Once upon a Summer Day

22

“Rhensibe again?”

“Oui. Rhensibe again, Flic. And even as Chelle said the name, the dream began to fade, and there was nought I could do to stop it.”

Flic frowned and looked up at Borel. “And she gave you no hint as to what or who this Rhensibe might be?”

“Non.” Borel took another bite of cold marmot meat.

Buzzer landed next to Flic and began a waggle dance. After a moment, the bee stepped to the jar lid and began lapping honey. Flic dipped a finger into the sweetness and licked it off.

“Well?” said Borel around a mouthful of marmot.

“You are to be congratulated, my prince,” said Flic. “Buzzer says we are not too far off the line. How you managed to hew to the course while wading through the swamp with nought but the light of stars to illume the way, well, that was quite a feat.”

Borel laughed. “Flic, my lad, I used those same stars to guide my feet.-And speaking of swamps, is there a stream nearby where I can wash this putrid blackstool slime and the other foul leavings of that wretched mire from me?”

Flic shoved two fingers of honey into his mouth and then said, “I’ll look.” Up he flew to a great height, and then arrowed off on an angle to the twilight wall behind. Buzzer continued lapping sweetness from the jar lid, though it seemed to Borel that Buzzer’s eye facets remained locked upon him.

Just as Borel finished the last of the marmot meat, and Buzzer the last of the honey in the lid, Flic circled down. “There is a small thicket in a low spot yon, a mere therein. I believe it’s large enough to be a bath for you, my lord.”

“Ah, good.” Borel capped the honey jar and packed away their meager belongings into the tiny, Gnome-given rucksack, which he then belted by rope to his waist. He strung his bow and took up his quiver and said, “Let us away.”

And with both Buzzer and Flic riding the tricorn, off toward the thicket Borel marched, Flic pointing the way.

“We still do not know whether this Rhensibe is friend or foe,” said Flic, as Borel strode through the hip-high grass, some stalks of which were topped with tiny blue flowers.

“Given Chelle’s fright, I think Rhensibe is a foe,” said Borel.

“Mayhap not, my lord,” said Flic. “Rhensibe could merely be a bearer of ill tidings, and one should not blame the messenger for the message. But then again, perhaps you are right and Rhensibe is a foe, or a dreadful beast, a savage monster, or even a dumb brute.”

Borel shook his head. “Not a dumb brute, Flic. Recall, Chelle said it was Rhensibe who told her there was but a moon left. So, no matter what or who this Rhensibe might be, he or she or it can speak.-Heed, my tiny one, we can speculate all day and still be no closer to the pith of it. When we reach Roulan’s estate, then will we learn the truth.”

“Perhaps so, my lord. Perhaps so.-Ah, there is the thicket.”

With himself bathed and his leathers wiped off as best he could, Borel made ready to go. As the prince stepped from the thicket, Buzzer flew up and sighted on the sun and then shot away. Borel sighted along the beeline Buzzer took, and in the distance afar, he could see foothills rising up into the flanks of a low range of mountains, their sides green with foliage in the midmorn sunlight. Borel’s heart beat a bit faster, for he seemed to recall that such forest-clad slopes lay behind Roulan’s lands.

Taking up the Wolftrot he could sustain all day, he started toward a particular mountain peak along his line of sight.

Flic, jouncing but a bit on the tricorn prow, said, “Can you talk while you run, my prince?”

“Oui. It is how my pere taught me to gauge my rate. ‘Trot at a pace at which you can just carry on a running conversation, ’ he said, ‘and then you will know you are at nigh the fastest clip you can keep to nearly all day.’ ”

“Ah, good,” said Flic, “for I would ask you this: what is this ‘majority’ you spoke of?”

“It is a holdover from when humans lived only in the mortal world,” said Borel, “and concerns the status of having reached full legal age, with attendant entitlements and responsibilities. It means one has the right to make his own choices, to go his own way, and on his own to decide what to do with his life. Yet it also means that one has obligations to fulfill to his kindred, his clan, his realm. Some also call it the coming of age.”

“And when might that be?” said Flic.

“It is that point in time when a person becomes an adult,” said Borel. “In the mortal world, it can be fifteen years for some, twelve or thirteen for others, or eighteen, or even twenty-one.”

Flic laughed. “In the mortal world it sounds as if time is as irregular as it is here in Faery.”

“Oh, no,” said Borel, jogging ’round a small stand of trees. “What it really depends on are the needs of the culture; in some, majority arrives earlier than others. I would have been twenty-one in mortal years when I came of age. For my sisters, eighteen.”

