Once Upon a Winter's Night Page 3

  Camille glanced about the table. “What if the prince himself is a monster dire, a terrible thing to behold, perhaps even a murderer of women?”

  Even as the sisters’ eyes widened in alarm at this newly imagined possibility, Aigrette again pushed out a hand of negation. “Then you can merely run away, Camille, but only after we get the gold.”

  “Is that all you are interested in, Maman? The bride-price, the gold?”

  Aigrette gestured at the room. “Would you have us live in destitution, when wealth is within our grasp?”

  “Oh, Camille,” said Colette, turning to her sisters for support, “would you deny us dowries to attract suitors?”

  “Aye, dowries,” chimed in Gai, glancing at Joie, who added, “Would you have us be old maids?”

  “Do none of you think of aught but yourselves?” asked Giles in anger. “Camille is the only—” But the boy began gasping for air, leaving the rest of his words unsaid.

  Camille embraced the lad as he wheezed, and Aigrette’s eyes narrowed in cunning. “With the gold we can afford a healer for Giles, Camille. Would you deny him such relief?”

  Tears welled in Camille’s eyes, and she did not answer her dam.

  “Yes, a doctor for Giles,” said Lisette, following her mother’s lead. “We could afford the medicine needed to make him well.”

  “D-don’t pay h-heed,” panted Giles, but he could say no more.

  “With the gold, we could have a bigger and better house,” declared Aigrette. “One of warmth and light. One where Giles could escape the draft and damp and dust of this hovel.”

  “And warm clothes,” added Felise. “Something to keep Giles cozy.”

  Catching his breath at last, Giles said, “Oh, Camille, I don’t need doctors that badly. You shouldn’t go off to an unknown fate, no matter the count of coin.”

  Camille smiled at the entirely too-thin nine-year-old, but she knew in spite of his bravado that he was truly ill.

  And thus did the arguments and harangues go for the full sevenday: the mother harping that she deserved a better life, the one her failure of a husband had promised her when they first were wed, “. . . but look at what he gave me instead”; the father looking everywhere but at Camille, though often tears ran down his cheeks, for he knew that his achievements as a provider had never amounted to much, and whatever spirit he might have once had as a young man had been nagged into abject submission; the sisters’ eyes lighting up at the thought of rich dowries and the suitors to come; and all the women arguing that with the gold they could afford a doctor for Giles, even though Giles denied that a doctor or medicine or other such was needed, that he was healthy enough.

  . . . And so, all told, did a sevenday pass.

  And late in the evening of the seventh day, just as the sun was setting, the great white Bear came padding across the snow and to the stone cottage plank door, where he gave the panel a heavy knock. Rushing to the entryway, Aigrette flung it wide. “Come in, Monsieur Bear, Ambassador of the Prince.” Aigrette moved aside. The Bear swung its head this way and that as if seeking, and then he stepped inward, making straight for Camille. ’Round his girth was a harness on which were affixed bundles, several on each side. The Bear presented a flank to the girl and looked over his shoulder at her. “Whuff,” he breathed, and nuzzled the pack-roll at hand.

  Camille loosened the thongs holding the bundle fast and set the whole of it on the table.

  “Untie it, untie it,” demanded Gai, jittering from one foot to another.

  “Yes, do,” added her twin, fidgeting at Gai’s side.

  Inside was clothing, all of it sized to fit Camille. First revealed was a splendid dark green, all-weather cloak, made of a woolen cloth. Then came soft leather trousers and a leather vest and boots and cotton socks, all of these dark brown. Next revealed was a jerkin, made of pale green silk, and green silk full-length hosiery. Lastly came undergarments, made of green silk as well. Father and mother and sisters and even Giles oohed and ahhed over the richness of the attire.

  Camille sighed. “Travelling clothes.” Then she turned to the Bear. “But, O Bear, I have not said I would go.”

  The sisters gasped, and Felise whined, “Oh, Camille, but you must, else we will be without dowries.”

  “Nonsense,” snapped Aigrette, stepping to Camille’s side, but addressing the Bear. “She will go.”

