Once upon a Spring morn

19

Forest

Beyond Port Cient the land rose up from the sea to become rolling hills, with scatters of thickets and groves amid ground cleared and filled with vineyards and fields of grain and cultivated rows of vegetables, as well as orchards and nut groves. Farmhouses dotted the land, some attached to byres, others not, and an occasional manor graced a hillside. Pastures with herds of grazing cattle and flocks of sheep gathered ’round these dwellings, and gaggles of geese hissed at the pair of sunwise-faring riders, but only if they ventured too near.

The air smelled of turned earth and new-mown hay and the tang of fruit ripening, and of the dung of cow and sheep and horse, and of barnyard and henhouse and sty, and of sawed and chopped timber and woodsmoke from hearth fires. Traces and pathways and lanes and farm roads crisscrossed the region, and Celeste and Roel followed a well-travelled way as it wended among the hills and passed nigh many a dwelling. Field workers or drovers or farmwives and children would pause in their daily chores to watch these two strangers riding by.

“Where be ye bound?” some would call, and Roel would point ahead and answer, “Yon.”

“Well, don’t go too far-the forest be that way,” said a straw-hatted man ambling along the lane in the same direction Celeste and Roel fared, the man leading yoked oxen pulling a wain filled with large, pale yellow root vegetables-parsnips, most likely, their sweet fragrance redolent on the air.

“The forest?” asked Roel.

“Oui. It be a terrible place.”

“Terrible in what way?”

“Strange goings-on and mystifications, that’s what.”

“How far?” asked Celeste.

“Two days by horse, or mayhap three, all told,” he replied, raising his voice to be heard above the grind of bronze-rimmed wheels now running over a rough patch of road. “They say it lies beyond the pass through the mountains, and that’s just a day away.”

“They say?” asked Celeste.

“Oui, them what should know, for I wouldn’t be fool enough to go there myself.”

Celeste glanced at Roel, and as he began to grin, she gave a faint shake of her head, and so he put on a sober mien and said, “Merci, mon ami.”

“Eh,” said the man, with a gesture of dismissal, as he continued his unhurried walk and led his oxen onward, the wagon trundling in tow.

Celeste and Roel rode beyond, leaving the man in their wake.

By midday the pair had ridden well past the farming region, and the land had continued to rise.

When the noontide came, they stopped in a willow grove nigh a stream for a meal and to feed and water the horses. As soon as the animals had been taken care of, Celeste sat down among the tall, waving grass along the bank, the seed-bearing heads nodding in the faint breeze. Roel handed her a torn-off hunk of bread and a wedge of cheese and plopped down beside her. Celeste took a bite of each and peered at her map. “Hmm. .,” she said, chewing and then swallowing. “Roel, look at ONCE UPON A SPRING MORN / 159

this.” She tapped a spot on the chart. “This place might be two or three days hence.”

Roel leaned over and looked. “A twilight bound, eh?

Ah, I see, this is the one marked EF. ”

“Oui,” said Celeste. “And if what that crofter said is true, then EF might mean ‘enchanted forest.’ ”

“Are there such things?”

Celeste smiled. “This is Faery, my love.” She took another bite of cheese.

“Ah, yes,” replied Roel, then frowned. “But, say, aren’t all things in Faery enchanted, be it a forest or field or stream or whatever else might be?” Celeste nodded. “Oui, yet some things are more charmed than others. And when something is particularly Faery-struck, then it is said to be truly magical. Hence, the EF on this map might indicate just such a place.” Around a mouthful of bread Roel asked, “And what might be in an enchanted forest?”

Celeste shrugged. “Wonderful folk. Terrible beasts.

Magical pools. Dreadful pits. Who knows?” Roel swallowed his bread and said, “Who knows?” He took a sip of water and then added, “Well, I suppose we will, once we reach it. -And by the bye, using your definition, I would call the Springwood an enchanted forest. It has wondrous folk, and it is ever springtime therein. Besides, it has a beautiful princess who rules that demesne.”

Celeste laughed and leaned over and kissed Roel.

“Mmm. . cheese,” said Roel, licking his lips. “I love cheese.”

Celeste giggled and pushed a crust of bread toward his mouth. “Here. Make your meal complete.”

