Once upon a Summer Day

5

Just after crossing the marge into the Autumnwood, Borel called a halt to the run and set about making a camp ’neath the limbs of an apple tree, its bounty ready for harvest. He put the Wolves to hunting, and shortly there were two coneys spitted above the fire, and several others being consumed by the pack.

Nearby, a patch of wild onions grew along a small rill, and Borel gathered a few of these and washed them clean. He plucked two of the red fruit from above. The apples and onions alike would be replenished overnight, for this was the wondrous Autumnwood, where such things did happen: no matter whether picked, plucked, shorn, or dug, whatever was reaped somehow reappeared when none was looking. Only wild game seemed vulnerable within this forest where falltime ever ruled, yet given the fecundity of such fare-be it furred or feathered or scaled-it would not be long ere whatever was taken came to full fruition again.

Yet Borel did not ponder upon the marvel of the Autumnwood as he set about making his meal, for in this demesne it seemed as natural to him as breathing or eating or sleeping.

Soon the savory smell of rabbit on a spit, with juices dripping into the flames, mingled on the crisp air with the sweetness of fresh apples and the sharp tang of onion. And the Wolves, now finished with their own meals, occasionally turned toward the fire and raised their noses and inhaled the odor of cooking, though for the main they stood alert, with ears pricked and eyes scanning the surround for any sign of intruders.

After consuming the haunches of one of the rabbits, along with the onions and apples, Borel spent some time calling the Wolves to him one by one. He started with Slate, the dominant male, after which he summoned Dark, the dominant female. He then called Render and Trot and Shank and Loll and finally Blue-eye, as he worked his way down through the hierarchy of the pack. As turn by turn they separately came to him, he hand-fed each a bit of cooked rabbit, and he ruffled their soft, clean fur and spoke gently until he had done with the last of the lot.

With words somewhere between utterances and growls, he assigned a watch order, and as two took up station, all the rest settled down, including Borel.

Sleep soon came…

… and stars wheeled in the silence above.

But just after mid of night, once more Borel found himself in a round stone chamber, only this time it was deeply shadowed. Again, the slender young damosel was there. With her head bowed, she stood in the dark on the opposite side of the stone floor. In spite of the gloom, Borel could see that her hands were clasped together just below her waist, and an ebon blindfold or a band of blackness lay across her eyes. She was dressed in a sapphire-blue gown with a ruffled white bodice, and dark blue ribbons were entwined through her golden hair; given the utter darkness surrounding her, how Borel could see this he could not say; nevertheless he saw.

Once more, off to either side stood windows, beyond which daggers floated in the air. Only a thin tendril of wan light managed to shine through one of the apertures, so thick were the blades. Borel stepped to that opening and peered up along the meager glimmer. As to its source, he could not be certain, though from its pale silvery illuminance he thought it might be light from the moon. He leaned into the opening for a better look, but daggers darted forward and threatened. Borel stepped back, and the stilettos moved hindward as well, away from the sill.

Even so, Borel yet tried to see past the blades, and he shifted this way and that, attempting to get a glimpse of what lay beyond the sharp poniards hovering so thickly all ’round. And as he moved, so did they, each of them locked in aim toward him. But the only thing he could glimpse that might be outside the beringing dirks was the wisp of light that managed somehow to winnow its way through.

He stopped and stilled his breathing and listened intently, as if to discover something of the world that might lie on the other side of the floating blades, yet all he heard was a faint but persistent squeaking. As to its source, what it might be, he knew not.

Shaking his head, Borel turned and stepped toward the damosel, and as he did so, once again came her desperate plea: “Aidez-moi,” she whispered. “Aidez-moi.” And in that moment she and the stone chamber faded, and Borel awakened to find himself under the apple tree. A waxing gibbous moon shone down through leaves shifting in a faint breeze, and a scatter of pale light rippled upon his face.

Somewhere at hand chirped a cricket.

Nearby, Trot and Shank stood ward, and they both looked toward Borel, sensing he was awake. Slate, too, roused and lifted his head, and he and the ward waited. Yet Borel gave no command, and soon Slate lowered his head and closed his eyes, and Trot and Shank shifted their attention to the darkness beyond the camp.

With a sigh, Borel turned on his side, but it was a long while ere he once more fell adoze.