Once Upon a Winter's Night fs-1 Read online

  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 girls 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 whuff ed 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 Frere, 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 Pere and Mere 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.”

  The Bear raised his head from the bourne, water streaming down from his muzzle. He glanced about and grunted, and then lowered his head again.

  “Well, then, let me see. Since your master is Lord of the Summerwood, then this cannot be his demesne, for here ’tis spring, not summer. This must be the Springwood instead.”

  The Bear again raised his head, and cocked it to one side as he looked at her, and then he gave a soft whuff.

  “Does that mean yes, that I have guessed aright?”

  Again the Bear whuff ed.

  Camille clapped her hands together and laughed. “Oh, Bear, you are not much of a conversationalist, yet when you speak, I listen. But hear me now: my breakfast was sparse, and all of this travel and your constant chitter-chatter has made me quite hungry; you wouldn’t happen to have some food in those bundles you carry, now would you?”

  The Bear rumbled deep in his chest, and then turned and padded to the great oak, where he dipped his head low, almost as if in obeisance. Perplexed, Camille looked on as the Bear raised his head and canted it to one side as if listening to unvoiced words from the oak. But Camille could hear nought but the sibilant rustle of new-green leaves overhead. The Bear then turned and began circling the tree, snuffling along the ground. He stopped and scooped one powerful forepaw down into the soft loam.

  He turned to Camille.

  “ Whuff. ”

  Camille stepped to where the Bear stood, and she looked into the foot-deep gouge, where, within, she espied a dark double-fist-sized growth of some sort.

  “You wish me to dig that out, O Bear?”

  The Bear whuff ed softly and looked into the hole as well.

  Camille knelt and pushed away soft loam, and she reached with two hands and grasped the growth and pulled it up. Dark, it was, almost black and somewhat spongy, and it had an earthy aroma. Frowning, she said, “This feels somewhat like a mushroom, but I think it is not. Let us take it to the stream and wash it off, and then we shall see.”

  Moments later, with water yet dripping, Camille broke off a small piece, and just as the globular growth was dark on the outside, it was dark on the inside as well. Camille looked at the broken-off piece suspiciously. “Are you certain, O Bear, that this is safe to eat?”

  “ Whuff. ”

  Camille took a small nibble and gasped, “Oh, my. How delicious.” She took another small bite, her eyes watering in joy.

  Her face suddenly blossomed with enlightenment. “Oh, Bear, I think Fra Galanni spoke of these. This is a truffle, right?”

  “ Whuff. ”

  She broke the truffle in two, and gave the larger portion to the Bear.

  “Fra Galanni named this the food of the gods, and now I see that he spoke true. He told me that a truffle’s ‘character’ is somewhat like that of garlic laid over a penetrating earthiness, combined with a pungent sensation like a whiff of strong wine. Of course, I never knew what he was talking about, for, though I had eaten wild garlic, I had never had a strong, pungent wine, or wine of any kind, or aught I could say had an earthy taste, whatever that might mean. Yet now I suppose I know what he meant-these flavors in combination-though for the individual things he cited, but for garlic, I still have no idea of their essence.”

  With a snap and a gulp, the Bear’s portion was gone, but Camille savored hers to the last, the Bear looking on somewhat avidly as she ate it in small bites. She cocked an eye at him. “If you want more, O Bear, I suggest you dig up another.”

  The Bear groaned and looked back at the tree, but made no move to comply. After a moment, he went downstream to a pool, and shortly had a fish to eat. Even so, now and again, he glanced up as if asking, “Are you going to finish all of that?”

  They rested awhile, but then the Bear stood and whuff ed.

  “Oh, is it time to go on? But it is so peaceful here.”

  The Bear rumbled low in his chest.

  “All right, all right, O Bear, but first-” She stepped into the bracken to relieve herself, the Bear standing guard and looking everywhere but toward her. Camille then trod to the stream and washed her hands, and, after taking another deep drink, she once again mounted up.

  Onward through the wondrous springtime woods they went, the midnight-black Bear and his slender rider Camille, and everywhere he bore her were marvels to delight the senses-birds singing, iridescent insects winging, the scent of loam and flowers and other growing things drifting on the air, the mild wafts caressing the skin. And Camille reveled in all.

  “O Bear,” she said, laughing gaily, “to think how I did dread coming into this place, for many are the tales of monsters and of peril dire, and yet I deem herein are no monsters, no peril; I think ’tis but a rumor fostered by the Fey Folk to hold us Humans at bay, else we would o’errun the-”

  But the Bear roared at these words, as if protesting their untruth. And crying in fright, birds fled into the sky, and only the soft hum of an insect or two and a trickle of water broke the stillness left behind.

  “Oh, my,” whispered Camille, her heart racing at the thunderous outburst. “Mayhap I am wrong after all.”

  She rode in silence for a while. But then-“Is it that there is peril herein after all?”

  “ Whuff. ”

  “Monsters?”

  “ Whuff. ”

  At these answers, Camille’s eyes widened in apprehension, and she looked about the splendid forest, seeking… seeking… she knew not what.

  Onward they went, Camille somewhat on edge, for a nagging disquiet clutched at her heart. And now and again movement flickered in the corners of her eyes, yet when she jerked about to look, it seemed nothing was there. Birds perhaps, or small, running things. Oh, Bear, why did you have to bring me such ill news?

  The sun continued to slip down the sky, and but for the fact that she rode through Fae
ry on the back of a great black Bear within an enchanted forest, the day seemed normal to Camille, though far in the distance all ’round, twilight graced the land.

  The sun set and dusk came, and, in the nearness to the fore, Camille could see a small flicker of fire. Toward this glow the Bear trod. As they moved among the trees, Camille thought she detected the patter of small feet running lightly alongside. A bit of an animal hieing nigh, I suppose. Wait, it seems there’s more than one. And-What was that? A giggle? Was that a giggle? Camille listened intently and peered into the evening shadows. Yet she saw only darkness, and the sound was not repeated, and the footsteps pattered away.

  They came to a wee glade in which a small campfire burned within a ring of stones. Spitted above the flames, a brace of rabbits cooked, fat dripping down asizzle. No one was there to greet them; no one seemed about. Nearby, a spring gurgled from the earth and ran down a slope to a lucid mere, cattail reeds ringing ’round.

  In the tiny campsite, the Bear stopped and looked over his shoulder at Camille and whuff ed. Camille dismounted. Now the Bear nuzzled the harness; she unbuckled the straps, and at another sign from the Bear, undid one of the bundles: it was a bedroll.

  “We are to spend the night here?”

  “ Whuff. ”

  “But there must be someone who kindled the fire and spitted the rabbits to cook; are we to camp with him… or with them, if there’s more than one?”

  The Bear made no reply.

  Camille stamped her foot. “Oh, would you had more than a simple whuff to say, or more than that deafening roar.”

  Again the Bear made no comment, but instead looked back and forth between Camille and the rabbits over the fire.