Once Upon a Winter's Night fs-1 Page 14

  It was early morn, for the sun was just edging up over the horizon, and they were in the Springwood.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Borel.

  “Thirsty,” said Camille, struggling to her feet. “And I need to relieve myself.”

  She tottered into the woods, and awhile later came out, and Borel had a waterskin and a cup waiting.

  As she drank, the Bear came over and snuffled at her, and she gave him a hug. That seemed to satisfy him, and he padded to the opposite side of the fire and, grunting, lay down.

  After quenching her thirst, she asked, “How long was I unaware?”

  “But for a brief moment yester, a night and a day and another night all told,” replied Borel. He looked back at the Winterwood behind. “I should have known that the curse on that sector would be more than just blighted woodland.”

  Camille also looked back at the cold and twisted and shattered forest darkly seen beyond the tenebrous marge. “This curse, can it not be lifted, the region returned to normal?”

  Borel shook his head. “We have tried, just as we tried at-” Abruptly he fell silent.

  “Just as those mages and witches and warlocks and other such tried whatever they tried at Summerwood Manor?” softly asked Camille.

  Borel glanced across the fire and nodded. He then drew a deep breath and said, “Time to eat coney.”

  As they took the rabbits from the spit, Camille heard a heavy breathing, and when she looked-“Oh, goodness, my Bear is asleep.”

  “ ’Tis no wonder,” said Borel. “He dragged you here without stopping.”

  “Did you stop?”

  Borel shook his head and bit into a coney leg. Around the mouthful, he said, “I did sleep last night though, when we reached this camp.” He chewed a moment, and then glanced back at the path through the Winterwood. “I’ve a good mind to get me a sword of iron and lay those wraiths to rest once and for all.”

  Camille paused in her eating. “But Renaud the smith said that iron was not permitted in Faery. Is it not banned?”

  “Not quite,” replied Borel. “A few who sail the seas carry weapons of iron, of steel. It protects them from some of the monsters of the deep. They seldom bring it onshore however, and then but in direst need.”

  “What of a magic sword, Borel, an enchanted blade? I’ve heard tales of such weapons as being within the realms of Faery. Would one of those not lay these ghosts by?”

  “Oh, Sister mine, enchanted blades are quite rare, and perhaps worth more than the wealth of all of the Forests of the Seasons combined. But you are correct, an enchanted blade would do the deed.”

  “Rrhmm!” suddenly chuffed the Bear and raised up his head and glared about, then settled back down to sleep.

  Camille set a finger to her lips, and they ate the rest of the meal in silence.

  They did not move onward that day, but spent the whole of it resting, recovering, regaining vitality-through the full of the night as well.

  The next dawning, Camille awakened quite refreshed, much of the effects of the spectres allayed. During a breakfast of biscuits and tea, she conferred with Borel, and they decided that she and the Bear would go on, while he and his Wolves would return to the Winterwood. “But I and my pack will be here a twelveday hence and await your return, Camille, to escort you along the cursed way, and this time we’ll not stop to rest in a place where phantoms lie.”

  As Wolves yipped and yammered and postured and circled and nipped and fawned, gathering for the return, Camille embraced Borel, then climbed upon the Bear, and down the long slope and into the sheer-walled valley she rode. She turned to wave adieu, but Borel and his pack were gone.

  Down into the wide, deep gorge went the Bear and Camille, and far to either side rose vertical walls of granite, though here and there in niches and nooks high upon the steeps did trees manage to cling, their vibrant spring greens in sharp contrast to the pale grey of the stone. Far ahead and to the right, many separate waterfalls cascaded over the brim and down, thundering into streams below, which wended across the gorge, the runs to combine and combine again into larger flows, all to join together at last and course into a rift at the base of the rock wall on the far side. And all about Camille and the Bear, new branches and old held vivid green leaves, and spring blossoms bloomed amid the fresh grass growing across the leas.

  In late afternoon they came alongside the pool at the base of the high cascade plummeting down the sheer wall at the far end of the vale, there where the switchback path led up the stone and out. As they started up the narrow way, Camille laughed in joy, for Waterfolk, nearly transparent, cavorted in the churn below, male and female alike, and they chased one another as if playing tag, and they raced and grabbed hold of ankles and wrists and waists, some nipping, some giggling, others kissing, while yet others paired off and engaged inOh, my! — Camille blushed and looked away, as on up the path the Bear did go.

