Once upon a dreadful time ou-4 Read online

  Long did Lisane study the pattern. Finally she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, then circled her left hand widdershins above the wheel of cards, followed by her right hand, circling deasil. She then opened her eyes and said, “This is what I see.” And, to increase her focus, she began speaking aloud the meanings of the cards and their relation to one another, and as she spoke, she touched each card: her right hand for those upright, droit-facing inward-and her left hand for those reversed, oppose, inverse-facing out.

  “Here nigh the beginning sits the Tower, reversed. I can but think the card bespeaks of the inevitable breakdown of present circumstance. But flanking are the upright three of swords on one side and the upright four of swords on the other. Taken together they mean separation, isolation, and disaster. Immediately at hand is the three of cups, oppose, signalling a reversal of circumstance, and what was good now causes pain. It is directly followed by the nine of swords, and droit it means despair, anxiety, misery. This is either what has been or signifies what is happening now.

  “Here is the two of cups upright, flanked by the Hierophant and the Naif; it indicates harmony between two souls.” Liaze frowned and thought of the previous four-by-four spread. “Does this represent me and someone I’ve yet to meet? Its position in the layout might signify that.”

  Finally, Lisane shrugged. “I cannot say, yet these cards flanking, this one droit, the six of cups, signifies friends, while in this ring the three of cups reversed speaks of a test or tests, the double-edged nature of intuition, and since it is oppose, my intuition, or mayhap my first thought, may be wrong.” And on Lisane spoke aloud, touching cards, explaining unto herself, as she moved ’round the layout, coming ever closer to the center. “Here are the four Chevaliers-of cups, wands, pentacles, and of swords-and they all are arrayed against the Magician, and he is at the center of things. Oh my, we have Justice inverse, as is the Wheel of Fortune: together they seem to spell doom.” Lisane paused, her brow furrowing. “This trouble seems centered on the Magician, and the nearby Priestess, who, in this pattern, appears to be but an acolyte of the Mage.

  “But in opposition are the four knights. -Oh, and here we see the Hermit, who is flanked by the threes of wands and pentacles. Three Hermits also aiding? Whatever might that mean?

  It is a strange configuration. Yet there is something familiar about this spread, and it spells great disaster. Where and when did I last see-?”

  Of a sudden, Lisane gasped. “Ah, I remember: it was when Orbane and his armies marched across Faery. Although this arrangement is not the same, there is a great likeness. Can it be that Orbane is somehow involved with whatever jolted me awake?”

  Lisane frowned. “But he is imprisoned and cannot get free, and so I think this must be a spurious reading. Perhaps I’d better try again.” She reached toward the layout to take up the cards, but hesitated. “What if it’s not spurious? Perhaps I’d better continue.” Again she began touching each card. “If Orbane somehow again threatens Faery, there seems to be hope, given the Chariot as well as the Star. Yet by their positions, it is such a slim hope.”

  On she spoke, reading the wheels-the rings within rings within rings-but at last she reached the center of the circles.

  Even so, she was not finished, for four cards were yet to come.

  Lisane looked at the remainder of the deck, the cards not yet dealt, and said, “Now for the four primes, first the two which speak of things to be nigh the end.

  “Cardinal premier,” said Lisane, and she turned up a card and laid it directly before her, just below the wheel; the card pointed toward the center. Even so, she sucked in air between clenched teeth, saying, “Devil, upright: a terrible omen, for it means ravage, violence, vehemence. It could be a dweller without, someone not permitted within.” Lisane glanced at the Magician in the center of the array. “Can it be Orbane?” Lisane took a deep breath and dealt the second card. “Cardinal deux,” and this time she laid it directly opposite and just above the wheel. “Death, reversed. This can mean death just escaped, partial change, or transformation. Even so, it can also suggest great destruction as well, and coupled with the Devil upright, I deem it signals a disaster none can avoid.” Lisane turned up another card and placed it just outside the left of the wheel. “Cardinal trois, Judgment, droit. Follow guidance to forge ahead. Yet, with the array laid out as it is, the guidance is most obscure. And here it is adjacent to the Naif, which would indicate one must think wisely and make the right choice. Ah, me, I wonder whether the destruction can be avoided if the choice is wrong and the guidance remains unresolved.”

