Once upon a Spring morn ou-2

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Dressed once more and riding onward, Roel said,

  “Speaking of enchanted forests, I believe that willow grove arear now qualifies, for certainly you enspelled me. ’Tis a wondrous glamour you have.” Celeste said nought in return, though the contented smile on her face perhaps conveyed more than words.

  On they rode, the land continuing to rise, and in the distance to the fore a range of snowcapped peaks came into view.

  “Ah,” said Roel, “the mountains the crofter mentioned. Are they on the map?” Celeste unfolded the chart, saying, “I don’t remember any thereon.” She glanced at the vellum. “Non. They are not on the map, but it is rather incomplete, or so Florien said. It gives mostly directions in which to fare and landmarks to find at the twilight crossings. Little else does it convey, other than the obscure letters at each bound.

  I’m not even certain that the chart is to scale, for no scale was given.”

  “But didn’t you say the marge was three days away?”

  “I was merely relying on the crofter’s words,” replied Celeste.

  “Ah.”

  That night they camped in the foothills at the base of the range, and cool mountain air flowed down from above.

  In the dawn, Roel and Celeste fed and watered the horses, and then took a meal of their own. As the sun broached the horizon, they saddled their mounts and laded the pack animals and got under way. As they rode to the crest of a hill, “There,” said Roel, pointing ahead,

  “that must be the pass.”

  To the fore a rocky slot carved its way up and through the range, heading for a col high above.

  “Oui. It lies directly along the course we bear,” said Celeste.

  “Mayhap a good place for an ambuscade,” said Roel, peering ahead while lifting his shield from its saddle hook. “I suggest you prepare your bow, cherie.” Celeste smiled unto herself, for even as he said it she was stringing the weapon.

  Roel pulled his spear from the sling and couched it in the cup on his right stirrup. Then he looked at Celeste.

  “Ready?”

  “Oui. Ready. .”

  . . And toward the pass they rode, Roel in the lead, trailing a packhorse, Celeste coming next, her own pack animal in tow.

  Inward they went and upward, and sheer stone walls rose on both sides, and the slot twisted this way and that. The pass narrowed and deepened, and soon but a distant slash of sky jagged above, the depths below enshadowed and dim. And now and then stone arched out overhead, and here the way grew ebon. In these places the chill air turned frigid, and to left and right lay unmelted snow and ice, the sun unable to reach into the depths. But still the way continued to rise, as up toward an unseen crest the pair rode. Echoing hoofbeats clattered upslope and down, and Roel wondered if he shouldn’t have enwrapped the animals’ feet to muffle their sound. Black pools of darkness clustered in splits and crevices and slots along the walls, and little did the light from above penetrate these stygian coverts. The air smelled of granite and water and snow and ice, and whatever breeze might have been had vanished altogether.

  In places the way grew even steeper, and Roel and Celeste dismounted and led the animals. Often they paused, allowing the steeds to rest, but ever they pushed onward, unwilling to spend any more time than absolutely necessary in this cold and shadowy place, with its stone walls rearing up hundreds of feet overhead and seeming to press ever closer, for at times it was no more than two arm spans wide, and mayhap as much as a thousand feet high.

  They came into snow lying in the pass, for the most part quite shallow, though in places deep drifts stood across the way, and there it was Roel broke trail for the steeds, his breath coming harsh with the effort.

  They reached the crest nigh midday, where a cascade of melt ran down from above, and there they stopped to rest and feed and water the horses and to eat some hardtack and jerky. But shortly they were on their way downward, Roel saying, “I’d rather not stay at these heights in the night, where the cold will plunge beyond withstanding.” Down they went and down, now on the sunwise side of the pass, and water ran freely along the way, dashing down the slopes, and at times they splashed across shallows or waded through the swift-running flow. And still the way wrenched this way and that, and the walls yet soared upward on each side, and at one point they had to unlade the packhorses and hand carry the goods through, the cleft too narrow for the animals to traverse with the supplies upon their backs, and the chill water was deep, hindered by the slot as it was.

