Once upon a Summer Day

42

“My lord, what peril comes?” cried Flic, the Sprite awing and with his silver epee in hand.

“Merde!” shouted Borel and eased his draw and stomped about, cursing, “Merde! Merde! Merde!”

“My lord?” said Flic.

“Flic, Flic, Chelle is in the hands of Rhensibe, and I could do nought to save her.”

“Are you certain, my lord? ’Tis but a dream, you know.”

“Of course I am certain!” shouted Borel, and Flic, shocked, backed through the air and away.

Borel slumped to the dirt next to the fire and looked up to see the Sprite yet flying, Buzzer now hovering at his side. “Ah, Flic, I am sorry. It’s just that I might have been able to slay Rhensibe.”

“In a dream?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps.”

Flic sheathed his epee and settled down opposite the prince, Buzzer alighting as well. “Tell me this dream,” said the Sprite.

Borel sighed and said, “Rhensibe was coming up the stairs of the turret, and Chelle took away the dream before I had a chance to loose an arrow at the witch.”

“Rhensibe is a witch, then?” said Flic.

“Chelle called her a sorciere,” said Borel.

“Ah, then, that agrees with what Charite and Maurice told us back nigh Roulan’s vale,” said Flic.

Absently, Borel nodded.

“My lord,” said Flic, “I think Chelle did the prudent thing, casting you out of her reve.”

Borel looked up. “What?”

“Heed, Prince Borel: had Rhensibe found you in the dream, she is a sorciere and could have done you great harm through magie, whereas I think your arrow-being stone-tipped and not magique at all-would have done no harm whatsoever to her.”

Borel frowned and vented a hard sigh and said, “Perhaps you are right, Flic, but, oh, I would have spitted her neatly.”

“I’m sure you would have, my lord,” said Flic.

Borel sighed again, this time more softly, and he said, “Chelle’s last words to me were ‘Find me, Borel. Please find me. And hurry.’ ”

Borel looked out through the stone ruins of the tower at the yet clouded sky of dawn, and he turned and rummaged within the rucksack and said, “Let us break fast swiftly, and then away, for time grows ever more short.”

To make certain that they were on the correct line, they returned to the edge of the dip in the land where grew the cedar grove, and they found the stand trunk-deep in water. Buzzer flew up and, even though the just-risen sun was not visible behind the cast of the sky, she circled about and took a bearing and then shot off in the direction where the sun would set.

The prince followed at a lope, with Flic once again riding in his customary position in the prow of Borel’s hat.

Across the grassy, rock-laden highlands the prince ran, the cliffs always to the left, with the ocean far below, and still the waters were aroil from the storm, great swells crashing headlong into stone.

On he ran and on, and now and again they passed an isolated farmstead with farmers at work afield and livestock grazing upon the green grass and clover. Occasionally they could see a sailing vessel far out upon the churning sea, making headway either with or against or athwart the waves in the brisk breezes yet blowing.

But then the coastline began to recede as the sheer faces of the leagues-long cliffs slowly swung away, and after a candlemark or so, Borel could no longer hear the ocean surge.

Still he ran on, and the character of the land began to change, for now he splashed through streams flowing down to the sea. Now and then a thicket came into view, and then woodlands, and Borel found himself running through a green forest, and though Buzzer flew but twenty-five or so yards ahead of the prince, occasionally she returned to make certain the slow human was yet on course.

The overcast above began to break, and soon the sky was riven by great swaths of blue. But Borel did not pause to admire the firmament, but continued the long lope.

As the sun rose into the zenith, downslope through the trees Borel espied a glimmering ribbon of water ahead. “It seems we are coming to a river,” he said. “We’ll take our noontide meal on its banks.”

And as they ran down the long cant of land and neared the broad flow, “Uh-oh,” said Flic. “Look.”

Beside the run a child sat on the bank weeping.

“Take care, my lord,” added Flic. “This could be another one of those Fey.”

Borel laughed and trotted on down to the bank, and the child, a rather skinny, yellow-haired demoiselle, perhaps eight summers old, turned and saw him coming, and then began to wail in earnest.

“Demoiselle, why do you cry?” asked Borel, sitting down beside her.