  “I have neither said yea nor nay, Maman,” replied Camille, glancing at her father, but Henri merely hung his head.

  Now Joie and Gai broke into tears, and Lisette ground her teeth in fury. Felise plopped down in a chair and moaned, while Colette cried out, “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

  Of a sudden the Bear gave a great roar, shocking them all into silence, all but Giles, that is, for he began wheezing and gasping, desperately struggling for breath. And then his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed to the floor, falling slack as if slain. Camille was the first to reach him, and though the lad was unconscious, his lungs yet fought for air.

  “See what you’ve done, Camille,” hissed Aigrette. “Had we gold we could make him well.”

  With tears in her eyes, Camille embraced Giles, and weeping, she whispered, “You win, Maman. I will go.”

  That night in her bed, Camille was awakened by someone slipping out the door, and by the glow of an ember or two yet remaining on the hearth, she could see that the Bear was gone. She eased out from the lower bunk, and only the harness and the remaining bundles lay where he had been. And she thought that perhaps even Bears needed to relieve themselves. After reassuring herself that sleeping Giles breathed peacefully, Camille crawled back under the blanket with Joie and Gai and quickly fell aslumber. She did not stir when the door opened again, but awakened later to see the Bear once more lying nigh the center of the room.

  The next morning Henri found a small wooden case on the table, and when he opened it he gave a great shout, for it was filled to the brim with gold coins. “The bride-price!” he called out. “The bride-price has come, and, oh, what riches we have!”

  Aigrette leapt from her bed and rushed to the board, while daughters scrambled up and to the table as well, Joie and Gai scuttling over Camille to do so. Camille sat up and glanced at Giles, to see him looking at her. He smiled his quirky smile and rose from his cot and made his way to the table, too, where he found Aigrette testing each coin by biting down with her teeth.

  The Bear merely sat and watched.

  “But wait, Maman,” said Lisette to her mother, glancing at the Bear, “what if this is merely a glamour and nought but fairy gold, to turn to dross in the light of the sun?”

  At Lisette’s words a low growl rumbled in the Bear’s chest, but Aigrette’s eyes flew wide. “Here, here,” she snapped, grabbing up the wooden case and scooping the gold from the table and within. She hied past the Bear to take it outside and into the sunlight, and he made no move to stop her.

  Moments later she came dancing back in, holding the case of coins on high and crowing, “It’s real. It is truly gold,” for in the direct rays of the sun none of the coins had changed to iron or lead or other base metal or slag, or to rubbish of any kind.

  The Bear sniffed as if to say, “You doubted?”

  After a breakfast of gruel, the Bear sharing Camille’s bowl, with father and mother and the sisters all chatting gaily and the gold heaped on the table, Camille sighed and looked about at her family. Only Giles seemed pensive, and tears stood behind his eyes, for he would not lose his dear sister. Wiping her own brimming tears with the heels of her hands, Camille smiled at her brother and murmured, “It will be all right, Frère.” He grinned his crooked grin at her, but his heart wasn’t in the smile.

  Camille turned to her father. “And you, Papa, what will you do with the gold?”

  Henri took a deep breath and slowly let it out, and ran his fingers across his greying temples. He glanced at the pile of coins and said, “Now we can afford a team of oxen or a horse to plow the land, and a milk cow for the gi
rls as well, and medicine for Giles.”

  Aigrette shook her head and glared at Henri. “Your father always did think small, Camille. As for the gold, there’s more than enough to build a fine house, enough to provide me—to provide all of us—a luxurious way of living.”

  “Just as the prince in his letter said,” agreed Lisette.

  The conversation turned to what things they could buy, and what dowries they could have, and what young men might come calling. Neither Camille nor Giles nor Henri joined in.

