Jonty's Unicorn

By Rebecca Fraser

In the quiet hamlet of Blaxby in the Kingdom of Irrawene, twelve-year-old Jonty Fairskye' s mother is gravely ill. A tonic from Dagatha, the fearsome witch who dwells in the dark heart of the Terrenwild Woods may be her only hope, but everyone knows Dagatha' s cures cost dearly— both in gold and regret.Determined to save her mother, Jonty resolves to enter the King' s Annual Horse Race on her beloved horse, Onyx. The prize, a pouch of gold— more than enough to pay Dagatha. When Jonty discovers Rose, an injured unicorn, during a woodland training session, she is wonderstruck. There hasn' t been a unicorn sighting in Irrawene for over a century. Jonty smuggles Rose back to the safety of her barn to recover. As the great horse race draws closer, disaster strikes and Jonty is forced to make a decision that will impact the lives of everyone she loves. Danger and betrayal lurk around every corner, and Jonty will learn that the true meaning of kindness and bravery comes down to how much you' re willing to sacrifice. Racing Stripes meets The Brothers Grimm in this page-turning fantasy for readers who love thrilling adventures filled with heart and humor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: IFWG Publishing International
• Release date: Apr 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781922856685

Rebecca Fraser

REBECCA FRASER is a writer and broadcaster whose book, The Story of Britain, was described as "an elegantly written, impressively well-informed single-volume history of how England was governed during the past 2000 years.’" A contributor to the BBC History website, she is the author of a biography of Charlotte Brontë, and introductions to the Everyman editions of Shirley and The Professor. She was President of the Bronte Society for many years.

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IFWG Titles by Rebecca Fraser

Middle Grade Fiction

Curtis Creed and the Lore of the Ocean

Jonty’s Unicorn

Adult Short Fiction Collection

Coralesque and Other Tales to Disturb and Distract

Other Titles by the Author

Sea Glass (Children’s Fiction)

Skippy Blackfeet (Children’s Fiction)

Write Around the Year: 365 Writing Prompts to Inspire and Ignite Creativity (Non-Fiction)

Jonty’s Unicorn

Rebecca Fraser

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters por­trayed here­in are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places, events or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manu­script are solely the opinions of the author and do not necessarily represent the opinions of the publisher.

Jonty’s Unicorn

All Rights Reserved

ISBN-13: 978-1-922856-68-5

Copyright ©2024 Rebecca Fraser

V1.0

This ebook may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mech­anical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

IFWG Publishing International

Gold Coast

www.ifwgpublishing.com

For Raffiella Jonti Capogreco

Chapter One

Outside the little cottage on the outskirts of Blaxby—the one with the white gate covered with roses—the sun was setting on another normal day. Inside the cottage, Jonty’s world was falling apart. She wondered if she’d ever know normal again.

Here, Mamma. Jonty held a spoonful of amber-hued liquid to her mother’s lips. It smelled faintly of cloves and other spices. Just one more mouthful.

She pushed the spoon gently into Mamma’s mouth and tipped it sideways. The medicine made Mamma cough—a wet, rattling sound that came from deep inside her chest. She fell back against the pillows Jonty had layered under her back for support.

Jonty’s eyes glittered with tears. When she tried to blink them back, they spilled down her cheeks. She slapped them away before Mamma could see, then replaced the cork stopper in the little bottle of medicine the doctor had given her and returned it to the bedside table.

When Jonty turned back, Mamma was smiling weak­ly up at her. The last rays of sunlight probing through the curtains to stroke her face with golden fingers made her skin look even paler. The winter had been particularly bad—long and savagely cold—with people falling ill all across Irrawene. But what ailed Mamma was no ordinary fever or seasonal chill. Whatever it was, no doctor could cure it, and the last of their money had been spent on medicines and tonics that did nothing to restore Mamma’s health. Even as the budburst of early spring began to breathe life back into the world, her skin had turned to paper, her ginger-soft curls had started to fall from her head, and with every passing day she grew increasingly listless and gaunt.

Jonty, Mamma croaked. Sit. She patted the daisy-patterned bedspread.

Jonty moved the tattered cloth-bound dictionary she’d been reading to Mamma to one side and sat on the edge of the bed.

I will not get better— Mamma held up a hand as Jonty opened her mouth to protest. Not by myself. That much is clear. We’ve tried every kind of remedy the doctor has prescribed, as well as the herbal tonics the Wise Woman has been good enough to make. Nothing has worked. I fear I may not live to see you turn thirteen, my dear one.