Snuffling and snubbing, the girl looked at the prince, great teardrops welling in her light brown, almost golden, eyes, and she looked at the Sprite, and brightened only slightly, and looked at the bee, and cried, “ Eee! Don’t let it sting me.”

“Hmph!” snorted Flic, but he said no more, for having been once burned, he was now twice shy.

But Borel said, “ ’Tis a very tame bee, my lady, and she would not harm even a fly or a flea.”

“Well, she can sting all the flies and fleas she wants,” said the little girl, “just as long as she doesn’t sting me.” Then the child began to wail again, and gestured at the river.

“What is it, my wee demoiselle?” asked the prince, “And by the bye, I am Borel. Could I have your name?”

“M-my n-name is D-Dandi,” snubbed the girl.

“And what is grieving you, my lady?” asked Borel.

Yet snuck ing a bit, the child got her sobs somewhat under control, and she said, “I came across when the river was low, but now, with the rain, it is quite high and swift and entirely too deep for me to wade, and- snkk — I do not know how to swim, and even if I did, it would- hnk — sweep me out to sea, and then I’d be lost and all aloneuuu — and probably end up on an island with monsters that eat young and tender things like little girls-oh poor me-and I’m hungry and my mother probably thinks I’m dead-poor Momma-or carried off by tigers and bears and Trolls and- wahhh! ”

Borel put his arm about her. “Hush, hush, child. I will feed you and then carry you across, and you can then run swiftly home to your mother, and she will sweep you up in her arms and hug you and kiss you and no longer worry.”

Borel fished about in his rucksack, and he gave her some jerky and a hardtack biscuit, and as she chewed, he poured some honey into the jar lid for Buzzer and Flic. He saw Dandi’s pale brown eyes light up, and he motioned for her to hold out her biscuit and he dribbled a bit of honey thereon.

She gobbled it right up, and looked at Borel soulfully and said, “More, please?”

Borel grinned and set out another hardtack biscuit and drizzled honey atop.

They spent long moments sitting on the bank and speaking about this and that and the rain and the storm and the river and the drifting of the clouds leaving blue skies behind. But at last the meal was done, and Borel said, “Well, now, my girl, it’s time to take you across.” He turned his back and said, “Hop on, Dandi, and I’ll give you a ride.”

“The river is awfully deep,” she said timidly.

“But I am tall,” said Borel.

“The water is quite swift,” she said.

“But I am strong and sturdy,” replied Borel. He looked about and found a hefty stick to act as a stave. “And I’ll use this to steady me.-Come, come, girl, hop on.”

She climbed on his back and whispered in his ear, “I am quite afraid.”

“I’ll be brave enough for both of us, Dandi,” said Borel. And grasping her under one knee with one hand, and with the stave in the other, he waded into the stream.

“Eeeee!” Dandi screamed.

Borel waded on.

Buzzer and Flic flew across, but then flew back and whirled and twirled in the air, trying to take Dandi’s mind off the water.

But Dandi paid them no heed, and she cried, “Oh, oh, I told you it was too high and swift and entirely too deep to wade.”

Now up to his waist, Borel sloshed on, and Dandi began to thrash. Borel tightened his grip under her knee, but her other leg was loose and kicking frantically.

“Oh, oh,” wailed Dandi, flailing about, “I do not know how to swim; we’ll drown.”

Borel clasped her even tighter.

“We’ll fall in and be swept out to sea! Wahhh! ”

It was all Borel could do to hold on to her, thrashing about as she was.

“We’ll be captured by pirates,” wailed Dandi, sobbing and floundering ’round, “and they’ll throw us onto an island and we’ll be eaten by monsters and then chased by tigers and bears and Trolls and-”

Struggling to maintain his grip on her, Borel finally made it to the opposite shore, and Dandi had entirely collapsed into tears. He abandoned the stave and swung her around and set her down at the foot of an oak tree. “D-dry m-my eyes,” she blubbered. And Borel fished about in the rucksack and pulled out a cotton bandanna he had purchased in Riverbend. He knelt and reached forth with the kerchief.

At the very first touch, she grew tall and stood before him as a matronly mademoiselle with yellow hair and golden eyes. Somewhere nearby there sounded the clack of shuttle and the thud of batten of a loom.