  After breakfast, Camille stepped behind the burlap privy curtain to don the very fine travelling clothes. She slipped into the undergarments, the delicate silken touch caressing her. She pulled on the silk hosiery, and then the jerkin and laced it up, and donned the soft leather trousers and vest, the silken garments underneath to keep the leather from chafing. Then she pulled on the socks and boots, and they fit her feet quite well. She cast the dark green cloak over her shoulders and fastened it with the jade brooch she discovered at its throat. With her golden tresses lying across the velvety, forest green shoulders of the cloak gracing her slender form, taking a deep breath, she stepped from behind the drape, and gasps went up from the sisters. Giles stared at her wide-eyed, as if he had never seen her before, and both Henri and Aigrette reflected his look of astonishment. Even the Bear seemed o’erwhelmed, for he stood four-footed and dipped his head low, almost as if he were bowing.

  “Oh, Camille,” said Colette, raising a hand to her cheek, “though dressed as a boy, you look like a fair lady true.”

  Camille blushed at Colette’s words and the scrutiny she received from all. To cover her discomfiture, she turned to the Bear, and he whuffed and nuzzled the harness and goods lying on the floor.

  With help from Giles, Camille affixed the rigging about the Bear’s massive frame, and then she fastened the bundles onto the straps. Her sister Felise stepped forward with a petite roll and said, “ ’Tis raggings, in case your courses come upon you on the journey.” Camille nodded and tied on this small bundle as well, next to the one which held her most precious possessions: a wood-and-fishbone comb, dried mint leaves to sweeten her breath, several chew-sticks to scrub her teeth, and a small piece of soap made of rendered animal fat and scented with clover blossoms.

  At last, all was ready. And Camille hugged each of her sisters, Gai and Joie, Felise, Colette, all of whom said, “Merci, Camille,” and finally Lisette, who stiffly received the embrace and gritted through clenched teeth, “It should have been me.”

  Camille then hugged her mother, who said, “Now we have gold,” and then her father, who whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  Last of all she hugged Giles, who burst into tears without saying a word, but Camille said, “Fear not, Little Frère, for I believe all will be well,” even though her heart was hammering in dread.

  At another whuff from the Bear, Henri opened the door, and out into winter they all trod, where sunlight aglance across the snow cast diamondlike glints to the eye.

  Sighing and forcing a smile and raising her hand in au revoir, Camille started trudging toward Faery, but the Bear growled and did not move.

  Frowning, Camille looked back and said, “O Bear, do we not go this way? It is your own tracks in the white I follow.”

  Yet the Bear still did not move.

  “Oh, my,” hissed Aigrette to Henri. “Something has gone wrong. The prince will take back his gold.”

  Camille returned to the Bear’s side. “What is it you want, O Bear?”

  Giles frowned down at the glittering snow and then looked up at Camille. “The letter, Camille. Remember the letter?”

  Camille looked at her little brother. “Y-yes. I do. But what does it—?”

  “ ‘I await your answer,’ ” quoted Giles. “ ‘If it is yes, my ambassador will bear her to me.’ Oh, Camille, don’t you see, the Bear wants you to ride.”

  With uncertainty, Camille looked at the Bear. “Is that it, O Bear? You wish me to ride?”

  “Whuff.” The Bear lowered his head.

  Taking a deep breath and catching hold of the harness, Camille mounted up, Gai and Joie gasping in borrowed fright, Lisette frowning in disdain, while Felise and Colette and Père and Mère looked on in wonder at Camille, the golden-haired girl perched as would a lady riding sidesaddle upon a horse. Only Giles laughed in glee; but then the Bear began to move away, heading toward the twilight realm, and Giles’ laughter died in his throat and tears sprang to his eyes, for his beloved sister was leaving.

  Without turning, Camille waved adieu to her family, for she did not want them to see she was weeping; after all, she was all of sixteen and now on her own, and surely beyond such displays. Nevertheless, tears flowed down her cheeks to drop away in the cold. And she cast the hood of the cloak over her head to hide her teary-eyed face and to fend against the chill, while the Bear padded forward toward twilight.

  Before the Bear had gone halfway, Aigrette turned and rushed back into the hovel to count once more the measure of precious gold, Lisette trailing after. But the rest of the family remained where they stood, watching, as Camille rode away to an unknown fate on the back of a Bear from Faery.