  At last the walls began to recede, and late in the day they came out from the pass and into wide rolling plains.

  Roel glanced back at the twisting slot. “If that were a main thoroughfare, then someone long ago would have placed a high, gated wall somewhere within and charged heavy tolls to pass through.”

  “At least there was no ambush waiting,” said Celeste, now unstringing her bow.

  “Non, cherie, there wasn’t. It is a splendid place to defend, the way narrow such that a small force could hold off a much greater one. But as a place for an assault, I think it lacks the means for the assailants to spring an ambush upon the unwary traveller; after all, the way is strait and the walls very high, hence giving little chance for waylayers to lunge out from concealment in a surprise onslaught. And, just as a few could hold off many, so, too, could travellers hold off an attack.”

  “I take it you have been caught in ambushes?”

  “Non, but in the war my comrades and I sprang many.”

  “How is it done?”

  “Generally with a surprise attack on the flank,” said Roel. “A place is chosen to give the ambushers concealment on high ground, and, if you have archers, divide them into two squads and set them at an angle to one another, and then. .”

  They made camp nigh a stream in a grassy swale in the foothills, and after unlading and currying the horses and feeding and watering them, and eating a meal, Roel and Celeste fell into an exhausted sleep, trusting to the Fates to keep watch o’er them.

  The next morning they rested awhile ere making ready to ride, and as they broke fast, Roel said, “I wish we had thought to bring a dog along from Port Cient, for I think we need a sentry in the night, and none is better than a dog.”

  “What kind would you have, Roel? A mastiff, a hound, a terrier, what?”

  “My love, I think I would take the most nervous animal I could find, no matter the breed.”

  “Nervous?”

  Roel smiled. “What better dog to keep watch than one on edge?”

  Celeste broke into laughter. She suddenly sobered and asked, “Is that something you learned in war?”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  Celeste cocked an eyebrow at Roel, and he said,

  “When we would send a scout to seek sign of the foe, we always chose the most edgy man among the scouts at hand. For, you see, he would be the most alert to any sound or movement or odor. It seemed a good tactic, for we never lost a single scout, and yet many an enemy group we found. Hence, if it ever comes to a dog to keep watch, I will choose in a like manner.” Celeste grinned and turned up her hands and said,

  “Ah, ’twould be splendid to have such a noble dog cower at our side, one who trembles and whines at the snap of a twig or twitch of a leaf or the waft of an unexpected scent.” Roel laughed and said, “Better that than one who snores through the night though a dreadful thing be creeping ’pon us.” Then he stood and added, “Come, cherie, it is time we were on our way.” They rode out across the rolling plains, where tall grass grew, the air filled with the sweet fragrance of the tiny blue blossoms nodding at the tips of green stems.

  And as they fared through the lush verdancy, in the angled light of the morning, high in the sky they espied a ruddy flash. ’Twas a raptor sweeping back and forth in the distance.

  “A red hawk, do you think?” asked Roel, shading his eyes.

  The princess nodded. “Most likely.”

  They watched the hunter for a while as across the land they ro
de. And then Celeste took in a quick breath.

  “Ah, he’s sighted quarry.”

  Even as she said it, the raptor stooped, plummeting down and down, and just above the tops of the tall grass, its wings flared, and it disappeared down within.

  Long moments passed, and then up the hawk flew, something small and brown within its taloned grasp.

  “Hmm. .,” said Roel. “We shall have to be careful, love, for I deem that was a marmot it took.” They swung wide of the place where the hawk had made the kill, but even so they came to ground riddled with holes and smelling of a rat warren. Celeste and Roel dismounted, and taking care, they slowly led the horses across the treacherous way, for they would not have one of the steeds step in a hole or break through a tunnel and fracture a leg. . or go lame. Finally, they passed beyond the marmot burrows and once more mounted and rode.

  In the noontide they paused by a river flowing down from the mountains arear, and they watered the animals and fed them a ration of grain. For their own meal they took waybread and jerky. As they ate and watched the river flow by, of a sudden Roel stood and shaded his eyes and peered sunwise.

