Once upon a dreadful time ou-4 Read online

  “Oh, la,” said Avelaine. “I think this Orbane, even if he does get free, will be put down by you and the king and his men, to say nought of Rollie and Blaise and Laurent.”

  “And Luc,” said Liaze, gazing toward the duskward bound beyond which lay her realm.

  “Mais oui,” said Avelaine. “I did not mean to leave him out, nor Borel and Alain. All will do magnificently, of that I am certain.”

  A tall, dark-haired man approached and said, “Lady Michelle, we are ready.”

  “Oui, Armsmaster Jules,” replied Michelle to the warband leader.

  “We are ready as well,” said stocky, redheaded Anton, captain of the Springwood warband.

  Quick embraces were exchanged all ’round, and Valeray, Saissa and their get, as well as Camille and Duran, stepped back, along with Simone and Emile. The men and the two ladies mounted up, and, with a sliding of massive bars and the creaking of hinges, the gates of the castle were opened. With waves and calls of au revoir, across the flagstone clattered the horses and out into the land beyond, and as faire-goers watched, away trotted the war bands, one group heading dawnwise, the other starwise.

  And as the two ladies and their escorts rode away on their separate paths, through the early morning light on glittering wings came Sprites to report to the king.

  . .

  It was midmorning when Michelle and Jules and the warband crossed over into the Winterwood. Foxes looked up from their feasting, and scattered away into the snow-laden ’scape.

  Michelle marveled at the litter of crows, yet she and the others paused not, but pressed on toward a number of small fires glimmering not far ahead, around which tiny folk clustered.

  . .

  Past the crow-slaughter at the starwise bound of the Springwood rode Avelaine and her entourage. And they came among small beings, the wee Root Dwellers, where birds roasting on spits filled the air with a meaty aroma. These diminutive fey folk, some unclothed, others not, many now adorned with black feathers, bowed and curtseyed gracefully as the sparse cavalcade fared by. As always, Avelaine marveled at the sight of them, with their quite exotic elfin features-long tipped ears and tilted eyes, eyes usually filled with mischievous gaiety. And she listened to their tiny, piping voices, sometimes mistaken for bird twitters by those who did not know better. Some doffed crudely stitched hats, revealing nearly bald heads, while others sported hair to the waist, or even to the anklebone. And as they bowed and curtseyed to Avelaine, she nodded and smiled in return, giving them their due. And through the long gauntlet of Root Dwellers, some yet bearing the weapons used in the slaughter, rode the lady and her escort, while spitted crows roasted above flames.

  When the warband had passed out of earshot, Captain Anton turned to Avelaine and said, “Remind me, m’lady, never to make enemies of the wee ones, else I am a dead bird.” Then he roared with laughter, as did all his men, Avelaine joining in.

  . .

  And so as the sun rode up and across the sky and started its slow descent, in the Winterwood and the Springwood, warbands of men escorted ladies toward home, while elsewhere in Faery and riding across the sky a figure, streaming danglers and tatters like ephemeral shadows, flew swiftly toward her goal.

  Pilgrimage

  Leaving Crapaud behind to ward the cote, up and up above the swamp did Hradian fly, her besom firmly grasped as she straddled the long, thick shaft. No sidesaddle rider she, for it gave her no pleasure to do so, and instead she fully reveled in the joy of flight, riding as she did.

  High up above the foetid morass she soared, above the miasma of rot and stench, and away sunward she darted, the Black Wall of the World her aim, though it lay far, far away.

  Across the world of Faery did Hradian soar through the dark, the starry skies witness to her flight. O’er the swamp she flew, and leagues fell away behind her. Finally a twilight wall she crossed, and out from the realm of her mire. And still she flew onward as the night wheeled above, until came the faint light of dawn.