“I’d rather have another taste of cheese, if you don’t mind.” And he embraced her and they kissed again, and two hearts began to race.

“Love,” said Roel, his voice husky with desire, “this grass is as soft as a bed.”

“Yes, it is,” she replied, her own voice laden with want.

Unclothed, they made reckless love amid the tall blades and stems and heads, flattening all in a wide and nearly circular swath. Breathless at last, lay they on their backs side by side. A sheen of sweat drenched Roel, beads running down in streamlets. A glow of perspiration covered Celeste, runnels pooling between her breasts and within the hollow of her navel. For long moments the lovers looked up through the limbs of swaying willows at swatches of blue sky above, and listened to the shush of the soft breeze whispering among the leaves and the murmur of the stream as it wended its way toward a distant sea. Finally, Celeste sprang to her feet and pulled Roel to his, and laughing, she jumped into the clear-running flow, and waist-deep, she splashed water upon her knight. “Oho!” cried Roel, and he leapt in after the princess.

Dressed once more and riding onward, Roel said,

“Speaking of enchanted forests, I believe that willow grove arear now qualifies, for certainly you enspelled me. ’Tis a wondrous glamour you have.” Celeste said nought in return, though the contented smile on her face perhaps conveyed more than words.

On they rode, the land continuing to rise, and in the distance to the fore a range of snowcapped peaks came into view.

“Ah,” said Roel, “the mountains the crofter mentioned. Are they on the map?” Celeste unfolded the chart, saying, “I don’t remember any thereon.” She glanced at the vellum. “Non. They are not on the map, but it is rather incomplete, or so Florien said. It gives mostly directions in which to fare and landmarks to find at the twilight crossings. Little else does it convey, other than the obscure letters at each bound.

I’m not even certain that the chart is to scale, for no scale was given.”

“But didn’t you say the marge was three days away?”

“I was merely relying on the crofter’s words,” replied Celeste.

“Ah.”

That night they camped in the foothills at the base of the range, and cool mountain air flowed down from above.

In the dawn, Roel and Celeste fed and watered the horses, and then took a meal of their own. As the sun broached the horizon, they saddled their mounts and laded the pack animals and got under way. As they rode to the crest of a hill, “There,” said Roel, pointing ahead,

“that must be the pass.”

To the fore a rocky slot carved its way up and through the range, heading for a col high above.

“Oui. It lies directly along the course we bear,” said Celeste.

“Mayhap a good place for an ambuscade,” said Roel, peering ahead while lifting his shield from its saddle hook. “I suggest you prepare your bow, cherie.” Celeste smiled unto herself, for even as he said it she was stringing the weapon.

Roel pulled his spear from the sling and couched it in the cup on his right stirrup. Then he looked at Celeste.

“Ready?”

“Oui. Ready. .”

. . And toward the pass they rode, Roel in the lead, trailing a packhorse, Celeste coming next, her own pack animal in tow.

Inward they went and upward, and sheer stone walls rose on both sides, and the slot twisted this way and that. The pass narrowed and deepened, and soon but a distant slash of sky jagged above, the depths below enshadowed and dim. And now and then stone arched out overhead, and here the way grew ebon. In these places the chill air turned frigid, and to left and right lay unmelted snow and ice, the sun unable to reach into the depths. But still the way continued to rise, as up toward an unseen crest the pair rode. Echoing hoofbeats clattered upslope and down, and Roel wondered if he shouldn’t have enwrapped the animals’ feet to muffle their sound. Black pools of darkness clustered in splits and crevices and slots along the walls, and little did the light from above penetrate these stygian coverts. The air smelled of granite and water and snow and ice, and whatever breeze might have been had vanished altogether.

In places the way grew even steeper, and Roel and Celeste dismounted and led the animals. Often they paused, allowing the steeds to rest, but ever they pushed onward, unwilling to spend any more time than absolutely necessary in this cold and shadowy place, with its stone walls rearing up hundreds of feet overhead and seeming to press ever closer, for at times it was no more than two arm spans wide, and mayhap as much as a thousand feet high.

They came into snow lying in the pass, for the most part quite shallow, though in places deep drifts stood across the way, and there it was Roel broke trail for the steeds, his breath coming harsh with the effort.