  “What is it, love?” asked Celeste.

  “I think I see the twilight boundary,” said Roel.

  Celeste got to her feet and put a hand to her own brow and looked. In the distance afar, a wall of dimness faded up into the sky. “Oui. It is the shadowlight marge.”

  “Bon! I was beginning to think we would never reach it. You are familiar with these dusky walls; how far away is it, do you think?”

  Celeste shrugged. “That I cannot say. Mayhap we’ll reach it this eve. Mayhap on the morrow. We need to be closer to judge.”

  They forded the river, the water chill, made up of snowmelt as it was, and continued riding half a point sunup of sunwise, for somewhere along that way lay the crossing they sought.

  In midafternoon and low on the horizon, they espied a wall of green. “The forest?” asked Roel. “The one the crofter said to avoid?”

  “So I deem,” said Celeste.

  “But it is so broad,” said Roel, spreading his arms wide as if to encompass the whole of it. “It runs for league upon league. Does the map say where to enter?”

  “Non, cheri, it does not. What we are to look for along the shadowlight wall is an arc of oaks curving out from the bound and ’round and then back in, or so the chart says.” Roel sighed and said, “Then the best we can do is continue riding a half point to the sunup of sunwise, and hope we find it quickly.”

  They reached the edge of the forest at sunset, and there they made camp, Roel yet wishing he had thought to have brought along a plucky but nervous dog.

  That night Roel was awakened by Celeste placing a finger to his lips, and he sat up to see a procession of lights low to the ground and wending among the trees, silver bells atinkle on the air.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  “Who is it? is more the question,” murmured Celeste.

  “Most likely the wee folk heading for a fairy ring. ’Tis nigh springtime in this realm, and they would dance the chill away and welcome warmth among the trees.”

  “But the woods are fully leafed,” said Roel. “Is not springtime already come?”

  “ ’Tis Faery, love, where the seasons of the mortal world do not always fully apply. There are realms with green trees and blossoms abloom though winter lies across the land, just as there are domains in winter dress though summertime reigns.”

  “Only in Faery,” muttered Roel.

  Slowly the march wended onward, and when it could no longer be seen or heard, Roel glanced at the stars above and said, “I ween ’tis mid of night and my watch is upon us. Sleep, Celeste, and I will stand ward.”

  “I would rather sit at your side.”

  “Non, cherie, as much as I love your companionship, you must rest, for dawn will come soon enough.” And so Celeste lay down and soon fell aslumber. Roel listened to her breath deepen, and then he threw another stick on the low-burning fire. He stepped to the horses, standing adoze, and checked the tethers and the animals. Satisfied, he returned to camp and sat down, his back to a tree, and faced into the forest.

  How long he sat thus he did not know, but he suddenly realized something was afoot among the boles directly ahead, for he heard faint turning of ground litter, and something low and dark moved stealthily.

  Roel took up his sword and waited.

  In the blackness of the forest and nigh to the ground a pair of red eyes glowed, and then another pair shone in the dark, creeping nearer. Roel, his heart hammering, reached across to Celeste and gently put a finger to her lips. Silently she came awake, and by the light of ruddy coals, she looked to Roel. “Shh. .,” he murmured.

  “Something this way comes.”

  Celeste drew her long-knife, and lay alert, and still the red eyes crept closer, now five pairs altogether.

  “Hai!” cried Roel, and leapt to his feet and kicked up the fire.

  Startled and shying in the sudden light, a mother fox and her four kits turned tail and fled.

  Roel laughed and said, “Ah, me, but the crofter’s words of warning of a terrible forest filled with strange goings-on and mystifications have put me on edge.”

  “Foxes,” said Celeste, giggling, her own heart yet arace. “You should have trapped one, love; ’twould make a fine nervous dog.”

  “Celeste, there is but one edgy dog here, and it be named Roel.”

