They all sat about a plank-board table and dined on a supper of fresh-baked bread and gravy and beans and rashers of bacon, and Liaze was reveling in the food, for it was the first hot meal she’d had in the seven days she’d been on the trail.
Vincent gestured toward the outside. “But the storm was coming and we could not leave this cutting lying afield to be ruined. Still, it is a bit green, yet we spread it out in the loft atop the other hay. Soon it will be dry enough.”
“Well, my horses certainly appreciate the taste of it just the way it is,” said Liaze, smiling.
“Your horses, you say?” said Matthieu.
“All but the black,” replied Liaze. “It belongs to Luc, my betrothed.”
“Your betrothed?” cried Susanne, her face falling.
But Matthieu and Madeleine looked at one another and nodded, as did the boys. And Matthieu said, “As we thought.-Oh, I mean about the black being Luc’s horse.”
“You knew it was his?” asked Liaze.
“He stayed with us two days,” said Thierry, “then rode onward.”
“Bon!” exclaimed Liaze.
“Bon?” asked Noel.
“It means I am yet on the right track,” said Liaze.
“Right track?”
“Oui. You see, a witch has flown away with Luc, and I am out to find him.”
The entire family gasped, and Susanne cried, “Witch? Oh, my poor Luc!”
“You must tell us of this witch,” said Madeleine.
Liaze nodded and said, “I know not overmuch of her, but I can tell you of Luc’s taking.” Liaze paused and took a drink of water, and then spoke on: “It was some weeks past at Autumnwood Manor when I heard a silver horn sounding an alert, and-”
“Autumnwood Manor!” exclaimed Vincent. “Oh, we’ve heard of that. Tell me, is the princess as beautiful as they say?”
The corner of Liaze’s mouth turned up slightly and she said, “I hardly think so.”
“But they say she has auburn hair like yours and amber eyes and-Oh! Oh! ” Vincent’s eyes widened in revelation as did those of the other members of the family, and Madeleine said, “Oh, my lady, forgive me my humble fare, for we knew not who you truly were.” She turned to Matthieu and said, “Quick, the wine. We must have wine.”
As Matthieu leapt to his feet and headed for the back door, Liaze called, “Matthieu, you do not need to-” but the man was already out and into the storm. The princess turned to the mother. “Lady Madeleine, as to your so-called humble fare, it is as ambrosia to me, for I have been long on the ride.”
Susanne sighed, her face glum, and she muttered, “A princess. A princess. I might have known.”
Madeleine leaned over to Liaze and whispered, “She was enamored of Luc.”
“Still is,” said Thierry, overhearing.
Liaze reached out and laid a hand atop one of Suzanne’s. “I don’t fault you, my lady, for I, too, was instantly enamored of him, even as he fell off his horse.”
Suzanne’s eyes widened. “He fell?”
“Indeed.”
“Was he hurt?”
“Let us wait for your pere, and then I will tell all.”
Even as she said this last, Matthieu came hurrying back in, dripping wet, with a jug of wine in hand. “ ’Tis good I went to fetch this; the brook is running high; a bit more of this downpour, and it would have been swept away.”
While Madeleine served wine ’round to all, Matthieu dried off and, still a bit damp, resumed his place at the table.
Suzanne said, “He fell from his horse, Papa.”
As Matthieu frowned, Liaze said, “ ’Twas Luc who fell, wounded as he was.” All eyes widened, and Suzanne cried out, but Liaze went on: “You see, I was at a pool among some willows when I heard Luc’s horn crying out the alarm, and…”
“But that will mean you need go through the Forest of Oaks,” protested Madeleine.
“Full of Fauns, it is,” said Matthieu, “and they bring the Satyrs.”
“I have no choice,” said Liaze.
“We can go with you and protect you,” said Vincent, glancing at his father.
Liaze shook her head. “Nay. Recall: Lady Skuld said I must go alone, but for the howling one.”
“I think it’s a Wolf,” said Thierry.
“Or someone quite mad,” said Noel.
“Regardless of who or what it is,” said Madeleine,
“the pipes of the Fauns stand between you and your goal.”
