Below her, in a hollow choked with vines, something red lay on the ground. A jacket sleeve. Not moving. Gillie's throat closed. She started down the slope, faster than the unicorn, faster than was safe. Her stick caught a root and she stumbled but did not fall. The light in her hand bounced with her. She reached the hollow. The sleeve was empty. The jacket had been torn off at the shoulder and left in the dirt like a marker. Something had taken him further in. She closed her fist gently around the butterfly and looked at the unicorn. "Deeper," she said. "We have to go deeper."