  Dawn came at last, and Roel awakened Celeste. Neither had slept well, and both were somewhat glum and untalkative as they fed rations of oats to the steeds. But a meal and a hot cup of tea quickly returned them to good spirits, and they laughed at their reaction to the visit of the foxes in the predawn marks.

  Shortly they were on their way again, and Roel asked,

  “How far to the twilight bound?”

  “We should reach it just after the noontide, but then we must find the arc of trees, and I know not how long that will take.”

  And so on they pressed into the forest, EF on their chart.

  Through long enshadowed galleries they rode, leafy boughs arching overhead, with dapples of sunlight breaking through in stretches, the radiance adance with the shifting of branches in the breeze. And across bright meadows they fared, butterflies scattering away from legs and hooves. Nigh a cascade falling from a high stone bluff they passed, the water thundering into a pool below, and therein swam something they could not quite see, though the size of a woman or man it was. “Mayhap an Undine,” said Celeste, and then went on to explain just what that was.

  Roel frowned. “A female water spirit who can earn a soul by marrying a mortal and bearing his child?”

  “Oui,” said Celeste. “At least that is the myth. In my opinion, though, ’tis but wishful thinking on the part of hierophants and acolytes who would have mankind be the only beings with souls, hence favored by the gods above all other creatures. Yet I believe souls are a part of all living things.”

  “All?”

  “Oui. And some nonliving things as well.”

  “Such as. .?”

  “Mountains, rivers, the ocean.”

  “The ocean?”

  “Oui. Vast and deep is its soul.”

  “Celeste, are you speaking of spirits and not souls?” Celeste frowned. “Is there a difference?”

  “Mayhap; mayhap not. Perhaps they are two sides of the same coin.”

  “Souls, spirits-whether the same or different, I believe all things possess them.” Roel smiled. “Even Undines?”

  “Especially Undines,” said Celeste, grinning, “hence I’ll not have you volunteer to marry one so that she can obtain a soul.”

  Roel laughed and then suddenly sobered. “Oh, Celeste, what of those whose shadows have been taken?

  What of their souls?”

  “My love, I believe your sister yet has a soul, though most of it is separate from her.”

  Roel nodded and said, “And for those children born of a person
whose shadow has been taken, Sage Geron says they are soulless.”

  “Perhaps so; perhaps not. Perhaps each one has a soul that is but a fragment of what it should rightly be. And unless the gods intervene, I know not what can be done for them.”

  Roel’s eyes turned to flint. “Celeste, we simply must rescue my sister ere she can bear a child, for I would not have any get of hers to be so stricken.” Celeste nodded and they rode onward in silence, their moods somber.

  They fared across a mossy field, and a myriad of white birds flew up and away, flinging apart and then coalescing and swirling away on the wind, each no larger than a lark.

  Tree runners scampered on branches above and scolded the passage of these intruders in their domain.

  And down among the roots and underbrush, small beings fled unseen.

  And as the noontide drew on, Roel said, “Hsst!

  Ahead, Celeste. Listen.”

  And they heard someone cursing and muttering, and among the trees, and in a small clearing they espied a stick-thin hag dressed in rags and standing amid a great scatter of dead branches strewn upon the ground. In her knobby fingers she held two pieces of cord close to her faded yellow eyes, and she cursed as she tried to knot the twine together. Beyond the crone stood a small stone cottage with a roof of sod and grass growing thereon. A tendril of smoke rose from a bent chimney.

  “Take care,” whispered Celeste, loosening the keeper on her long-knife.

  “Fear not,” replied Roel.

  They rode a bit closer, wending among the trees, and when they came to the edge of the clearing, “Ho, madam!” called Roel.

  “Oh!” shrieked the hag, and she fell to her knees and held her hands out in a plea. “Don’t murder me! Don’t rob me! I have nothing of worth. I’m just a poor and widowed old goody.” She sniveled and sobbed, mucus dripping from her hooked nose.

  “We offer you no harm,” said Roel.

  “But you have that big sword at your side,” said the crone as she glanced at the sun and wiped her nose on her sleeve.