They reached the crest nigh midday, where a cascade of melt ran down from above, and there they stopped to rest and feed and water the horses and to eat some hardtack and jerky. But shortly they were on their way downward, Roel saying, “I’d rather not stay at these heights in the night, where the cold will plunge beyond withstanding.” Down they went and down, now on the sunwise side of the pass, and water ran freely along the way, dashing down the slopes, and at times they splashed across shallows or waded through the swift-running flow. And still the way wrenched this way and that, and the walls yet soared upward on each side, and at one point they had to unlade the packhorses and hand carry the goods through, the cleft too narrow for the animals to traverse with the supplies upon their backs, and the chill water was deep, hindered by the slot as it was.

At last the walls began to recede, and late in the day they came out from the pass and into wide rolling plains.

Roel glanced back at the twisting slot. “If that were a main thoroughfare, then someone long ago would have placed a high, gated wall somewhere within and charged heavy tolls to pass through.”

“At least there was no ambush waiting,” said Celeste, now unstringing her bow.

“Non, cherie, there wasn’t. It is a splendid place to defend, the way narrow such that a small force could hold off a much greater one. But as a place for an assault, I think it lacks the means for the assailants to spring an ambush upon the unwary traveller; after all, the way is strait and the walls very high, hence giving little chance for waylayers to lunge out from concealment in a surprise onslaught. And, just as a few could hold off many, so, too, could travellers hold off an attack.”

“I take it you have been caught in ambushes?”

“Non, but in the war my comrades and I sprang many.”

“How is it done?”

“Generally with a surprise attack on the flank,” said Roel. “A place is chosen to give the ambushers concealment on high ground, and, if you have archers, divide them into two squads and set them at an angle to one another, and then. .”

They made camp nigh a stream in a grassy swale in the foothills, and after unlading and currying the horses and feeding and watering them, and eating a meal, Roel and Celeste fell into an exhausted sleep, trusting to the Fates to keep watch o’er them.

The next morning they rested awhile ere making ready to ride, and as they broke fast, Roel said, “I wish we had thought to bring a dog along from Port Cient, for I think we need a sentry in the night, and none is better than a dog.”

“What kind would you have, Roel? A mastiff, a hound, a terrier, what?”

“My love, I think I would take the most nervous animal I could find, no matter the breed.”

“Nervous?”

Roel smiled. “What better dog to keep watch than one on edge?”

Celeste broke into laughter. She suddenly sobered and asked, “Is that something you learned in war?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Celeste cocked an eyebrow at Roel, and he said,

“When we would send a scout to seek sign of the foe, we always chose the most edgy man among the scouts at hand. For, you see, he would be the most alert to any sound or movement or odor. It seemed a good tactic, for we never lost a single scout, and yet many an enemy group we found. Hence, if it ever comes to a dog to keep watch, I will choose in a like manner.” Celeste grinned and turned up her hands and said,

“Ah, ’twould be splendid to have such a noble dog cower at our side, one who trembles and whines at the snap of a twig or twitch of a leaf or the waft of an unexpected scent.” Roel laughed and said, “Better that than one who snores through the night though a dreadful thing be creeping ’pon us.” Then he stood and added, “Come, cherie, it is time we were on our way.” They rode out across the rolling plains, where tall grass grew, the air filled with the sweet fragrance of the tiny blue blossoms nodding at the tips of green stems.

And as they fared through the lush verdancy, in the angled light of the morning, high in the sky they espied a ruddy flash. ’Twas a raptor sweeping back and forth in the distance.

“A red hawk, do you think?” asked Roel, shading his eyes.

The princess nodded. “Most likely.”

They watched the hunter for a while as across the land they rode. And then Celeste took in a quick breath.

“Ah, he’s sighted quarry.”

Even as she said it, the raptor stooped, plummeting down and down, and just above the tops of the tall grass, its wings flared, and it disappeared down within.

Long moments passed, and then up the hawk flew, something small and brown within its taloned grasp.

“Hmm. .,” said Roel. “We shall have to be careful, love, for I deem that was a marmot it took.” They swung wide of the place where the hawk had made the kill, but even so they came to ground riddled with holes and smelling of a rat warren. Celeste and Roel dismounted, and taking care, they slowly led the horses across the treacherous way, for they would not have one of the steeds step in a hole or break through a tunnel and fracture a leg. . or go lame. Finally, they passed beyond the marmot burrows and once more mounted and rode.