  Two days later, as the tide of dusk drew over the land, they came to the final twilight bound; the Bear padded on through and into a warm summer’s eve within the mortal world beyond. And Camille gasped, for where her Papa’s cottage once sat now stood a brightly lit mansion, with many carriages drawn up beyond; and lively music drifted across the field to fill the air with song.

  15

  Homecoming

  The Bear, now a rich brown, growled and stopped. Camille slid from his back and looked across the field at the brightly lit mansion and the carriages and teams in harness. “Oh, Bear, it is not at all what we expected, is it?” Camille frowned. “I wonder who lives there and where my family has gone.” She took a deep breath and let it out, and said, “Well, we’ll not learn a thing simply by standing here. Let us go and see.”

  As Camille stepped away, “ Rrhmm,” rumbled the Bear, and he did not move.

  “What is it, Bear?”

  The Bear raised its nose into the air and snuffled.

  “Is it the horses? Or, instead, the men?”

  The Bear gave a soft whuff.

  “Ah, well, as for the horses, I know you do not wish to frighten them. And as for the men, I don’t blame you, for, knowing the ways of mortals, they might take it in their heads to go hunting after you, my Bear, yes?”

  “Urrmm.”

  Camille frowned, for she did not know how to interpret that answer, one which might mean No, though in this case it might also mean something else altogether, such as Let them try.

  “Never you mind, Bear, I’ll go on from here, and see who lives there, then press on to wherever Papa and Maman have moved.” Camille donned her cloak and tied a modest drawstring purse to her belt, a few coins therein-some gold, some silver, some bronze. She loosened a pair of bundles from the rig.

  She hugged the Bear about the neck, and said, “In a sevenday, I’ll meet you at this very place and you can carry me back to my beloved prince. You will remember, eh?”

  “ Whuff. ”

  She gave the Bear another hug, then shouldered her bundles and set out across the field, and the Bear watched her go.

  Toward the mansion she went, and tall weeds and grasses swished ’round her boots and leather pants, thistles and burrs and bristly leaves clung to her cloak, and dust and weed pollen rose up ’round her in clouds. Oh, my, but the land lies fallow, overgrown; Papa would be so disappointed at the new owners.

  On she strode through the oncoming nightfall, the music getting louder, and now she could hear voices and laughter, and she could see the window sashes were raised wide to let in the summer breeze, while yellow lantern- and candlelight streamed outward. When she reached the manse, she turned and looked for the Bear, but she saw him not in the gathering darkness. Gone into Faery, I suspect.

  Faced with waiting rows of coachmen, she paused long enough to cast her hood over her head, then took up her bundles and rounded the end of the mansion. Past idle drivers and horses and carriages she went, some of the conveyances quite elegant, a few of these with footmen as well. On toward the portico she strode, and
as she came to the front landing, “Ho, lad,” called out one of the drivers. “If they toss you a bone, save a knuckle for me.” Others laughed at his jest, but Camille paid no heed and stepped onto the porch, where the door stood open as well.

  “Here now, boy, and just where do you think you’re going?” demanded the doorman, stepping into her path. “Off with you, and be quick about it. We want no beggars, no bindlestiffs here.”

  “But sieur, I would ask: who dwells herein?”

  The doorman puffed up his chest and raised his chin; clearly he was pleased at being called sieur by this ignorant boy. He brushed the gloved fingers of his right hand down across the brass buttons of his uniform and, above the sound of music and laughter and gaiety drifting through the open windows and door, he said, “Not that it’s any of your business, mind, but Lord Henri and Lady Aigrette rule here. Now begone, lad.” But then he gave a wink and added, “Though y’ might slip around th’ back and ask Cook for a bite. Dust yourself off afore then, and don’t let the old lady catch y’, eh?”

  Even as Camille’s eyes widened in surprise that her mere and pere owned this fine mansion, “With whom are you speaking, Claude?” came a haughty voice, and a tall and quite bald, black-clad majordomo stepped into view and looked down at Camille and sniffed in disdain.