“Hmm…” said Flic. “I wonder what it would be in my case.”

“Who knows, my lad,” said Borel. “In Faery, a millennium can pass in but a single day, and a thousand or more days in but a single year.”

Flic frowned and scratched his head and tried to imagine what a mortal year might be, and Borel jogged on, sighting on the crest of a particular mountain to hew unto the line flown by a special bee.

As the sun reached the zenith, it seemed they were no closer to the foothills and mountains, but distances can be deceiving in the realms of Faery. Even so, the thigh-high, blue-flowered grass of the plains had vanished arear, and now Borel loped across a lowland, turf and peat aground. Borel paused on the bank of a flowing rill and laid out some jerky and the honey jar, dribbling a bit of the golden sweetness into the lid. As Borel took a bite of the dried meat and chewed, and Flic dipped fingers into the sticky fluid and licked it away, Buzzer returned annoyed by the delay, but settled down to sip beside the Sprite.

Flic looked up at Borel and said, “Have you made love to her in your unfettered dreams?”

“Eh?”

“I asked if you and Chelle had yet made love in your unfettered dreams.”

“Do you mean, have I bedded her?”

“Oui,” said Flic, a Pixyish grin on his face.

“Non.”

“Non? Why not? It is only a dream, and anything can happen in a dream.”

“Flic, if it were an ordinary dream, then whatever happens happens. But this dream is not ordinary, for it is a dream she and I share. And in it I know I am dreaming, but she does not. And though I control aspects of the dream, I would not force myself upon her. You see, I do love her, and when or if we ever lie together, it will be a matter of free choice on both our parts. But for now, I am the only one who truly has free will, who truly is not subject to the heedless whims and wild emotions of a dream, and so I have not made love to her, and will not until she and I both choose to do so. Perhaps it will never be, but if it does so happen, then it will be when we meet in the flesh.”

Flic burst out giggling, and when Borel raised a questioning eyebrow, “Meet in the flesh, indeed,” gasped the Sprite, and giggled all the harder.

“Ah, Flic, you know what I mean,” said Borel, smiling in spite of himself.

They ate without speaking for long moments, and then Borel said, “Let me tell you a tale.”

“Oh, good! I love stories,” said Flic. Then he frowned and added, “Unless they’re bloody. This isn’t a bloody one, is it?”

“Non. It is quite mild, my wee friend.”

“Well, not too mild, I hope. I mean, an Ogre getting smashed to a pulp and squirting out in all directions, well that’s all right. Or a seven-headed Giant getting each of his heads chopped off, that’s acceptable, too. Gushing blood, if it comes from Goblins and the like, that I wouldn’t mind. Or ropelike guts spilling out from a gleaming sword cut, or sprayed wide from a swung axe, I find that quite to my liking, and-”

“Wait, wait,” said Borel, flinging up a hand, “just what do you mean when you say you don’t like bloody stories?”

“Oh, well, you know,” said Flic, shrugging one shoulder, “like, say, a bee getting smashed… or a Sprite. Now that would be entirely too bloody.”

Borel fell over backward, laughing, and Flic cried, “Well, it would be, you know!” And in a huff, the Sprite hitched around sideways to the laughing prince and crossed his arms and jutted out his chin, a glaring pout on his face.

Buzzer merely kept lapping at the honey.

Finally, Borel sat back up, and he held out a hand of apology to Flic, the Sprite to snort in response and turn his face ever further away.

The prince sighed and took another bite of jerky. He chewed a moment and swallowed and said, “Once upon a time there was a king in the West-that means duskwise-who heard of a princess of surpassing beauty and wisdom in the distant East-dawnwise. It was said that this princess had made up her mind that she would never marry unless the man who asked for her hand could answer her question. Her father decreed that if a suitor was unsuccessful, then his head would be forfeit and would rest on a pike outside the city gates. So far, many a man had tried, but all had failed, and all had died at the hands of her cruel sire, which pleased him much, for this way he would not lose the wisdom of his daughter in his rule of the kingdom.”

Borel paused and took another bite of jerky. The scowl had left Flic’s features the moment he heard of heads on pikes; even so, he yet remained with his face turned away from the prince. After a moment, Borel swallowed and said, “The king in the West, intrigued by this story, went to see for himself. He rode his gallant steed over many miles, crossing burning deserts, climbing snowy mountains, swimming deep rivers, and faring o’er endless plains, but at last he found himself at the gates of a great city in the East wherein it was said the princess dwelled. And outside the portals on hundreds of pikes, some with blood yet dripping, were impaled the heads of hundreds of would-be suitors, all who had failed to answer one simple question.”