  Lisane took a deep breath and drew the last card and set it down outside the wheel to the right. “Cardinal quatre, the World upright. Triumph, but whose? The Devil or those who oppose? The Magician or the Knights? Yet with this King of Swords in the pattern, that could mean victory or defeat for the Knights, depending with whom the King is allied.” She studied the layout a bit longer, and then said, “Spurious or no, you are quite a puzzle.”

  . .

  It was just after dawn when a large bee buzzed down the length of the main street in the village of Ardon, followed by a man ahorse, galloping, with three steeds in tow: one was fitted with a small rack, several modest bags of provisions affixed thereon, and two were completely unladen. Down the main street they thundered, people rushing aside to get out of the way. And in a moment they were gone, leaving a wondering populace behind.

  “Do you think this has anything to do with the message the Sprites brought?” asked one.

  “Mayhap it was a kingsman on a mission dire,” said another.

  “He wasn’t wearing a tabard, like most kingsmen do. Instead, sporting a tricorn, he was, and on a metal helm, no less.” Two beautiful and buxom, dark-haired, blue-eyed sisters who lived at the far edge of the village watched as the horseman galloped away.

  “Oh, Romy, I do believe it was a knight errant, for I saw armor ’neath his cloak.”

  “You are right, Vivette: armor indeed he wore. I wonder why he did not stop to dally?”

  “Mayhap the other knight errants did not tell him of us.” Romy sighed. “Perhaps none told him of the manner of our. . hmm. . entertainment.”

  “His loss,” said Vivette, plucking flowers to weave into her very long hair.

  Romy, plucking flowers as well, sighed and said, “Ours too.”

  . .

  Nigh the noontide, Regar and Flic and Fleurette passed through a twilight border to come into a dismal mire, bogland left and right of the road, with cypresses and black willows and dark, gnarled oaks twisting up out from the quag, some trees alive, others quite dead. And from these latter, long strands of lifeless gray moss hung adrip from withered branches, as if the parasite had sucked every last bit of sustenance from the limbs, hence, not only murdering the host, but killing itself as well. ’Round the roots and boles of the trees and past sodden hummocks, scum-laden water receded deep into the dimness beyond, the yellow-green surface faintly undulating, as if some vast creature slowly breathed in the turgid muck below. Ocherous reeds grew in clumps and clusters, and here and there rotting logs covered with pallid toadstools and brownish ooze jutted out at shallow angles from the dark sludge, the swamp slowly ingesting slain trees. Mounded above the fen, the road itself twisted onward, into the shadowy morass ahead.

  Within these miserable environs Regar stopped to change mounts, and he paid little heed to the surroundings, as he moved the black to the end of the line and switched the saddle to the bay.

  But Flic nervously eyed the bog as from within there came soft ploppings and slitherings. What made these sounds, Flic could not see.

  “Why are you uneasy?” asked Fleurette.

  “Because this reminds me of the swamp that Lord Borel and I passed through on our way to rescue Lady Michelle. If it is anything like that one, we best be on our way, for there could be an invisible monster living herein.”

  “It’s not invisible monsters we should worry about,” said Fleurett
e, pointing, “but those.”

  Gnats and bloodsuckers and biting flies came swarming out from the bog, drawn by the odor of lathered horses.

  But just as they reached the road, Regar jerked the cinch tight and leapt into the saddle, and with a “Yah!” away from the oncoming cloud he cantered, the road more or less following the line of the bee.

  Slowly the way ascended, and the mire to either side diminished. Walking, trotting, cantering, varying the gaits to preserve the horses, by midafternoon Regar’s small group broke free of the swamp to come into low rolling hills. They paused by a clear-running stream to water the horses and to give them some grain and to feed Buzzer some honey.

  Shortly, though, once again they took up the trek, and the sun slowly slid down the sky. As eve drew on, Buzzer flew back to the tricorn and landed. Flic said, “Time to find a good place to camp, for with night coming, Buzzer will soon be asleep.”

  “How about under that great willow up ahead and off to the left,” said Fleurette.