  “Just this beggar-lad, sieur. I told him to be off.”

  The majordomo pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and flicked it at Camille. “You heard him, boy. Begone, and swiftly, else I’ll set the dogs on you.”

  Even as she opened her mouth to reply, “Camille!” came a glad cry, and Giles rushed out and threw his arms about her, and she dropped her bundles and clutched him tightly.

  “What are you doing, Master Giles?” demanded the majordomo, horror in his voice. “ ’Tis a beggar-boy! A vagabond! You know not what diseases, what vermin he might carry.” And he reached out to pull Giles away.

  “Oh, Pons, this is no beggar-boy,” cried Giles in glee, casting off the majordomo’s hand, “this is my sister!”

  Yelling “Papa! Maman! Camille is here!” the eleven-year-old grabbed Camille by a wrist and dragged her inward past the astonished doorman and the dumbfounded majordomo.

  “My bundles!” cried Camille, her cloak hood falling away, her golden hair spilling out.

  Quickly recovering, “I’ll bring them, ma’amselle,” said the doorman, snatching up the goods and starting after. But at a gesture from haughty Pons, the doorman paused, then servilely followed the majordomo into the manse, trailing far behind the excited lad and Camille.

  Down a hallway went Giles, calling, “Papa! Maman! Camille, Camille has come!” They came to a doorway on the right, leading to a small sitting room. Therein Giles found his mother and several matronly ladies, all dressed in fine ball gowns.

  “Maman, Camille has come,” said Giles, pulling Camille in after.

  Aigrette stood, her eyes flying wide in shock, and she rushed forward. Camille held out her arms for an embrace, but it was Aigrette who now grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her away from the door. With Giles trotting after, down the hall Aigrette dragged Camille, the mother angrily muttering, “What would everyone think of me, should anyone see you like this, all dusty and running with sweat, and is that field weeds and burrs and such I see clinging to your cloak? What were you thinking, Camille? Gave you no thought to me?”

  She rushed Camille by an entry to a grand ballroom, and in the swift glimpse Camille caught as she flew past, she saw the chamber was filled with people in finery, stepping out a dance to the music played by musicians on a modest platform beyond. On down a hallway and up a back stair Aigrette scurried, Camille in tow. “We’ve got to get you out of those horrible clothes and scrub that grime from you. No fille of mine is going to come into this house looking like a scruffy beggar-boy.”

  “Maman, aren’t you glad to see Camille?” asked Giles, still following.

  “Of course I’m glad to see her,” snapped Aigrette, and suddenly her eyes widened in revelation, as if she had just then stumbled across a wonderful idea that only she knew. “Oh, yes, indeed, I am quite glad she has come at this very time.” And Aigrette laughed to herself.

  A few more steps down a hallway she went, then shoved Camille into the sitting room of a small suite. “Here, Camille, these are Joie’s quarters, or Gai’s, I am uncertain which.”

  “They’re Gai’s,” said Giles.

  Aigrette turned on Giles in exasperation. “You go and find one of the maids to help Camille, and be quick about it. And tell no one else, you hear?”

  “Yes, Maman,” said Giles, and turned and bolted away.

  As the lad rushed out, Aigrette opened a door; it led to the adjoining suite. Growling, she slammed it shut and opened another; a bedchamber lay beyond. Stalking in, she gestured at an archway. “Yon is the wash chamber. Now get you out of those filthy clothes and scrub yourself down.” She opened yet another door, and Camille could see it was a small dressing room, with gowns and such hanging, and shoes on shelves nearby. “And put on a gown suitable for the grand ball below.” Aigrette gestured. “One of Gai’s should fit, for you are of a size. And do something about that hair. I shall return anon.” She rushed back out, nearly running into the doorman-“Out of my way, oaf!”-but standing to one side was the majordomo. “Oh, Pons,” barked Aigrette, “come with me, for I have a very important task for you, and a most splendid task at that.” Together they vanished down the hallway.

  “Ma’amselle?” called the doorman, peering in. “Your bundles?”