  Still onward she pressed through twilight bound after bound, morning now lighting the way. And she soared o’er dark mountains and rivers and steads and cities, villages and forests and lakes, and barren wastes of ice or sand or rock all passing

  ’neath her broom. And yet to these she but barely paid attention, for she had flown since childhood, and all was as familiar as treading the same road over and over again. And so she little noted the clouds like foreign castles and great chateaus rising all ’round, nor other strange shapes these billows of the sky

  took on-shaggy animals, long dragons, boars, horses, cattle, and droll faces of women and men. Nor did she see damiers and echiquiers below in the patterns of sown fields over which she passed, nor the glitter of lakes like diamonds, nor the sails of ships like gull wings as above an arm of a distant sea she went, the fishermen plying their skills below.

  And still through looming walls of twilight she flew, Faery borders, one after another, so many she lost count as the sun slid up the sky and across and down. Yet Hradian pressed on, her flight draining her of energy, for it took much out of her to maintain the spell. And besides, she had flown very far the past three days-all the way to and from Valeray’s demesne, and now, with but a short rest, onward to the Black Wall.

  But at last, as the sinking sun touched the distant horizon, Hradian began to circle down, for in the distance ahead and looming up into the sky an ebon barrier stood; it seemed a black beyond black, so dark it was. Yet even though it was within easy flight, she had not the vigor to broach it this eve, for flying into the Great Darkness required almost as much arcane power as did her flight to come unto this place. Instead she spiralled down toward a small town below, where she would spend the night, resting and regaining her strength.

  Down coiled Hradian and down, to finally come alight upon a knoll, the village a short walk beyond. She cast a glamour upon herself, and a young man with a stave in hand and pack on his back headed downslope through the dusk and toward the only hostel in the hamlet.

  Bee Dance

  After an overnight stay at Summerwood Manor, early the following morn Blaise and Regar and Flic and Fleurette and Buzzer took breakfast in one of the white gazebos sprinkled across the broad estate. The two men downed eggs and rashers and toast and butter and jams and good strong hot tea, while the Sprites and the bee alternated between honey and preserves, though both Flic and Fleurette also ate tiny bits of toast dipped in the sweets. The day was cloudless, the sky blue, and alongside the gazebo a clear and slow-flowing stream meandered, passing under the branches of a large willow overhanging the lucid water. A small cluster of black swans awkwardly waddled down the bank and entered the drift, where it seemed elegance overtook them as they coursed away downcurrent on an errand of their own.

  As he watched the graceful dark birds, “The messenger falcons flew at dawn,” said Blaise. “Mayhap soon we’ll know whether others met up with one or more of the Fates.”

  “If so,” said Fleurette, “we can expect more redes to confound us.”

  “Non,” said Regar, “for you and Flic and Buzzer and I will be away by then.”

  “Then you’re leaving for the halls of the Fairy King ere any falcons arrive?” asked Blaise.

  Regar turned and looked past the manse and toward the stables beyond, where four horses were being readied for travel.

  “Oui, for as Flic said yester, our mission cannot wait.”

  “Even so,” said Flic, “I could tarry here for part of the day and learn the contents of whatever missives might come from one of the other demesnes.”

  Fleurette shook her head. “Oh, Flic, you know Buzzer will not fly a course unless you are along. Besides, neither Regar nor I can speak Bee, and should we need to change direction, well, we’d be at a loss. Still, I could wait for messages to arrive and catch up with you later.”

  As Flic’s face fell at the thought of leaving Fleurette behind, Regar said, “Non, Wee Flower, I think we should all go, for who knows whether or no falcons
will ever come? There is this as well: with you starting out to find us a half day or more behind, you could easily stray from whatever line Buzzer takes, and even a small error can lead to a wide miss; non, Fleurette, I would not have you flitting about seeking us in a woodland, especially one where the witch’s crows are at large.”

  “But most are massed at the starwise border,” said Fleurette.

  Regar shook his head. “Even so, we know not what lies before us. Mayhap there are more along the way we will travel.” Fleurette glanced at the silver epee at Flic’s side and said,

  “I could carry a thorn. Too, given the nature of our kindred Sprites, mayhap by now no crows remain anywhere within the four forests.”