  “If it has a stream, well and good,” said Regar.

  And so they rode toward the massive tree, the willow fully 192 / DENNIS L. MCKIERNAN

  a hundred feet tall, its long swaying branches hanging down all

  ’round, highlighted by the red light of the setting sun. Beyond the dangling branches they could see the massive girth of the bole, perhaps fifteen or twenty human strides across, and some three times that around.

  “Oh, look!” cried Fleurette. “A door and windows. Oh, my, what a place of wonder.”

  There was indeed a door into the trunk, and it of a pale yellow hue; two windows on either side looked out on the world.

  Willow-bark shutters, standing wide, graced both windows and the door.

  Regar stopped just outside the long limbs, and dismounted.

  Even as he did so, the door opened, and therein stood a lithe, redheaded woman. Her face was narrow, her eyes emerald green and aslant, her skin alabaster, tinged with gold.

  “Bon soir,” she said. “I have been expecting you.” Regar stepped ’round from the opposite side of the horse to greet her, and at one and the same time, both he and she drew in sharp breaths.

  Never had he seen someone so beautiful.

  Never had she seen someone so handsome.

  “Demoiselle,” he said, bowing, “I am Regar.”

  “Prince Regar,” added Flic.

  The demoiselle didn’t even seem to hear the Sprite, so entranced was she by the man. “Sieur,” she said, curtseying,

  “many know me as the Lady of the Bower, yet my name is Lisane.”

  “Oh, look, a Unicorn, “ breathed Fleurette, awe in her voice, for even in Faery, they were rare.

  At the far side of the clearing a splendid white creature stood. Horselike, it was, but smaller and with cloven hooves and a pearlescent horn jutting from its forehead, a thin spiral groove running up from its base to its very sharp tip. Of a sudden it snorted and retreated into the forest beyond.

  Momentarily, Lisane’s face fell, but she managed a smile and said, “ ’Tis Thale. He senses. .” Lisane did not finish the spoken thought, yet she knew that Thale had read her heart at that very moment. Then Lisane brightened and said, “Sprites. I have not seen Sprites for many a day.”

  “Then, my lady, you do not know?” asked Regar.

  “Know what?”

  . .

  “So that’s what the cards meant,” said Lisane. “It wasn’t a spurious reading after all.”

  “Spurious reading?” asked Fleurette.

  “I am a seer,” said Lisane. “I divine the future through taroc.”

  “Ah,” said Regar, “so that’s what you meant when you said you were expecting us.”

  A blush rose to Lisane’s cheeks, and she cast her gaze down and aside. “Oui, Prince Regar. I saw you in the cards.” Regar swirled his cup and studiously watched the motion of the tea, for every time he looked at Lisane she took his breath away.

  Fleurette nudged Flic and quietly giggled. Flic frowned at her in puzzlement and shrugged as if to say, What?

  They were gathered in Lisane’s tiny kitchen: Regar and Lisane sitting in the only two chairs; Flic and Fleurette seated atop the plank table; Buzzer quite asleep on Regar’s tricorn set off to one side.

  “Then, my lady,” said Regar, “can you divine the meaning of Lady Verdandi’s rede?”

  “It seems to mean that war is on the way.”

  “Then you think Orbane is free?”

  Lisane took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “This morn I was jolted awake by something unknown. Mayhap it was Orbane’s escape. The cards would seem to say so.”

  “The cards again?” said Fleurette.

  Lisane nodded. “Let me show you what I saw. . ”

  Regar frowned. “And I am this Naif and you the Hierophant?”

  Again Lisane blushed. “Oui.”

  “What about us?” asked Flic, standing and peering at the wheels of cards.

  Fleurette elbowed Flic. “We’re not important.” Lisane shook her head. “Ah, do not be too quick to judge, Fleurette, for the six of cups signifies friends, and that’s where I think you are. Still, that might not be, yet the cards do not see all.”

  “Even so, they seem to spell doom,” said Regar.

