Once Upon an Autumn Eve fs-3

by Dennis L McKiernan

  As the dark horses ran through the air, Liaze took sight on guiding stars, for she planned on using them to follow on her return. And she fumbled into the rucksack at her side, and she withdrew the red scarf, her grip tight so as not to lose it. And she tied it ’round her neck, and it flew out behind in the wind of her passage. And she prayed to Mithras that Gwyd was in place and waiting, and that he would see the scarf, and that the plan he had hatched would work. Oh, Mithras, please let it work.

  As they came to a twilight border, Liaze tried to espy a landmark at the point of their crossing, but on this side she saw nought to guide her; yet, as they passed out of the far side, she noted a twisted tree, its arms pointing toward the shadowlight they had just flown through.

  On sped the Wild Hunt, and again they came to a crossing, and she noted a jumble of boulders on this side, and a wide pool on the other.

  On they flew and Lord Fear sounded his dreadful horn, and there ahead lay the magnificent inn. Down swirled the dogs, down spun the horses, down went Lord Dread and Liaze. And nowhere did Liaze see any sign of Gwyd nearby; she could only pray that the Brownie was nigh and had seen the scarf and was ready.

  Her wraithlike horse came to a stop, and when Lord Grim had given her his leave, Liaze dismounted and entered the inn at his side.

  The ghastly spirits of the shadowy riders gathered at the bar, but they took up no mugs of dark brew, for they had taken no souls that nighttide. Lord Death then raised his empty mug in salute to Liaze and icily whispered, “This night to my bride.”

  The riders all hoisted their own empty glasses, and from many voices a ghostly echo wailed, whether in grief or joy Liaze could not determine, yet she smiled and took up her harp.

  And once again she sang of life and living, and, as before, all the riders crowded ’round closely, trying to recapture the essence of that which they had once held dear.

  And Liaze sang of children, and once more the shades of the riders groaned as would a chill wind swirl among icy crags.

  And Liaze sang of love, and spectral riders wept ghostly wails at what they had lost.

  And still Lord Fear sat unmoved and unmoving in his corner alone.

  And Liaze sang of life and women and the joy of ordinary living: of fishing and hunting and the reaping of grain, of boats on a river and of sails on the sea, of farming and herding and planting trees, and of horses and cattle and going to market, and of things such as these and things more.

  Her songs were filled with joy, and filled with tears, and filled with love. She sang ballads and ditties and long lyric poems, and the riders laughed ghostly laughs or wept spectral shades of tears.

  And just as Lord Dread pushed away from his table, Liaze called out, “The Wild Hunt.”

  She struck a chord and began a chant, and Lord Grim settled back to hear:

  The sky was dark,

  The storm clouds blew,

  A chill was on the land,

  Yet, Molly dear,

  The message read,

  I need your healing hand.

  Across the moor

  She started out

  To reach her father dear.

  For he was ill,

  And she would aid,

  Yet Lord Death she did fear…

  Liaze sang as she had never sung, her words telling of the Wild Hunt and of its reaping of cowardly souls, as well as the doom of heroes. And she sang that these fatalities and dooms mattered not to Lord Dread, Lord Fear, Lord Grim, Lord Terror, Lord Death, for the leader of the Hunt was cold and forbidding. And as Liaze sang she moved among the shades, and they sobbed as would a frail wind, and still Liaze sang and sang, verse after verse pouring golden words from her throat. And the silver harp seemed enchanted, the notes pure and clear, the concordant strings voicing precious harmony.

  Yet at last she saw through the narrow gap in the drapery a tiny glimmer; ’twas the sign she and Gwyd had said would signal either her rescue or her ruin, and in that moment the song, the very song, came to an end.

  And as Liaze’s voice and the silver strings finally fell silent, a quietness settled over all… only to be broken by a nearby cock’s crow.

  Liaze threw back a drape, allowing in light from the rising rim of the sun just now broaching the edge of the world.

  And ghostly wails went up from the shadowy riders, and they shrieked and screamed, and as if something had reached up from the ground below, they were jerked down through the floor, down into the earth, down out of sight.

  In the shadows yet mustered ’round his corner, Lord Terror stood and glared at Liaze, his face distorted with insurmountable rage; palm up, he reached out toward her, and slowly his fingers curled into a clawlike clench, as if he were trying to crush her heart; but nothing whatsoever happened, for the cock’s crow and the light of the sun had rent his power from him.