  “That we do not know,” said Flic, peering toward distant trees and the clear skies above. Then he added, “Regar is correct. We should all go together.” A silence fell among them, and they continued to break their fast. And soon the horses were led across the sward toward the gazebo. One was fitted with a small rack, several modest bags of provisions affixed thereon. Of the other three horses, two were completely unladen, while one was fully equipped with tack, saddlebags included.

  Followed by Buzzer, Flic flew up and landed on one of the bags and said to the hostler, “I say, have you enough honey packed away in these? Buzzer will require quite a bit, you know; we don’t want to have to stop along the way to gather nectar because we’ve run out.”

  “Three full jars, wee sieur.” The stableman held his hands in such a way to indicate the size.

  “Perhaps it is enough,” said Flic, frowning, for as yet he did not know just how far hence the halls of the Fairy King lay.

  He looked at Buzzer and then flew back to the gazebo. “Prince Regar, are we ready to leave?”

  Regar downed the last of his tea and stood. “As soon as you point the way.”

  “Follow me,” said Flic, and he flew to a large flat of flagstone on the path bordering a flowerbed nearby, Buzzer and Fleurette following awing, Blaise and Regar afoot. As soon as the Sprites and bee alighted, Flic said, “Now let me see, nigh the entrance to the halls of the King Under the Hill, there are white phlox and purple thistle and tiny bluebells. Oh, and yellow poppies, but only in spring.” He frowned. “I wonder what season it is there?”

  “It was summer in Valeray’s demesne,” said Fleurette, “and I believe his realm properly follows the march of the sun.”

  “Oh, then,” said Flic, “tiger lilies instead, but only near streams.”

  Flic sank to his knees and it appeared he was speaking to the bee, yet what he said, only Fleurette seemed to have a glimmering. Buzzer began a peculiar wiggling and buzzing dance, Flic paying rapt attention. Back and forth in a straight line the bee wriggled, pausing now and again to thrum her wings. And then Buzzer began dancing in a different direction, and again and again she buzzed and wriggled and paused. Once more and again and several times thereafter she changed the course of the dance, each on a separate tack. Finally, she stopped, and Flic shook his head and growled.

  “What is it?” asked Blaise.

  Flic sighed. “Buzzer knows of a number of places with all four things, some closer than others, but most of them quite far. Now let me think, is there anything more? — Oh, of course, the large dolmen and the light that streams out. But wait, that only happens at night, when Buzzer is quite asleep.” He pondered a bit more, and then said, “Aha! I have it. It’s where we spent a fortnight waiting for Prince Borel to emerge; Buzzer knows him as Slowfoot Who Does Not Fly.”

  Again Flic conversed with the bee, and Buzzer took up the dance once more, now wriggling and buzzing and pausing, this time in a single direction.

  “Good,” said Flic, looking up at Regar. “She has it. Yon is our way.” Flic pointed, aiming more or less in the direction the bee had danced: a bit to sun of duskwise, or as some would name it, more or less west-southwest. “There are a few marges of twilight to cross. Still, it is much shorter than the twisty path that Prince Borel and I took to get there, for we went many other places ere aiming for the halls of the King Under the Hill.” Regar smiled and said, “Well then, let us hie.” He turned to Blaise and the two men embraced and pounded one another on the back, and Regar said, “I will do my best to rally my Fairy King grandsire to bring his armies to join in the battle against Orbane, should the wizard get free.”

  Blaise nodded and said, “If Orbane does escape, then, just as we sent the warning throughout the lands, so too shall we send word as to where to assemble.”

  “Well and good,” said Regar. “And even if my grandsire disapproves and refuses to join, certainly I will be there.”

  “And I,” said Flic, flashing his tiny silver epee on high.

  “Buzzer, too, for we are mighty with our stingers.”

  “And I,” said Fleurette, “even if I have to fight with nought but a thorn.”

  “Oh, Fleurette,” said Flic, “I think it too dangerous for-”

  “Nonsense, Flic,” snapped Fleurette. “Where you go, so go I.”

  Regar turned to Blaise and said sotto voce, “Methinks it will be a very long journey if these two continue to argue over who should and should not join the fight.”