Again Borel paused for a bite of jerky, and at mention of blood yet dripping, Flic had turned completely ’round and now faced Borel, eagerly awaiting the next part of the story.

“The king from the West then entered the city and rode his horse to the palace, where he dismounted and approached the guard and asked to pay his respects to the king in the East as well as to his daughter. Learning from the guard that this petitioner was a powerful king from the West, the king in the East bade him to enter, and all the courtiers and advisors made way, and into the audience chamber the Western king strode.

“There on a throne of her own near her sire’s chair of state sat the princess, the most lovely creature the king from the West had ever seen. For her part, the princess was taken by this handsome man, and once again she regretted the pledge she had made in a fit of pique so long past, a pledge that her cruel sire would not let her rescind and who enforced the consequences with the keen edge of a headsman’s sword.”

Borel paused, and Flic demanded, “What happened? What happened?”

After another bite and a long chew, with the Sprite fidgeting about and barely able to contain himself, Borel went on:

“ ‘I ask for the hand of your daughter,’ said the Western king, and all the courtiers gasped, and tears welled in the eyes of the princess, for she knew what fate awaited those who failed, and she would not have this man die on her account. And so she warned him that no man could answer that which she asked.

“Nevertheless, the Western king insisted, and so she had no choice but to pose the question to him.”

Borel took a bite of black bread and chewed, while Flic jumped to his feet and demanded, “The question, the question, what was the question?”

Borel smiled and chewed and Flic huffed and dithered from foot to foot, and finally the prince swallowed.

“And so, the Eastern king called his headsman to the chamber so that there would be no delay when this latest suitor failed. And when the black-hooded man entered bearing his great curved sword, the king turned to his daughter and bade her to pose the question.

“Sighing, the princess, her voice as lovely as that of a lark, again begged the Western king to reconsider, but he insisted, for she was even more lovely and wise than he had ever dreamed. And so she posed her question: ‘What is it that women want?’ ”

Borel paused once more, and Flic screamed, “The answer, the answer, what was his answer?”

Borel smiled and said, “Have you forgiven me, Flic?”

“Yes, yes, but I must have the answer! Tell me now or I will burst!”

“Oh, well,” said Borel, “we can’t have you bursting all over the place. Buzzer might take ill to such a thing, and I would not have her enraged.”

“Then tell me!” shrieked Flic.

“Why, what would your own answer be, my tiny friend?”

Flic flung his arms wide and shrilled, “How would I know? How would anyone know? Isn’t that the mystery of the ages?”

“Indeed it is, Flic, but you see, the Western king knew the answer.”

Flic hopped from foot to foot and demanded, “And…?”

“The Western king simply bowed gracefully to the princess and said, ‘My lady, what all women want is to be masters of their own fates.’

“Tears of relief sprang into the eyes of the princess, and she turned to her sire and said, ‘As you know, Father, that is the answer I am seeking.’ ”

Flic’s mouth flopped opened in surprise. “That’s it? That’s the answer to the mystery of the ages?” Then he knitted his brows together and plopped down and peered at the ground and said, “How utterly simple. I never would have thought of that.”

“The tale is not yet done, Flic,” said Borel, “for an even more perilous challenge lay ahead for the Western king.”

Flic’s head jerked up. “What? Not done? Something more perilous?”

“Indeed,” said Borel.

“Well, then tell me, tell me.”

“ ‘That is the answer I am seeking,’ said the princess. But her sire ground his teeth in rage and slammed his fist to the arm of the throne, and he growled and said, ‘Bah! Indeed he has guessed the answer to your question, but now you must pose to him the dilemma I set.’ And all the court gasped, for they did not know there was a second response needed to win the hand of the princess, for no one else had ever gotten this far.

“Once again tears sprang into the eyes of the princess, this time tears of sorrow, for at last here was the man she had dreamed of-young and handsome and wise and a king in his own right. Nevertheless, she assented to her sire’s demand, and of a sudden she changed into the most repulsive creature anyone could imagine. Members of the Eastern court fell in swoons or ran away screaming or dropped to the floor begging for mercy. Yet the Western king stood staunchly and said, ‘Speak the dilemma, my lady.’ And the monstrous creature croaked, ‘I will take on this form half of the day’-and she changed back into a lovely maiden-‘and this form the other half. You can have me at your side during the daylight marks as a lovely companion, lending your court elegance and wisdom, but in your bed in the nighttime marks you will have me as this’-and once again, she changed into the horrid monster. ‘Or you can have me at your side as a hideous thing in the daylight hours, sending all in your court screaming away’-she shifted again to the beautiful princess-‘but in your bed you will have me as you see me now. And so, if we are to marry, which will it be?’ ”

Borel paused again, and Flic said, “Oh, my, oh, my, what a dilemma that truly is. Which did the king choose?”