  And Liaze said, “Lord Death, though you aided me to find that which I seek, still, for the terror you bring to others and for rending from them their very essence, you deserve to be cast out of Faery. Hence, I call you by what I think Mithras Himself would say is your true name: Voleur d’Ame — Soul Thief.”

  On hearing this last, Lord Fear’s gaze flew wide with fright of his own. He reached out to Liaze in a pleading gesture, but she said, “Voleur d’Ame, I banish you, I banish you, I banish you.”

  His eyes wide with dread, his face twisted in horror, Lord Terror hoarsely cried out “No! No!” but shrilling and screaming he, too, was jerked down and down, down into the darkness below.

  The princess gazed now at the empty chamber, empty of all but her. “Thank you, Lord Mithras,” she whispered.

  And the air seemed to waver for a moment, and the fine inn, the splendid inn, became nought but a ramshackle ruin.

  With tears in her eyes, Liaze packed the harp away, and Gwyd came running in and cried, “Ah, Princess, thank the Fates, ye still be here.” And he broke out weeping with joy.

  Liaze smiled through the tears running down her own face and she knelt and hugged the wee Brownie. “Oh, Gwyd, Gwyd, I cannot-”

  “Princess, Princess, hush, now, hush, for I would nae hae ye be blurtin out somthin we would both regret. Y’see, I would stay wi’ ye until this venture comes to an end, and f’r me t’be able t’do that, ye canna thank me, else I’d hae t’leave ye.”

  Liaze squeezed the Brownie tighter, and they both wept in relief, and finally Gwyd said, “Och, lass, come out and see the glorious new day. Besides, there be someone I would hae ye meet.”

  31

  Rede

  As they started for the door, Liaze said, “Are you certain, Gwyd, that Lord Fear will not retaliate?” “Nothin be certain, m’lady. Yet if the legend be true, then he will nae bother ye nor those ye cherish, f’r ye’ve passed his test o’ bravery, and ye hae ridden wi’ him, and, lastly, ye hae outwitted him… or rather, t’gether we hae done so, f’r ye kept him entranced until the sun came and the cock crew and he and his deadly Hunt vanished in the light o’ day.”

  “Ah, Gwyd, that isn’t exactly what happened. You see, although the daylight caused him to lose his riders, he was yet present, though confined to the shadows in the inn. And so, there at the end, when the cock’s crow and the sunlight reft him of his power, I banished him.”

  Gwyd’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “Ye did what?”

  “Banished him. You told me that if I knew his true name, I could banish him. I guessed what his true name might be, and it seems it was so. Either that, or Mithras Himself decided I was right in that Lord Fear deserved to be cast out of Faery.”

  “Oh, nae, Princess. If ye banished him, he nae be cast out o’ Faery; instead, he be trapped in that mountain o’ his unless and until ye and your bloodline be nae more.”

  “Until I and my bloodline are dead?”

  Gwyd nodded.

  “Does that mean I myself must stay alive, else the Wild Hunt will return?”

  “Och, aye. You or your get, that is; or your get’s get, and their get�
�s get, and so on down through the days o’ Faery.”

  “Oh, my. What a terrible burden. If I die ere I have children, or if my line dies out, then-”

  “Then Lord Fear and the Wild Hunt will ride again.”

  Liaze sighed, but said nought.

  “Anyway, Princess, had ye not banished him, weel, the cock’s crow would hae sent him away the moment daylight touched him.”

  As they stepped through the door, Liaze laughed and said, “And just where did you get the cock?”

  Gwyd gestured outward. “Why, m’lady, it be the very bird of Twk’s.”

  In that moment, a red-feathered rooster sprang onto the porch of the inn, and a diminutive Pixie dressed in green with a green feather in his cap sat in a tiny saddle astride the bird and held onto reins.

  “Princess Liaze, this wee cock-a-whoop here be ma adopted cousin Twk. Twk, this be Princess Liaze o’ the Autumnwood. And Twk, hear me: she banished Lord Fear.”

  Twk’s eyes widened in surprise, and he leapt from the back of the chicken and swept off his green hat and bowed and declared, “At your service, Princess.”