  Blaise laughed and said, “Methinks you are right, Prince.” Regar slapped the tricorn on his helm and mounted the saddled steed.

  Flic and Fleurette, yet squabbling, flew up to stand in the prow of the three-cornered hat, and with a whispered word to Buzzer, the bee flew up and ’round and took a bearing on the sun, then shot off on a direct line a bit to sun of duskwise.

  “May Mithras hold you in his hand,” said Blaise.

  “You as well, my friend,” replied Regar. And he spurred away following the beeline, with remounts and the pack animal in tow.

  Across the sward they cantered, veering to go out one of the gates in the long wall surrounding the immediate estate. Then they hewed back to the line Buzzer flew, and toward the far wooded rise of the wide vale they angled.

  Blaise watched until they at last disappeared among the boles of the green-leafed forest. Then he turned and headed back toward the manor, for there was much planning to do to make ready for an oncoming war.

  Redes

  From Springwood Manor at dawn, four messenger falcons took flight; they were conveying missives to the other three manors of the Forests of the Seasons as well as to Valeray’s castle. Likewise did four falcons fly from Summerwood Manor, and four each from the Autumnwood and Winterwood. The message capsules held tidings of arrivals, with three sets bearing reports of meetings with the Three Sisters and of the redes they spoke, and one set-those from the Autumnwood-speaking of the Reaper’s odd words. Not long thereafter-ere midmorn had come-the skies above the various manors and o’er the Castle of the Seasons were filled with the skree s of arriving raptors turning on wings to come unto the mews, and shortly thereafter falconers came running with message capsules to be opened by stewards and king alike.

  In the manors, stewards read the words and then took the messages to the knights, while in the castle, the king summoned queen and prince and princess alike, as well as Sieur Emile and Lady Simone.

  “Hmm. .” mused Valeray as he passed the messages about,

  “If Skuld and Verdandi and Urd are involved, then dire events lie before us.”

  “Yet,” said Camille, “if Raseri is found in time to intercept Hradian, then mayhap all can be avoided.”

  Saissa sighed. “I would not hold hope for such, Camille, for it would appear from the words of the redes that Raseri will not be found.”

  “I agree,” said Celeste. “Look at this one from Blaise. He tells that Lady Lot said:

  “Grim are the dark days looming ahead Now that the die is cast.

  Fight for the living, weep for the dead.

  “That certainly sounds to me as if war with Orbane is inevitable. I mean, Verdandi says ‘the die is cast,’ and so what else would we interpret it to mean?”

  A pall fell upon the gathering, and Borel said
, “Then should we not leave now, return to our demesnes and prepare?”

  “What could you do that Laurent isn’t already doing?” asked Simone.

  Borel growled in frustration and said, “At least I would be doing something rather than standing about doing nought.”

  “I would go, too, Brother,” said Alain, “yet surely Blaise is taking all necessary steps, and I could add little.”

  “Your very presence would keep the men’s spirits up,” said Camille.

  “List,” said Liaze, “by riding in haste after the faire is done, we will be at our manors the very next day, all but Camille and Duran and their escort, for of needs they must go at a pace the young prince can withstand. And though I would rather be at my manor with Luc, lending moral support if nought else, there’s little we can do.”

  Alain turned to Valeray. “Sire, can we not forgo the final ceremonies here at the faire?”

  Valeray frowned and looked at Saissa, and she said, “I think it important we show we are steadfast and let things go on as usual, rather than rushing off as if panic-stricken.”

  “Yet, Maman,” said Alain, “if we do nought, then won’t the people think we dillydally in the face of danger?”

  “Ah, but we are not doing nought, for already the call has gone out for recruits. Too, the Sprites are flying and bearing the news, and Luc, Roel, Laurent, and Blaise are even now at the manors making ready for a possible war.”

  Saissa turned to Valeray, and he added, “Surely Orbane, even if set free this very day, cannot assemble his armies of old in less than several fortnights at best. Non, my sons and daughters, it is as your mother says: we need to show our loyal subjects that we are calm and in control, hence all should be present at the closing mark.”