In the noontide they paused by a river flowing down from the mountains arear, and they watered the animals and fed them a ration of grain. For their own meal they took waybread and jerky. As they ate and watched the river flow by, of a sudden Roel stood and shaded his eyes and peered sunwise.

“What is it, love?” asked Celeste.

“I think I see the twilight boundary,” said Roel.

Celeste got to her feet and put a hand to her own brow and looked. In the distance afar, a wall of dimness faded up into the sky. “Oui. It is the shadowlight marge.”

“Bon! I was beginning to think we would never reach it. You are familiar with these dusky walls; how far away is it, do you think?”

Celeste shrugged. “That I cannot say. Mayhap we’ll reach it this eve. Mayhap on the morrow. We need to be closer to judge.”

They forded the river, the water chill, made up of snowmelt as it was, and continued riding half a point sunup of sunwise, for somewhere along that way lay the crossing they sought.

In midafternoon and low on the horizon, they espied a wall of green. “The forest?” asked Roel. “The one the crofter said to avoid?”

“So I deem,” said Celeste.

“But it is so broad,” said Roel, spreading his arms wide as if to encompass the whole of it. “It runs for league upon league. Does the map say where to enter?”

“Non, cheri, it does not. What we are to look for along the shadowlight wall is an arc of oaks curving out from the bound and ’round and then back in, or so the chart says.” Roel sighed and said, “Then the best we can do is continue riding a half point to the sunup of sunwise, and hope we find it quickly.”

They reached the edge of the forest at sunset, and there they made camp, Roel yet wishing he had thought to have brought along a plucky but nervous dog.

That night Roel was awakened by Celeste placing a finger to his lips, and he sat up to see a procession of lights low to the ground and wending among the trees, silver bells atinkle on the air.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Who is it? is more the question,” murmured Celeste.

“Most likely the wee folk heading for a fairy ring. ’Tis nigh springtime in this realm, and they would dance the chill away and welcome warmth among the trees.”

“But the woods are fully leafed,” said Roel. “Is not springtime already come?”

“ ’Tis Faery, love, where the seasons of the mortal world do not always fully apply. There are realms with green trees and blossoms abloom though winter lies across the land, just as there are domains in winter dress though summertime reigns.”

“Only in Faery,” muttered Roel.

Slowly the march wended onward, and when it could no longer be seen or heard, Roel glanced at the stars above and said, “I ween ’tis mid of night and my watch is upon us. Sleep, Celeste, and I will stand ward.”

“I would rather sit at your side.”

“Non, cherie, as much as I love your companionship, you must rest, for dawn will come soon enough.” And so Celeste lay down and soon fell aslumber. Roel listened to her breath deepen, and then he threw another stick on the low-burning fire. He stepped to the horses, standing adoze, and checked the tethers and the animals. Satisfied, he returned to camp and sat down, his back to a tree, and faced into the forest.

How long he sat thus he did not know, but he suddenly realized something was afoot among the boles directly ahead, for he heard faint turning of ground litter, and something low and dark moved stealthily.

Roel took up his sword and waited.

In the blackness of the forest and nigh to the ground a pair of red eyes glowed, and then another pair shone in the dark, creeping nearer. Roel, his heart hammering, reached across to Celeste and gently put a finger to her lips. Silently she came awake, and by the light of ruddy coals, she looked to Roel. “Shh. .,” he murmured.

“Something this way comes.”

Celeste drew her long-knife, and lay alert, and still the red eyes crept closer, now five pairs altogether.

“Hai!” cried Roel, and leapt to his feet and kicked up the fire.

Startled and shying in the sudden light, a mother fox and her four kits turned tail and fled.

Roel laughed and said, “Ah, me, but the crofter’s words of warning of a terrible forest filled with strange goings-on and mystifications have put me on edge.”

“Foxes,” said Celeste, giggling, her own heart yet arace. “You should have trapped one, love; ’twould make a fine nervous dog.”

“Celeste, there is but one edgy dog here, and it be named Roel.”