Jonty stretched her eyes to stop the fresh burn of tears. She picked at a faded embroidered petal on the bedspread and tried to swallow down the knot of fear and grief that had formed in her throat.

But I may know of another way to find a cure, Mamma said. It’s a last resort—not an option I’d ever consider under normal circumstances, but—

Jonty jerked her head up. What is it, Mamma? I’ll do anything. Just tell me what you need.

Mamma raised a hand to her daughter’s cheek and traced it with her finger. We may not be rich or have noble blood in our veins…but perhaps we can appeal to the heart of the witch.

The witch. Jonty’s breath came in a harsh gasp. She gaped at her mother. What are you saying? You think Dagatha’s magic will help us?

Just saying her name sent a trickle of ice down Jonty’s spine. Dagatha. The old hag from the dark heart of the Terrenwild Woods, deep among the tangle marsh where the sun never shined. Jonty had seen her, just once, when she’d stooped into town. The withered old crone had shuffled along the cobblestones of Blaxby’s High Street, her hair clotted with mud, an ugly frown creasing her face. The townsfolk averted their eyes and quickened their pace to avoid the flame and flicker of Dagatha’s glare. Jonty had never forgotten her. She shuddered.

"Please, Mamma. Not her. She’s not to be trusted, Jonty said. Everyone knows that. Remember Old Douglas? He went to Dagatha looking for a cure for a broken heart. It nearly combusted when he realised what it would cost him! And what about Mrs McGinty when her baby was born all yellow and sickly? Dagatha promised them cures, then what did she do? She—"

"She delivered, that’s what. Mamma’s voice turned to iron. After a moment, she reached for Jonty’s hand and cradled it between hers. I’ll not leave you, she softened. Not without trying every last thing…no matter how slim the chance."

Jonty looked at her mother with anxious eyes. Dagatha’s cures always cost—both in gold and regret.

Another coughing spasm racked Mamma’s frail body. Despite the beads of sweat that never seemed to leave her brow, she shivered. What Mamma said was true: they had tried everything else.

How are we going to pay her? Jonty asked finally. We’ve sold everything of value, right down to our books. Well, except for Grandpappa’s old dictionary, which no one wanted. I’m quite sure Dagatha won’t accept that as payment.

Not everything. Mamma pointed at the mirrored dressing table on the other side of the bedroom. Look inside that drawer.

Jonty crossed to it and pulled open one of the little drawers.

Not that one, the other.

Jonty opened the drawer on the right.

Look under the handkerchiefs, and you’ll find a little velvet pouch. Bring it to me.

Jonty lifted the neatly folded stack of threadbare hankies. At the bottom of the pile, towards the very back of the drawer, was a tiny drawstring pouch made of fuzz-soft red velvet. She brought it back to the bed and handed it to Mamma.

Mamma pulled open the pouch and upended it. A delicate gold chain slipped into her palm. It belonged to my mother, she said. I was keeping it to give to you on your birthday, but… Her lips trembled. She paused until she’d regained control of them. Take it to Dagatha. It’s all we can pay, but it might be enough for a cure. Perhaps our plight will sway her heart.

What heart? Jonty thought, but kept the words locked behind her lips. Mamma’s eyes were hope-bright for the first time in weeks. Instead, she took the chain from Mamma’s outstretched hand. She held it up to admire the intricate filigree work on its links before fastening it around her neck for safe keeping. I’ll set out tomorrow at first light.

You must promise you’ll be careful, Jonty. Dagatha is darkful with cunning. I would never ask such a thing of you unless—

I know. Jonty bent down and kissed her mother’s fever-hot forehead. If I ride hard and fast, I’ll be back by night. Sleep now, and try not to worry. She stretched her mouth into a smile much braver than she felt.

She refilled her mother’s water cup, plumped up her pillows, and drew the coverlet up to her neck. After blowing out the candle on Mamma’s bedside table, she waited until her breathing changed from shallow panting breaths to the deeper wheeze-rattle of slumber.

When she was certain Mamma wasn’t going to wake, Jonty crept to her own little room and crawled into bed. Through her window, the moon was a sliver of light hidden among silhouettes of clouds. She watched the stars wink against their ink-black canvas until her eyes grew heavy. Thoughts of Dagatha crowded her head in a swirl of dark shadows, and when she finally slept, she dreamed of fearsome shapes that seethed and shrieked in the dank-deep wilds of the woods.

Chapter Two

Dawn broke, damp and grey, an icy chill in the air. Jonty pulled on her old riding boots and warmest coat. She twisted her hair