  Liaze laughed and curtseyed in return, and then smiled at the tiny being, no more than eight or nine inches tall.

  “And this cock-o’-the-walk,” said Twk, motioning at the red rooster, “is Jester, my faithful steed and harbinger of the sun.”

  “Well met,” said Liaze, and she canted her head toward the proud chicken; the bird paid the princess no heed, for he was strutting about and peering into cracks in the weathered boards, looking for insects to eat.

  Gwyd said, “Princess, I ken ye hae a need t’thank someone; weel then, let it be Twk here, f’r he was the one what got his rooster t’crow right at the dawnin.”

  “Pishposh,” said Twk, waving a negligent hand, “ ’twas no great feat. You see, I think Jester believes if he does not crow, the sun will not come.”

  Liaze laughed, but Gwyd looked at her and said, “Regardless, there be nothin better t’send Lord Fear and his grisly riders packin, or so Twk and his band o’ Pixies say.”

  Liaze knelt and said, “Twk, I most deeply thank you and your Jester.”

  Twk shrugged a shoulder and said, “My lady, when Gwyd told me of your circumstance, well, it was the least we could do. Anyway, ’twas nothing.”

  Liaze shook her head. “Oh, no, Twk, I wouldn’t call it nothing, for you and Jester and Gwyd saved me from a dreadful fate.”

  “Dreadful fate?” asked Gwyd.

  “Oui,” said Liaze. “The bed of Lord Fear.”

  “Oh, my,” said Twk, nonplussed, “I have never heard of Lord Dread wanting to bed any female.” He glanced at Gwyd.

  “Och,” said Gwyd, “look at the Princess, laddie. I canna blame Lord Fear f’r wantin what he did.” Of a sudden, Gwyd clapped a hand over his mouth, and he flushed.

  In that moment the rooster crowed loudly, and Twk said, “It seems Jester agrees with you, Gwyd.” Then he burst out laughing, as did Liaze, and Gwyd only turned a deeper red.

  “Come,” said Liaze, once again kneeling and hugging the Brownie, “if you have the horses nearby, let us break our fast and celebrate the coming of day.”

  “They be next t’a burnie in yon thicket,” mumbled Gwyd, yet mortified.

  As Liaze and Gwyd walked across the overgrown field, Twk rode Jester at their side, the rooster veering this way and that through the weeds.

  “Oh, and Gwyd, I have seen Luc and I know where he is-atop the black mountain of the rede. It is not too far from here and I know the way.”

  “Aye, lass, I recked it was so,” said Gwyd, pulled from his embarrassment, “ye wearin the red scarf and all. Och, and that be good news! I ween we’ll be ridin out t’day, though I think ye and I both need a wee bit o’ rest ere we start, what wi’ us stayin awake through the nights as we hae been doin.”

  Liaze frowned and said, “I want to be on the road at least by midday, for I think Luc is somehow enchanted, and we need to rescue him soon. After all, there are only eighteen more eves ere the night of the dark of the moon.”

  “How far be this black mountain?”

  “Across two twilight borders; perhaps a sevenday, all told.”

  “Weel then, we hae plenty o’ time, and so a bit o’ rest should stand us in good stead.”

  “I agree,” said Liaze, and on toward the thicket they strode.

  Just before they stepped within the saplings, Gwyd paused and looked back at the inn where he’d once served as the house Brownie and said, “Och, ma inn, ma beautiful inn: it hae done fallen t’ruination.”

  They stood a moment to gaze at the ramshackle structure, the once-grand edifice no longer imposing, the building nought more than a weather-beaten hulk.

  “Lord Fear must have cast a glamour over it,” said Liaze. “It was quite striking those nights spent inside.”

  “Oui,” said Twk. “Gwyd and I sat guard through these past several nights, and it indeed was majestic.”

  “We watched ye and the Wild Hunt ride in f’r a sennight in all, and we thought ye’d ne’er don that red scarf. But ye did at last, and ma heart leapt f’r joy.”

  “Mine, too,” said Liaze, smiling at the Brownie.

  “Well, the glamour is gone along with Lord Fear,” said Twk.

  “And it left ma inn a ruin,” said Gwyd.

  “Well, Gwyd,” said Liaze, “now that Lord Fear is banished to his mountain, he and the Wild Hunt will not be stopping there at night, hence when this venture is over, you can come back and make it as it was of old.”