Dawn came at last, and Roel awakened Celeste. Neither had slept well, and both were somewhat glum and untalkative as they fed rations of oats to the steeds. But a meal and a hot cup of tea quickly returned them to good spirits, and they laughed at their reaction to the visit of the foxes in the predawn marks.

Shortly they were on their way again, and Roel asked,

“How far to the twilight bound?”

“We should reach it just after the noontide, but then we must find the arc of trees, and I know not how long that will take.”

And so on they pressed into the forest, EF on their chart.

Through long enshadowed galleries they rode, leafy boughs arching overhead, with dapples of sunlight breaking through in stretches, the radiance adance with the shifting of branches in the breeze. And across bright meadows they fared, butterflies scattering away from legs and hooves. Nigh a cascade falling from a high stone bluff they passed, the water thundering into a pool below, and therein swam something they could not quite see, though the size of a woman or man it was. “Mayhap an Undine,” said Celeste, and then went on to explain just what that was.

Roel frowned. “A female water spirit who can earn a soul by marrying a mortal and bearing his child?”

“Oui,” said Celeste. “At least that is the myth. In my opinion, though, ’tis but wishful thinking on the part of hierophants and acolytes who would have mankind be the only beings with souls, hence favored by the gods above all other creatures. Yet I believe souls are a part of all living things.”

“All?”

“Oui. And some nonliving things as well.”

“Such as. .?”

“Mountains, rivers, the ocean.”

“The ocean?”

“Oui. Vast and deep is its soul.”

“Celeste, are you speaking of spirits and not souls?” Celeste frowned. “Is there a difference?”

“Mayhap; mayhap not. Perhaps they are two sides of the same coin.”

“Souls, spirits-whether the same or different, I believe all things possess them.” Roel smiled. “Even Undines?”

“Especially Undines,” said Celeste, grinning, “hence I’ll not have you volunteer to marry one so that she can obtain a soul.”

Roel laughed and then suddenly sobered. “Oh, Celeste, what of those whose shadows have been taken?

What of their souls?”

“My love, I believe your sister yet has a soul, though most of it is separate from her.”

Roel nodded and said, “And for those children born of a person whose shadow has been taken, Sage Geron says they are soulless.”

“Perhaps so; perhaps not. Perhaps each one has a soul that is but a fragment of what it should rightly be. And unless the gods intervene, I know not what can be done for them.”

Roel’s eyes turned to flint. “Celeste, we simply must rescue my sister ere she can bear a child, for I would not have any get of hers to be so stricken.” Celeste nodded and they rode onward in silence, their moods somber.

They fared across a mossy field, and a myriad of white birds flew up and away, flinging apart and then coalescing and swirling away on the wind, each no larger than a lark.

Tree runners scampered on branches above and scolded the passage of these intruders in their domain.

And down among the roots and underbrush, small beings fled unseen.

And as the noontide drew on, Roel said, “Hsst!

Ahead, Celeste. Listen.”

And they heard someone cursing and muttering, and among the trees, and in a small clearing they espied a stick-thin hag dressed in rags and standing amid a great scatter of dead branches strewn upon the ground. In her knobby fingers she held two pieces of cord close to her faded yellow eyes, and she cursed as she tried to knot the twine together. Beyond the crone stood a small stone cottage with a roof of sod and grass growing thereon. A tendril of smoke rose from a bent chimney.

“Take care,” whispered Celeste, loosening the keeper on her long-knife.

“Fear not,” replied Roel.

They rode a bit closer, wending among the trees, and when they came to the edge of the clearing, “Ho, madam!” called Roel.

“Oh!” shrieked the hag, and she fell to her knees and held her hands out in a plea. “Don’t murder me! Don’t rob me! I have nothing of worth. I’m just a poor and widowed old goody.” She sniveled and sobbed, mucus dripping from her hooked nose.

“We offer you no harm,” said Roel.

“But you have that big sword at your side,” said the crone as she glanced at the sun and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“It will remain sheathed unless danger presents,” assured Roel.

“You seem to be in some distress,” said Celeste, riding forward.

“My string, my wood,” wailed the hag, holding up the cord and gesturing at the scatter of sticks. “How can I cook my meals if I cannot gather wood? And how can I gather wood if I have no string to bind it?”

“Madam, let me help,” said Celeste, springing down from her steed.

“Cherie,” said Roel, an edge of warning in his voice.