“Were you in his place, Flic, how would you choose to respond?”

Flic’s face twisted in an agony of indecision. “Loathing by day and allurement by night? Or allurement by day and loathing by night? Oh, oh, oh, Prince Borel, I simply could not choose.”

“Exactly so,” said Borel, smiling, “you have hit upon the answer.”

Flic’s eyes flew wide. “I have?”

“Indeed, for the Western king said, ‘Either way I would love you, my darling, and so the choice is yours.’

“The beautiful princess laughed and ran down the steps to the Western king and threw herself into his arms and said, ‘Then I choose to keep this form both day and night.’ But her enraged sire shouted in fury, for the Western king had again responded correctly. And, black in the face, the Eastern king leapt up from his throne and hurtled down to the headsman and grabbed the great curved sword, and as he raised it to slay them both, of a sudden he clutched at his head and screamed and fell dead of wrath at their feet.

“And so, the Western king and the Eastern princess became rulers o’er two lands: one in the East, one in the West, and they lived in happiness the rest of their lives.”

Borel fell silent, and Flic said, “I never would have thought of either of his answers, Lord Borel. I didn’t know what women want, and I certainly couldn’t choose between day and night.” He looked up to see Borel smiling faintly, one eyebrow cocked. Flic sighed and said, “You told me this story for a reason, didn’t you.”

As he packed away their goods, Borel nodded and said, “I did at that, my friend. You see, just as the Western king knew that women need to make their own free choices-and that’s what the tale is all about, making free choices-so do I know that as well. In the dream we share, Chelle is somehow ensnared, and so I think she has little choice concerning what occurs. But as for me, I do have choices, and I will not force them upon her, no matter that it is just a dream. And when we set her free, awake or asleep, it will be the same.”

Borel stood and looked toward the foothills and the mountains beyond and said, “Time to go.”

Buzzer flew up and ’round and then arrowed off toward the range. And Borel, with Flic riding on the prow of the tricorn, loped o’er the land after.

It was late afternoon when Borel swam and Flic flew across a meandering river and came in among the hills. And although they had passed scattered farmsteads here and there, still Borel had not veered from the course set by the bee. When they reached the distant bank, Borel could see at an angle upslope a league or so away the mouth of a narrow vale. It was the dell of Lord Roulan’s estate, or so he believed.

As he redonned his clothes and took up his belongings from the driftwood log he had used in making the crossing, Borel said, “At last, my friend, thanks to you and Buzzer, we have come nigh the goal. Yon leftward upstream and well beyond that distant croft lies the town I remember, and at the top of this long slant is the vale of Roulan’s manor and gardens.” He shouldered his quiver and said, “Yet now we must deal with the daggers, whatever they might be.”

“I will scout ahead, my prince,” said the Sprite, “and seek out hidden dangers, and warn you of peril, should there be any.”

“Well and good, Flic. Yet ’ware, for hazard may lurk unseen.”

Flic darted up and up, gaining height before winging toward the dell.

Borel continued his Wolftrot, angling up and cross-slope, the mouth of the vale ever nearing. In less than half a candlemark he had drawn almost even with the gape, but Flic had not yet returned, and a feeling of foreboding gnawed at the edges of Borel’s mind, for surely the Sprite should have been back by now.

And so the prince nocked an arrow and slowed as he reached the shoulder of the ridge forming one side of the valley.

And then he heard weeping, and rounding the turn he came upon a desolate Flic sitting high upon a boulder, Buzzer at hand. As Borel stepped close, the Sprite looked up, tears in his eyes. “Oh, my prince, Buzzer says this is the place, but we have flown the entire length, and there is no manor, no gardens, no pink-petaled shamrock nor blushing white roses nor thorn-laden blackberry vines. There is nothing at all.” Once more Flic burst into tears.

His heart pounding in dread, Borel stepped forward and ’round the shoulder of the ridge and gazed down the full of the dell, his eyes seeing nought but a bare stone vale, as if the land had been stripped down to raw bedrock, with nothing else whatsoever therein.