“Perhaps,” said Liaze. “Perhaps not. For Nightshade might turn aside ere reaching the oaks. Besides, I am told I simply must avoid the sound of their music, and that I will do.”
“Stuff your ears, I’ve heard say,” said Matthieu,
“though I know of no one who’s done so.”
“Then mayhap I will be the first one of your acquaintance to try it,” said Liaze.
Matthieu nodded, an uncertain smile upon his face. “True.”
With dinner done and the dishes washed, Liaze said to Madeleine, “Could I beg of you some hot water? I need a bath desperately, and all I’ve had were the cold streams along the way to-”
“Oh, yes, yes, my lady,” said Madeleine.
Sometime later, as Susanne poured the contents of a steaming kettle into a round copper tub, she looked at Liaze and sighed and said, “If I had to lose Luc to anyone, I am glad it was you, Princess.”
“Why, thank you, Susanne. I am sorry and yet not sorry I spoiled your dream.”
“Perhaps I was foolish to ever dream it in the first place,” said Suzanne.
“Oh, child, no dream is foolish, though some are not meant to be. A few dreams come true quite by accident, while others will happen only if you make them so and perhaps get help along the way. Hence, keep on dreaming your dreams, Suzanne, and work toward those ends, and one day, mayhap, some of those dreams will be realized.”
The next morning dawned to a freshly washed world, and, after a hearty breakfast, Liaze mounted up on a fretting, sidle-stepping Nightshade and said, “Merci, Matthieu, Madeleine. I am grateful for your hospitality. Even so, I wish you had slept in your own bed and left me to the barn.”
Madeleine shook her head and said, “ ’Twas only fitting.”
As Liaze sighed, Vincent looked to the hills in the direction she was to ride, and then he stepped back and said, “The black seems anxious to go, my lady.” He bowed, as did his brothers, and Noel added, “ Bonne chance, Princess.”
“Merci, Noel. I hope your good wishes for me come true. Oh, and Matthieu, I thank you for replenishing my supplies, for I know not what will be needed on the road ahead.”
Matthieu bowed, and Madeleine curtseyed, and Susanne curtseyed and then, her face twisted in anguish, said, “Oh, please save Luc, Princess. If you don’t then I think I’ll just die.”
“So will I, Suzanne,” said Liaze. “Indeed, so will I.” Sighing, with a farewell wave she heeled Nightshade and gave the black his head, and off toward the sunwise bound he cantered, Pied Agile and the four geldings in tow.
“That horse must be enchanted,” said Thierry.
“Just well trained,” said Vincent, and he looked at his pere.
Matthieu shrugged and said, “Enchanted or well trained, he seems to know the way.” And the family stood and watched as Liaze rode up and over the next hill and then was lost to sight.
“Come, there is work to do,” said Matthieu, and he and his sons headed for the barn, while mother and daughter turned and went inside, where Madeleine’s eyes widened in surprise, for in the mid of their plank-board table lay a gold piece.
For two more days did Liaze ride in this sparsely populated land, and on the eve of the third day she came to the sunwise twilight bound, where she reined Nightshade to a halt, and set about making camp.
On the morrow I will enter the Forest of the Oaks, but on this night I will sleep in peace.
22
Lure
In the dim light of the following dawn, Liaze fed th
e horses rations of oats that had come from Matthieu’s croft. As the animals munched, the princess sliced off an end of the loaf of bread Madeleine had gifted her with, and opened the jar of honey and liberally slathered the piece with the sweetness and then ate. When that was gone, she besmeared another slice of bread, and enjoyed the taste of it as well. She washed all down with clear water, and then broke off a large corner of honeycomb and popped it in her mouth and gently chewed as she broke camp.
She laded her packhorses and saddled Nightshade and Pied Agile. She tethered the mare and geldings to the stallion, and mounted the black.
Nightshade started to move forward, but Liaze pulled the reins and stopped him. And as he looked back at her, she took the pliable wad from her mouth and divided it in two, and then plugged her ears with the softened beeswax.
She loosened her long-knife in its scabbard and then said to Nightshade, her voice somewhat muffled to herself, “Now, my lad, lead on.” And she heeled the stallion in the flanks, and into the twilight marge they fared, even as the sun broke free of the horizon.