  “Aye, lass, that I could do, but Brunies nae be the proprietors o’ public houses and such. ’Twould take someone else t’run the inn ere a Brunie’d take up residence. Anyway, most o’ the folks hereabout hae done fled the region, what wi’ Lord Death and the Wild Hunt flyin o’er ev’ry night; and so buildin up a clientele would be a mite hard what wi’ nae one livin about. Besides, when Laird Duncan recaptures his manor, then I be goin back t’that household. E’en so, I hate t’see what happened t’ma inn.”

  With a sigh, Gwyd turned and entered the thicket, Liaze and Twk and Jester following. As they made their way toward the spring, Princess Liaze said, “What about you, Twk? Where go you from here?”

  “Well, Princess, if you don’t mind, I think Jester and I would like to stay with you and Gwyd and see this quest to a suitable end.”

  “Oh, Twk, I am not certain that we can take you along,” said Liaze. “You see, there is a rede from Lady Wyrd telling me that I should take no one else with me but the howling one-Gwyd. I cannot put you in danger.”

  “But the way Gwyd told it,” said Twk, “that only applied as long as Lord Fear was a threat.”

  “Aye, Princess,” chimed in the Brownie, “that I did say, but I couldna remember all o’ the words o’ the rede, though I remembered the o’erall gist o’ it.”

  “Be that as it may,” said Twk, “now that Lord Fear has been banished for good-and if not for good, then at least for a very long while-you should be able to take more companions with you. I am certain Jester and I can be of aid.”

  “Oh, of that I have little doubt, Twk,” said Liaze. “You already have been of more help than ever I could ask. When we get to the camp, let me tell you the rede, and then we’ll decide.”

  They reached the site, and Nightshade and Pied Agile and the geldings were especially grateful to see the princess, the animals crowding in and nuzzling and begging to be scratched and petted. Liaze laughed and accommodated each, and then fed them some grain, and gave some to Jester as well, and then she and Gwyd spread out blankets and the princess and the Brownie and the Pixie took a meal of their own, Gwyd breaking out the last bottle of wine in celebration, the others having been drunk in the interim, Gwyd saying, “ ’Twas thirsty work findin the Pixies and Twk and all.”

  Liaze laughed and Gwyd grinned and Twk merely shook his head.

  They settled down to a meal of jerky and honey-slathered biscuits, and as they ate and sipped win
e, Liaze said, “Twk, these are the words of Lady Wyrd’s rede…”

  “… and so you see, Twk, she only told me to ride with the howling one to aid me on the way, and she said nought about any others. She did, however, tell me that I would meet both perils and help along my trek, and you and Jester have certainly been part of the help of which she spoke. Nevertheless, she did not say that I should take any of this help with me.”

  Twk fell glum and then brightened. “But she didn’t tell you to not take the help you found along your trek.”

  Liaze sighed. “But I would not put you and Jester in harm’s way, for surely more peril lies along my journey, and Skuld only spoke of Gwyd in her rede.”

  Again Twk fell glum.

  “Let me think on it,” said Liaze, yawning and stretching. “But for now, Gwyd is right: we need rest ere setting out.”

  As the leading limb of the sun entered the mark of the zenith, Twk awakened both Liaze and Gwyd, and the princess got to her feet and moved off into the brush to relieve herself.

  As she stepped back into the campsite, a familiar figure came through the woods opposite.

  “Madame Divenard,” called Liaze even as she loosed the keeper on her long-knife, for she knew not what might be afoot, “what are you doing here?” In spite of being wary, the princess scooped up a cup of water from the rill and held it out to the matronly woman as she reached Liaze’s side.

  “Thank you for the favor,” said Madame Divenard, taking the drink from Liaze, yet tasting it not.

  “Need you aid?” asked Liaze.

  The yellow-haired matron looked at Gwyd and then at Twk and finally at the rooster and horses. “No, child, I have not come to fetch aid but to give it instead.”

  The princess frowned, for she heard the sound of looms coming from somewhere, nowhere, everywhere, and her heart leapt in her breast.

  “But first you must answer a riddle, Liaze,” said Madame Divenard.

  Liaze took a deep breath and said, “Say away.”

  My name as you know it now

  Is scrambled in a manner somehow,

  But within that scramble all the same