“Told you,” shouted Flic, sitting on a branch nearby, Buzzer at his side.

Yet kneeling, “Lady Lot,” said Borel.

She nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“She Who Fixes the Present and Seals Men’s Fate,” he said.

Once again she nodded in agreement.

“Lady Verdandi,” he added.

“Yes, Prince Borel, those are names I am known by, and by many others as well.”

Borel stood and bowed deeply, and as he did so he reached out and took her hand and kissed her fingers.

“Ah, Skuld said you were quite the bold one, and now I see why. You would dare flirt with Destiny, eh?”

“If that’s what it takes to free my beloved,” said Borel, not a sign of guilt or fear in his eyes.

Verdandi laughed, and then sobered. “I want to thank you for freeing the lady in white at the ruined tower, for she has been throwing herself from that cliff during storms for summers beyond count. Yet the letter was left behind, and it kept drawing her back, would not let her leave this plane. Your burning it while saying a blessing was just the right thing to do.”

Borel smiled. “I am pleased that I did something right, yet I seem no closer to finding Chelle. Would you help me, my lady, as did your sister Skuld?”

Verdandi sighed. “List, Prince Borel, you have already missed one chance to find the Endless Sands, but you yet have-”

“I what?” said Borel.

“I said, you have missed one chance to find the Endless Sands,” replied Verdandi.

“Lady Lot, when did I-?”

“That is neither here nor there,” snapped Verdandi, “for it is already woven into the tapestry of time.” Then her voice softened, and she said, “Heed, you have one more chance, and I can give some small assistance, for you did aid me across the river and did not let me fall.”

“He fed you, too,” cried Flic from the branches above. “Just like he did Skuld.”

Verdandi smiled and looked up. “Indeed he did, and with honey, too.” She turned to Borel. “Even so, I cannot aid you unless you answer a riddle.” She frowned in thought a moment, then glanced at the Sprite above. “You are quite the flier, I hear, swift beyond many.”

“Yes, I am,” said Flic, thrusting out his wee chest. “There is none among the Sprites who is better.” Then quicksilverswift his face fell in dismay and he groaned. “Oh, my, this is not another riddle concerning my abilities, is it?”

Now Verdandi laughed and said, “Indeed it is, for my elder sister said that she put you in the riddle she posed, and I would do likewise.”

“Your elder sister, you say?” asked Flic. “Oh, no, we’ve not met Urd at all. ’Twas Demoiselle Skuld instead.”

“Skuld is my elder sister,” said Verdandi.

Flic shook his head. “Oh, no, my lady, for, as I said, she is but a demoiselle, whereas you are, um, er”-Flic searched for a polite way to say “older,” and he finally said-“more ripe.”

A smile flashed o’er Verdandi’s face, and she said, “Nevertheless, Skuld is my elder sister, whereas Urd is my younger.”

“Flic,” said Borel, “it is all in how one looks at time. I will explain it later. Yet for now I have a riddle with which to contend.” He turned to Verdandi. “Madame, I must warn you, I know the answer to the riddle of the Sphinx, and the riddles you and your sisters posed to Camille, as well as Lady Skuld’s most recent riddle.”

Verdandi smiled. “Skuld said you were honorable, and I see she is right, but none of those things will I ask you. Instead, here is my riddle: “If Flic were in a Spritely contest

To fly highest of his Kind,

But in some manner unknown to him

He had fallen behind-”

“What? Me fall behind?”

“Quiet, Flic,” ordered Verdandi. “But if with a furious burst of speed

He shot into the sky

What assuredly would happen to him

Should he fly much too high?”

“Oh, oh,” cried Flic, waving his hand, but abruptly fell silent at a glance from Verdandi.

“He would swoon, Lady Lot,” said Borel, touching the brim of his hat in a casual salute to Flic, “from lack of air to breathe.”

Verdandi smiled. “Well and good, Prince Borel.”

“Now the aid, my lady?” said Borel.

Verdandi nodded and said, “There is but barely time to rectify the mistake you made, yet here is what I can say: “The king will offer five different games,

Play the one you played with your dame.

Remember true and remember well

The guiding words of your love

Michelle.