Through the shadowy wall they went, to emerge in a hoary old forest, the trees mostly oaks, though here and there stood elms and maples and green conifers. A low fog curled among the boles, and the forest itself appeared to spring from the mist, as if there were no ground beneath. But Nightshade, under his own guidance, trotted ahead, the stallion seemingly undaunted by the unseen footing, the mare and geldings trailing after. Onward they fared as the sun rode up into the sky, and by midmorn the fog was gone.
As she rode Liaze scanned the surround, for she could hear nought but her own breathing, for that came from within and not without. And she was disturbed by her deafness, and for the first time in her life she realized just how important hearing was, for she heard no birds, no chitterings of insects nor chatterings of tree runners, no rustle of leaves, no scurryings, no snap of twigs, no fall of foot or hoof, nor burble of water when they stopped at streams. I thought the constant wind was bad as I crossed Caillou’s realm, but this eternal silence is worse. Why, something could be galloping toward us, or creeping stealthily, and I would hear it not.
“Keep a sharp ear,” she said to the animals, “for you are the first line of defense.”
And so, lacking hearing, she kept a sharp eye out, frequently gazing ’round, and now and again she saw animals and birds and crawling things, but she heard them not. Still, even though the silence was oppressive, she heard no pipes playing, and of that she was glad. Her sense of smell, however, seemed to intensify, for the scents of the grass and leaves, of the earth, and of the horses heightened. But it was her sight she most depended upon, and so she scanned this way and that, her gaze ever roving.
Thrice throughout the day she did see lone maidens, demoiselles much like the Nixies in look-exotic beauties-though these did not appear to transform into anything other than what they seemed. One was sitting among the broad limbs of a large oak and combing her russet hair. Another one, quite distant, seemed to be digging at the roots of an oak. And one just ahead and slightly off the line along which Nightshade fared looked at Liaze coming toward her, and then the demoiselle stepped directly into the solid trunk of her tree.
Liaze gasped in wonderment, yet it was as she had suspected: the maiden had been a Dryad, a Wood Nymph.
That night Liaze camped by a stream, her bow strung, arrows at hand, her long-knife at her side. And she burned no fires, for she would have no light to summon Satyrs or flames to upset the Dryads.
And she did not at all sleep well, waking often to peer about in the light of the full moon.
The next day was much like the previous, and the farther she rode, the more irritated Liaze became with the lack of hearing. But then she saw a storm-slain tree lying on the ground, and she recalled the old conundrum: should a tree fall in a forest with no one to hear, would it make a sound? Long she and her siblings had argued the question, first taking one side, and then perversely taking the other. She smiled in the memory, knowing that should a tree fall this day, it would make no sound as far as she was concerned. She would have to remember to tell her siblings this. But then a stricken look overcame her features. Oh, my, was a Wood Nymph also slain when her tree died?
On Nightshade trotted, a league and then two, mare and geldings coming after, and as they entered a wide glade, in the near distance in the center of the clearing Liaze espied a gathering on the banks of a small mere, with a large weeping willow o’erhanging, and a small grove of oaks nearby. Nightshade paid no heed, and as he fared nigh, Liaze could see demoiselles lolling on the sward at hand, and midst them stood a beautiful youth, a willow-root pipe at his lips, his fingers dancing upon holes along its length. In Liaze’s self-imposed silence, she realized he was playing, but she could hear nothing of the tune. And then she could see the youth had the ears and hindquarters and tail of a deer.
Faun! Liaze scanned to fore and aft and aflank, yet she saw only the forest. If the Nixies were right, surely Satyrs will come.
Liaze haled on Nightshade’s reins, halting the stallion. And she reached for her bow, as if to take it up. Should I? No! ’Tis the Faun’s nature to Instead, Liaze gave a sharp whistle, but the Nymphs paid no heed, for they were entranced. Yet the Faun looked up and saw Liaze, and he took the pipe from his lips and smiled a glorious smile, and gestured for her to join his circle. But then his eyes widened in fright and his deerlike ears flared up, and he looked beyond Liaze.