  Nearly in tears, Camille stepped into the sitting room and gestured at one of the chairs. The doorman set the goods on the seat, then touched the brim of his cap and quietly withdrew.

  With the help of Milli, the maid that Giles had found, within a candlemark, Camille was dressed in a dark blue gown, with pale blue petticoats under, dark blue shoes on her feet. At her mother’s insistence, underneath was a bustier to accentuate her cleavage. Her hair was artfully woven through with blue satin ribbons matching the blue of the gown. Though she had yielded to her mother’s dictates in all else, Camille stubbornly refused to wear the gaudy, cut-glass tiara, saying that the ribbons were quite enough.

  Hissing in fury, Aigrette slammed the diadem down on the dressing table. “You think of only yourself, Camille, but very well, stubborn child.” Then she slipped the cord of the blue fan about Camille’s wrist, a small fold of paper attached. “Now here is your dance card. Pons filled it out at my instructions. Treat your partners well, for they can do me, do us, much good.-Now let us be gone from here and to the ball.”

  As Camille glanced one last time in the mirror, “You are quite beautiful, my lady,” said Milli. “The men, their eyes will look nowhere else, while the women’s eyes will all fill with green.”

  “Merci, Milli; I am glad you-”

  “Come, come, you look well enough, Camille,” impatiently said Aigrette. “Let’s have no more of this prattle; my guests are waiting.”

  Out the door and along a hallway they went, to come to a balcony at the head of an elegant, curving stair leading down into the grand ballroom. Aigrette snatched Camille’s hand and kept her from going on. Waiting below was Pons, watching for them to appear, and at a signal from Aigrette, he rapped the marble floor with a long staff. The music stopped; the dancers paused; a stillness fell over all.

  “My lords and ladies and honored guests,” rang out the majordomo, “the Lady Aigrette presents her daughter, the Lady Camille, Princess of the Summerwood!”

  Camille was thunderstruck, for she did not consider herself a princess of anything, much less the Summerwood. And a great intake of air swept throughout the room, as men and women looked up to see, standing high above, the beautiful golden-haired girl in the sapphire-blue gown.

  Though Camille was bewildered, Aigrette was in her glory, as down the staircase she descended, arm in arm with Camille, Aigrette’s chin held high in queenly dominance, the mother of a princess no less. Ah, yes,
she was indeed glad that Camille had come to visit, as all dutiful daughters should.

  As Milli had predicted, the eyes of all men were irresistibly drawn to Camille, and the eyes of all women narrowed and perhaps even filled with envy, and some did fill with despair, for Camille was stunningly beautiful, and it is doubtful that anyone whatsoever even noted that Aigrette was at this splendid creature’s side.

  And pressing forward through the crowd came Giles, hauling Papa Henri in tow, with Felise and Colette right behind, then the twins-Joie and Gai-and finally Lisette, the eldest of the sisters coming last of all.

  As moths to a light, Camille was surrounded by young men, each one demanding a dance, and man after man offered her glass cups of punch and begged for a stroll in the garden out by the wishing well.

  During a pause in the music, Camille leaned over and whispered behind her fan to Giles, “Wishing well?”

  “Papa’s old well out back,” he murmured. “Maman had a stone wall put ’round, with a roof above and a winch and a bucket across, all to replace the old wooden trapdoor and the pail on a rope we used to cast down and flip over to draw water. And she had gardeners plant violets and such, and vines… all to hide the fact that it was once nothing more than a farmer’s clay-walled cistern.”

  Camille looked at her mother, now surrounded by a group of older women, all of whom Camille had been introduced to, none of whose names she remembered. Her mere preened among them, and even though she was standing quite still, it appeared as if she were strutting. And as Maman spoke, the older women cast glances toward Camille, and now and then one would break away to urgently talk to a young man or two, presumably a son or sons.

  Playing two violins, a viola, a cello, a harpsichord, and a tambourine, the six musicians struck up again, and Camille’s next partner came and fetched her, this one quite old and fat and short and leering; Lord Jaufre, he named himself, and, in spite of his obvious bulk, Camille could hear the creak of a corset as he bent to kiss her hand, managing to slobber all over her fingers. And all through the dance, he talked of his hounds while peering quite closely at her bosom.