  “Things are dire, that I admit,” said Lisane. “Yet the taroc speaks not to what will be, but rather what might be, and then only if the reader has interpreted wisely and true, and only if the acts portrayed are not contravened by actions unshown.” They sat in silence for long moments, but then Regar said,

  “Do you believe the four Knights in opposition to the Magician are Luc, Roel, Blaise, and Laurent?”

  Lisane shrugged. “Mayhap, but then again the knights might simply indicate armies in opposition to those of the Mage, if indeed armies become involved.”

  “Well, it’s all quite beyond me,” said Flic, stretching and yawning. “Oh, my, but I must sleep.”

  “I’ll fix a pillow by the hearth,” said Lisane.

  Fleurette smiled and said, “There is no need. We can find a place up in the branches of your tree.”

  “It is certainly no bother, Fleurette. Besides, I think it safer inside.”

  Regar stood. “I will sleep out beneath the fronds of your willow, my lady.” Lisane seemed as if she had something to say, yet she remained silent.

  . .

  As mid of night approached, and the waxing crescent moon sank low, Regar lay awake, his face toward the stars wheeling above and glinting down through the long strands of willow.

  Yet he saw not the leaves nor the celestial display, for his mind was filled with the features of Lisane, his heart quite stolen away.

  He heard a soft step, and turned to see Lisane, the moonlight shining through her filmy negligee.

  With his pulse pounding in his ears, Regar raised up on his elbows. “My lady, I-”

  She knelt and put a finger to his lips. “My prince, I did not tell all I saw in the cards, for early this morn, long ere you arrived, I dealt out what might happen this day, and it seems it has come true.”

  “My lady?”

  Lisane took him by the hands and raised him up. “Come with me. I will show you.” And she led him into her bower.

  Putrescence

  With the twigs of her besom smoking and threatening to burst into flame, down Hradian spiralled toward the town, while the wizard Orbane laughed in glee and crowed,

  “Not only have I escaped the Great Darkness, I sent a fearsome enemy into that dreadful void.”

  “My lord,” gasped Hradian, “I am too weary to go onward, and my broom needs new willow twigs, else it will fly like nought more than a stick.”

  “Very well, Acolyte, come to rest in the village, for I would have food and drink and entertainment. Too, I would have you stanch my leg.”

  They came to ground in the center of the hamlet, and faces peered out through the windows of the inn, stark with mouths agape. Shocked villagers cried o
ut in fear and rushed into homes and slammed shut the doors, though should the wizard or witch want in, there was nought could be done to stop them.

  Limping slightly, Orbane strode toward the hostel, where a white-lettered but otherwise black sign proclaimed the place to be Le Mur Noir. Hradian followed, though she paused a moment to dunk the glowing end of her besom into the horse trough to extinguish the smoldering twigs. She caught up with her master as he stepped across the porch, the door opening at his gesture. The innkeeper quailed to see the wizard and witch enter his small establishment. He started to bolt but, with whispered word and a casual wave, Orbane arrested his flight. And Hradian ground her teeth in envy, for this was a spell she could not master. Oh, her three sisters could do so, and they had laughed at her pitiful attempts, but the spell was simply beyond her grasp. Even so, she was much better with herbal magery than they, and in turn she had laughed at them.

  “Food and drink, fool,” Orbane snarled at the innkeeper,

  “for I have had neither lately.”

  Hradian frowned. “My lord?”

  Orbane snorted. “One of the foulnesses of that loathsome castle, Acolyte: neither food nor drink are provided or needed.

  One cannot enjoy a good meal or a fine vintage, or the simple pleasure of emptying one’s bladder or bowels.” Orbane again gestured at the innkeeper. The man jerked about and faced the wizard, and then slumped as he was released.

  “M-my lord,” he stuttered, “I have b-but simple fare: a joint of beef, a flagon of ale, a loaf of bread is all I can provide.”

  “Away, and bring it,” commanded Orbane, and he stepped into the common room.

  Patrons therein blenched as wizard and witch entered. Orbane looked ’round, then gestured. “Out!” he commanded, but then, even as they stood to go, Orbane’s eyes lit up and he said,

  “Non, wait. Hommes out, femmes remain.” The women sat down as the men left, some bolting, others reluctant and in tears yet helpless to do ought else.