But Celeste took the twine from the hands of the crone and quickly tied it, and then gathered the branches and woody twigs in a pile and swiftly bundled them. “Roel, would you please bear this into yon cote for the widowed goodwife?”

With the frail hag yet on her knees, Roel looked at Celeste and noted the keeper on her long-knife was loose, the weapon ready should there be a need. Sighing, he dismounted, and took up the sheaf and bore it into the cottage. Even as he passed through the door, the goody again glanced at the sun.

“By the mark of the day, I name you Verdandi, I name you Lady Lot, She Who Sees the Everlasting Now,” said Celeste.

A shimmer of light came over the hag, and of a sudden there stood a matronly woman with golden eyes and yellow hair, and there came to Celeste’s ears the sound of looms weaving.

“Clever, Celeste,” said Verdandi. “How did you know? I could just as well have been a witch.”

“When we first espied you the sun was just then entering the noontide, neither morning nor afternoon, but in the place between, the time of the Middle of the Three Sisters. And the moment you first glanced at the sun, I became suspicious, for my family somehow seems bound to you Three, and I knew I had to act.”

“Ah, no mystery, then?”

“I was not certain until you glanced at the sun a second time. And of course I now see you as you are and I hear the looms.”

Verdandi smiled and said, “Perhaps you see me as I truly am, but then again perhaps not. Regardless, I have come to aid you.”

“Say on, Lady Lot.”

“You must first answer a riddle, for that is a rule we Three live by.”

Celeste nodded and said, “Might we wait for Roel?”

“He will not be coming,” said Verdandi. “ ’Tis yours alone to answer, and to you alone will I give my rede.” Celeste sighed. “Ask the riddle, then.” The sound of looms increased, and Verdandi said:

“Without being fetched they come at night, Without being stolen they are lost by day, Without having wheels, yet they wheel, It is their name you must say.”

Celeste’s heart sank, and she despaired. Oh, no, I’ll never get- But then, without a moment of pondering, she blurted, “Stars, Lady Lot. Stars. They come at night without being fetched, and are lost by day, and they do wheel through the sky, and so ‘stars’ is the name I say.”

Verdandi laughed. “Princess, did you realize you just now made a rhyme of your own?”

Celeste frowned. “I did? Oh, I see: ‘lost by day’ and

‘the name I say.’ I did make a rhyme. -Oh, wait: I merely repeated the rhyming words in the riddle.” Verdandi glanced at the sun riding across the zenith and said, “Child, we must hurry, for I have a rede to speak and some advice to give you as well as a gift.” Unconsciously, Celeste’s hand strayed to her chest just above her left breast where a silver needle was threaded through her silk undershirt.

Verdandi nodded and said, “Yes, another gift, one to go with that given you by my elder sister, Skuld.”

“Elder? But she is youthful and-”

“Hush, child. Ask Camille; she will explain it.” Verdandi again glanced at the sun and once more the sound of looms swelled, and she said:

“Difficult tests will challenge you At places along the way;

You and your love must win them all, Else you will not save the day.

“Ask directions unto his tower

In the Changeling Lord’s domain; The answers given will be true,

Yet the givers must be slain.

“Until the sister is set free,

With runed blade wielded by hand Kill all those who therein do speak;

Question not; you’ll understand.”

Celeste’s eyes widened. “Kill all who speak?” Verdandi’s face fell grim. “You know I cannot answer, Celeste. Yet this I will tell you for nought: blunt half of your arrows, for you will need them. . both to kill and to not kill.”

“But Lady Lot, I do not understand,” said Celeste.

“Heed me, you will,” said Verdandi. Again she glanced at the sun, and the thud of batten and the clack of shuttle swelled, and Verdandi said, “Here, you will need these,” and she stretched out her hand, something gleaming held in her fingers.

Celeste reached forth, and Verdandi dropped the gift into her palm, and in that moment the trailing limb of the sun left the zenith, and the sound of weaving looms vanished, as did Lady Lot and the sod-roofed cottage as well.

“What th-?” Roel stood in the middle of the grassy clearing, his arms curled as if holding a bundle of branches, but he embraced only empty air.

Celeste frowned down at the gift she held: a pair of golden tweezers, their tips so rounded they would be hard-pressed to grasp anything.