She swung her gaze in that direction, and over a crest among the trees came five or six hairy and horned Satyrs running, their goatish legs driving cloven hooves, and, for all Liaze could hear, they ran in total silence. The Nymphs scattered, some to disappear into the trunks of oaks, others fleeing into rocks, and two diving into the mere.
“Hup, hup, hup!” called Liaze, alerting the string of horses; and their heads came up and their ears pricked forward. Then, “Hiyah!” she cried, and kicked Nightshade in the flanks, and the stallion sprang forward, the princess continuing to shout and goad him onward, the black galloping away from the pool, the mare and geldings running in his wake.
The Satyrs changed the angle of their run, rage on their faces, their mouths wide as if shouting, and they dashed toward fleeing Liaze. She whipped her strung bow out from the saddle scabbard and nocked an arrow and let fly, striking one of the Satyrs in the leg. He fell to the ground bleating loudly-though Liaze heard him not-and the ones with him sheered off, and Nightshade and the line of horses raced on into the forest, leaving the creatures behind.
Liaze did not stop to camp that night, but continued to fare onward instead, sometimes astride the stallion, sometimes walking, at other times riding the mare, though the black yet led the way.
As Liaze dozed off and on in the saddle, it was nigh noon of the following day while mounted on Nightshade that she came to the sunwise twilight bound. She clucked her tongue and urged the stallion forward, and in that moment, trailing, Pied Agile reared, and someone or something landed behind Liaze and grabbed her by the hair and jerked her hindward and threw an arm about her neck. Liaze managed to stay in the saddle, and she smelled a musky reek and glimpsed a goatlike leg alongside her own. Satyr! She kicked Nightshade in the flanks and wrenched her long-knife from the thigh scabbard even as the stallion sprang forward into the twilight, the other horses nearly stumbling, but following. But the Satyr yet had its fingers tangled in her hair, and with his bristly forearm he began choking her into submission. Reversing her grip and praying to not hit the black, Liaze blindly stabbed down at the leg of the being, and in the shadowlight she felt the blade strike home.
In the darkness of the border, the creature fell away, yet his fingers were still entangled in her tresses, and she was nearly dragged from the saddle, and she felt as if her hair was being yanked out by the roots. Of a sudden she was free, the Satyr gone, and Nightshade hammered on through the blackness and beyond, out into sunlight and an open field.
Panting, her heart racing, Liaze kept the st
allion running, the mare and geldings galloping in tow. The princess looked behind, and nothing, no one, no Satyr, came charging after.
She was free of the Oak Forest and its perils, and she burst into tears and wept uncontrollably, to her own dismay.
23
Village
Liaze reined back on Nightshade and slowed him and the mare and geldings to a walk. She loosed the reins and gave the stallion his head and let him choose the trail.
As the black wended between sparse thickets and a few stands of timber, with low rolling hills to the fore, Liaze gained control of her emotions and berated herself for weeping like a silly goose. She cleaned her long-knife of Satyr blood and slid it into its sheath. She removed the beeswax from her ears and reveled in the trilling of birds, of the humming of insects, of the clop and breathing of her horses and the creak of leather, and the soft wafting song of the gentle breeze. As she listened to the surround, Nightshade came upon a trace of a road. Wagon ruts marked the way; it was a two-track farm lane used to reach the field they had left behind, though whatever crop it had held-most likely hay-had been harvested.
They followed this route and soon came in among other fields: grain mostly-rye, barley, wheat-though here and there grew turnips and squash and other vegetable crops. By the reach of the fields, it has to be an extensive croft. Soon Liaze’s suspicions were confirmed, for she came unto a large farmhouse- With numerous rooms, no doubt; a considerable family must live here; prosperous, too. Behind the dwelling sat a great byre; abundant cords of firewood lay under a wide, sloped roof held up by tall poles; on beyond, several round grain storage sheds squatted next to a silo; a number of other croft structures were scattered here and there.
Liaze reined Nightshade into the yard, and a yellow-haired, matronly woman in a fine-woven linen dress the color of a clear sky at noon stepped onto the porch and shaded her eyes and watched as the princess rode nigh.
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