Skandar and the Unicorn Thief: Chapters 12–15

Much to Bobby's annoyance, the Hatchlings had not been allowed to attend the Earth Festival at the beginning of August, when everyone had swapped their yellow jackets for the green of the earth season. According to the instructors, it had coincided with a crucial point in their training, although Bobby had insisted this was “very convenient.”

“Always a pleasure,” Bobby called after her, doffing an imaginary cap.

He could see the tendons and bones of his arm through the skin.

“Arghhh.” Joby tugged at the end of his ponytail, jerking his head back in anguish. “We can’t even be talking about this, Skandar!”

Then, for some inexplicable reason, Joby removed the boot from his left foot and peeled off a mustard-colored sock.

Joby’s eyes shone with manic determination.

“He’s shocked me twice, sent a fireball at my leg, and practically chased me from the stable with a water jet. Is that normal?”
“Scoundrel’s a bit lively at the moment,” Skandar said sheepishly—the understatement of the century.

Like all the other blacksmiths, he was also wearing a very grubby leather apron with a belt full of tools at his waist.

“Have you heard much about the Weaver recently?” He’d never really met an Islander who didn’t live in the Eyrie before, and wondered what he could glean from Jamie.

He brandished the measuring tape at Skandar. “Your turn!”

That evening, the sound of raindrops echoed across the roofs of the Eyrie like hands slapping steel drums. Each treehouse had its own special rhythm to add to the cacophony that filled the night air.

But not even the rain could dampen Skandar’s spirits.

“What are you saying?” Flo asked, full of trepidation.

“Mitchell, your dad’s in charge of the imprisoned spirit wielders, right?”
Mitchell looked very wary. “Yes…”

“Well, I do have one suggestion…,” Mitchell mused.

The effect was rather smelly and gory, the white snowdrifts turning pinkish red, and the riders didn’t really fancy making snowballs after that.

And things got even more raucous when the other Hatchling unicorns arrived for training and joined the bloody feast.

“Today you’ll be summoning waves with water magic. Waves are useful in attack or defense because of the sheer amount of water they generate. For example”—Instructor O’Sullivan always gave examples—“I once saw a rider use the air element to electrify a tidal wave so large, it took out half the unicorns in the Chaos Cup.”

Whether a treehouse was single-story and modest, or built like a higgledy-piggledy tower into the sky, scarlet reds clashed with canary yellows, piercing sky blues with leaf greens—even the trunks and branches of the trees were decorated with fabric.

I don’t trust anyone, especially not snooty Mitchell Henderson.

“If you’re serious, take this. Let me know, d’you hear? And don’t tell a soul,” said a man with auburn hair, pressing a piece of paper into a blond woman’s hand.

With each winding turn, the crowds thinned out. Away from the hubbub of Element Square, the streets soon became dark and deserted—with the festival in full flow, everyone was out enjoying themselves.

Bobby scowled at him and dismounted from Falcon’s Wrath, giving her reins to Skandar so she and the other three unicorns could hide out of sight in a small copse.

With a jolt he realized that the four chains were each tinged with one of the elemental colors; he felt more like an illegal spirit wielder than ever.

“My father taught me how to get into the prison in the event of his untimely death. To fetch his belongings, papers, that sort of thing.”

“Okay, okay,” Mitchell said brusquely.

Was Skandar being naive to think that Mitchell was now his friend? The fire wielder might have gotten them into the prison, but what if he wasn’t planning to let them out? What if he was helping his father catch another spirit wielder?

“Skandar,” a frail voice called out. “Wait.” A hand reached through the bars a little way ahead. A pale hand with gnarled knuckles, as though its owner had been in a fight.

A thick white leather-bound book appeared through the bars. It was just light enough for Skandar to make out a symbol—four entwined gold circles. Embossed gold lettering on its cover said: The Book of Spirit.

Those allied to the element of spirit have an affinity with wild unicorns that can be explained by their link to the bond, which is unmatched by wielders of other elements.

In a frenzy, Skandar sprinted back toward his friends, who were looking wildly around for him, their hands over their ears.

“Could we maybe delay book club while we try not to DIE?” Bobby shouted as they headed for the exit, her face set in a grimace against the stampede siren’s incessant wailing.

The night air roared around Skandar, buffeting him this way and that, lifting his hair off his forehead.

Skandar had never gone so quickly from pure terror to unbridled joy. Flying was wonderful.

And Instructor Saylor—the glamorous air instructor—appeared serene, though all the veins on her arms were pulsing dangerously with electricity.

A man with light brown skin and a long dark plait stood silently between the instructors. One braid was blue and alive, running down his back like a waterfall.

With a final cursory glance at the group, Ira Henderson swept away into the night, without even a word of goodbye to his son.

But Mitchell came back down the ladder almost immediately, carrying a large rectangular object under one arm.
“Is that...a blackboard?” Bobby asked incredulously.

“But since I met all of you, I’m beginning to deduce that there could be more to life than trying to prove to my father that I’m worth his time. You see, it’s hard to make friends when your own father doesn’t think you’re interesting. I didn’t really think anyone would want to be my friend. And then you get actual bullies like Amber and it sort of confirms the theory.”

And all he knew about his allied element so far was a few snippets from The Book of Spirit and the evil acts of the Weaver. Finding out more about spirit might just be his chance to learn more about himself—to have a chance at belonging.