“And this I will tell you for nought: ask for the High Lord’s favorite horse, else you will not see the sands ere the full moon rises, yet beware, for the King Under the Hill is quite tricky, and you must recall what you know.”

Borel nodded and said, “My Lady Lot, I would that you-”

But in that moment the persistent sound of the loom swelled, and then vanished as did Lady Verdandi.

As Borel trotted across another stream, Flic said, “Why must these Fates always say that I fall behind, when anyone knows that would never happen?”

Borel laughed. “Ah, Flic, ever humble, I see. Were I you, I would not question the Sisters Three.”

“You’re not one to talk, my prince,” said Flic. “After all, she said you are the one who ‘would dare flirt with Destiny. ’ ”

Borel laughed and kept running.

After a while, Flic said, “What’s all this about Skuld being the older? Why, anyone can see that she is a demoiselle, whereas Verdandi is a matronly lady.”

Borel said, “Some call them the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone, where Skuld is the Maiden, Verdandi the Mother, and Urd the Crone, for they do resemble those three. And Skuld is the one who sees the future and weaves it into the tapestry of events, yet, even as it leaves her loom, that weaving is not then immutable; for when it gets to Verdandi, whatever changes have been made through the extraordinary deeds of men and others, she alters the pattern set down by Skuld and weaves those changes into the Present; finally, Urd fixes all events forever into the Past. And so, Flic, the one who sees the events of time first is the one considered Eldest, and the one who sees the events last is the one considered Youngest.”

“Ah, then,” said Flic. “Skuld the Maiden sees things first, and so she is eldest of the three; Verdandi the Mother is the middle child; and Urd the Crone is the baby of the family-eh? — for things come to her dead last.”

“Yes,” said Borel, smiling at Flic’s choice of the words “dead last.”

“It still doesn’t make sense, though,” said Flic. “I mean, if that be the case, why wouldn’t Skuld be the Crone and Urd the Maiden?”

“Because, Flic, I think they take on the visage that others give them, and most others think the Past is the oldest, and the Future the youngest.”

“Well, isn’t that true?” asked the Sprite, frowning.

“It’s relative, Flic, and it depends on whether you think of yourself as moving through time, or whether you think of time as moving through you.”

“Huh?” said the Sprite, now confused.

“I believe I’ll let you ponder that, Flic, while I continue to run.”

And Borel did run throughout the rest of the day, and as the sun began to set, they came to another twilight border.

“This is the third and last bound spoken of by King Arle of the Riders Who Cannot Dismount,” said Borel.

Through the marge they pressed, and they came in among grassy downs. Buzzer then alighted on Borel’s tricorn, for with the night drawing nigh, she would sleep.

But Flic took to wing, and up he flew and scouted among the myriad green knolls, and a quarter candlemark later, as dusk came on, he darted back to Borel.

“My lord, yon,” he cried, pointing. “A light glows, just as Arle said. Therein should be the halls of the King Under the Hill.”

Flic led Borel to a great grassy mound, atop which sat a dolmen, with three upright, twice-man-tall megaliths equidistant from one another, and a great flat capstone atop. And within that triangular setting a large hole yawned, with stairs and a wagon ramp leading down and in.

Flic said, “My lord, if you will, I shall stay here with Buzzer, for the Lord of the Fey is quite capricious, and if I go in he is likely to assign me some onerous and lengthy task, and I would much rather stay at your side until we have your lady free.”

Borel nodded and removed his tricorn with the bee aboard and said, “Very well, Flic, I leave Buzzer with you.” And he set his hat to the ground nigh one megalith of the dolmen.

Then Borel shed his rucksack and laid it beside the hat.

He uncapped the honey jar and put it down, saying, “In case dawn comes ere I return.” He then unstrapped the long-knife scabbard and set it there as well and said, “Even though the blade within is nought but rust, I would not take iron in any form within the High Lord’s demesne.”

“Remember, my prince,” said Flic, “eat no food and drink no wine nor take any other form of refreshment from them… not even water. And remember Lady Verdandi’s words, even though I cannot fathom what they might mean.”

As Borel checked his bow and quiver and waterskin, all yet borne by him, Flic added, “And may Fortune’s beaming face be turned your way.”

Borel smiled grimly and said, “May it be so.” Then he spun on his heel and strode under the capstone and into the light below.