  4

  Springwood

  Across a winter-fallow ’scape laden with crystalline snow went the Bear, with bundles strapped to his harness and a young girl mounted above. And Camille’s heart hammered ever more frantically the closer to Faery they came. Even so, even though her mouth was dust-dry with fear, just ere crossing out of the mortal world and into the mystic realm, she managed to turn and wave to the cluster of kindred standing beside the little stone cottage where all of her life she had lived; yet even as they raised their hands to return her distant au revoir, the Bear crossed over the marge, and within ten strides or mayhap ten hundred, the hovel and family were gone. And though it was midmorn in the world behind, it was twilight in the numinous domain. Camille gasped in surprise, for though she had not known what she had expected, it certainly was not this, for they had entered a burgeoning forest, a realm where the gentle air of mid-spring wafted among newly leafed-out trees, a place where winter held no grip.

  Camille cast back the hood of her cloak and shook loose her flowing tresses to cascade golden down her back. And she breathed in the scent of the woodland, fresh and full of new promise, where, somehow, in spite of the twilight, the shades of the forest seemed darker, and yet at the same time the hues were more vivid than any she could ever dream. Old were these trees, some of them, their roots reaching deep, their great girths moss-covered, their branches spread wide and interlacing with others overhead. Yet here and there was new growth—thickets of saplings and lone seedlings and solitary treelets, all reaching upward into the strange, crepuscular half-light. Yet, her eye was drawn to the old growth: oak, she could see, proud and majestic, and groves of birch, silver and white; maple and elm stood tall, with dogwood and wild cherry blossoms filling the air with their delicate scents. And down among the roots running across the soil, crocuses bloomed, as did small mossy flowers, yellow and lavender and white. Birds flitted here and there, their songs claiming territory and calling for mates. The hum of bees sounded as they moved from blossom to blossom, and elsewhere beetles clambered along greening vines and stems. Overhead, scampering limb-runners chattered, and down among the grass and thatch, voles and other small living things rustled. Somewhere nearby and hidden in bracken, a small stream burbled and splashed, as if singing and dancing on its way to the shores of a distant sea. Bright and dark and twilight were these woods, and full of wakened life, and Camille was filled with the marvel of it all.

  While looking this way and that in the impossible task of trying to see the whole of it, Camille unclasped the brooch at her neck and removed the cloak from ’round her shoulders, for the air was mild and she would be shed of the warm garment. As she reached for a strap of the harness at hand to affix the cloak under, Camille looked down and said, “Oh, Bear—” but her words chopped to silence, for the Bear was no longer a
pristine white, but an ebon black instead.

  “Bear!” she exclaimed in wonder. “You’ve changed colors.”

  The Bear merely grunted, and padded onward across the sward and among the close-set boles of trees.

  As they travelled on, the twilight brightened, as if day were coming unto this mystical land. Onward they went and onward, the day getting brighter and brighter, yet whenever they topped a clear rise and Camille looked back the way they had come; in the distance hindward twilight yet cloaked the land. Frowning, she looked ahead, and twilight seemed to reign there, too, as well as to left and right.

  Full daylight came where the Bear now trod, the day nigh the noontide, and still there was twilight afar, seeming diminished no less than before.

  Glancing up at the sun above, the Bear plodded a bit farther, to come under the widespread limbs of a great oak, and there it was he stopped. He looked over his shoulder at Camille.

  “What is it, O Bear, that you desire? Should I dismount?”

  “Whuff.”

  Turning full sideways, Camille sprang to the ground. She stretched her legs and walked about, for she was not used to riding. She came to the edge of a brook, and the bourne sang its rippling song as it tumbled o’er pebbles and rocks. Kneeling at stream edge, she drank long and deeply of the chill water, and rose up to her knees to find the Bear standing nigh. She wiped her lips on the back of her hand, then said, “Oh, Bear, that was perhaps the most delicious draught ever. Is all of Faery like such?”

  The Bear grunted noncommittally, and then, moving downstream of Camille, he stepped to the brook and lowered his great muzzle and took a deep drink himself.

  Camille stood and brushed off her knees, then straightened and filled her lungs fully with the cool, crystalline air. “Bear, what name has this place? Oh, I don’t mean Faery itself, but this glorious woodland around.”