“Would that we had one o’ those spectral steeds now,” said Gwyd.
Liaze nodded. “It would have made short work of our journey.”
“If we had Asphodel, the Fairy King’s horse, that, too, would make the journey short,” said Twk.
“My brother Borel rode that steed,” said Liaze.
“He did?” asked Twk.
“Oui. He won the ride when he defeated the Fairy King in a game of échecs.”
“Oh, my,” said Twk. “Then your brother must be a wonderful player indeed, for I hear the Fairy King cannot be bested in that game.”
“In this instance he was, and my brother managed to ride the steed and find his ladylove,” said Liaze.
“Weel,” said Gwyd, “let us hope that ye can find y’r own true love wi’out needin the Fairy steed.”
Grimly, Liaze nodded and said, “Time to ride.”
Soon they were agallop across the icy-cold plain, and as of yet the black mountain was not in sight.
It was in the noontide that Liaze espied the truncated tip of the dark peak, and on they rode, the mountain slowly coming up o’er the horizon ahead.
Even so, it seemed to Liaze that they would not reach the mountain in time, yet she could not press the flagging steeds any faster, and on they rode.
It was as the sun set and twilight came creeping o’er this bleak and forbidding realm that Liaze saw up ahead a small girl sitting on a rock and weeping.
She drew Nightshade to a halt beside the fille, and she and Gwyd leapt down, Twk on Jester following.
“Child, what are you doing out here all alone?” asked Liaze, kneeling and embracing the girl, who was no more than seven or eight summers old. The thin youngling shivered uncontrollably. “Oh, child, you are freezing,” said Liaze, and she whipped off her cloak and wrapped it about the little girl.
Snubbing and snukking, the girl looked through nearly black, tear-filled eyes at Liaze and said, “Thank you for the cloak, madame, but I am crying for I know not the answer to a riddle.”
“A riddle?” said Liaze.
The child pulled Liaze’s head close and murmured in her ear: “Feed me and I live; give me a drink and I die.”
“Are you hungry?” asked Liaze.
The girl looked at Gwyd and then at Twk on Jester, and she managed a smile. “Non, madame,” she whispered. “That is the riddle, you see.”
“Ah,” said Liaze. She frowned in thought for a moment, and then brightened and said, “The answer to that riddle is ‘Fire.’ ”
Of a sudden a darkness enveloped the child, and the girl grew, and Gwyd gasped and Twk cried out in surprise, while Liaze stepped hindward and drew her long-knife.
And the darkness vanished, and now before the trio stood a toothless crone with black eyes. She wore a dark, shapeless robe, and she cackled in glee.
And there came to Liaze’s ears the sound of looms weaving.
Liaze sheathed her blade and bowed and said, “Lady Doom.”
“Doom?” squeaked Twk. “Lady Doom?”
“Urd,” said Gwyd, bowing.
“Heh! Fooled you, did I?” The crone gaped a gummy grin.
Liaze nodded and said, “As did your sisters, Lady Urd.”
“Well, ye have given me your cloak, but I return it,” said Urd, holding out the garment to Liaze.
As Liaze donned the cloak, Urd said, “I have come to give you a message.”
Liaze nodded. “I would have whatever aid you can give.”
“Heh, it’s in the form of a rede,” said Urd.
Twk groaned, and Gwyd sighed mournfully, but Liaze nodded.
Urd shook a knobby finger at the Brownie and the Pixie on Jester and said, “If you three keep your wits about you, you can aid.”
“Three?” said Twk. “Jester, too?”
Urd cackled and glanced at the dimming twilight, then turned to Liaze and, as the sound of weaving looms grew louder, said:Precious steps will get ye there,
As up black glass ye steeply fare,
Do not dismount as ye try,
Else by fire ye will surely die.
On the flat ye can set foot,
But nowhere else do place y’r boot.
Remember war; loose the cry,
So ye and y’r love will not die.
Urd then cackled and turned to Gwyd and Twk and Jester. “I hear you have treasure.”
“A-aye, Lady Urd,” said Gwyd. “Would ye hae some o’ the coin we took fra the Trolls and Goblins?”
“Pah, what good is gold or silver to me?” the crone asked. She turned to Twk and said, “And I hear that you and your rooster disturb folks at night. Heh!”
“Oui, Lady Doom. W-would you have me stop?”
“Heh! No. It’s a fine thing that you have done in training y’r chicken to crow on command in the dark.” Again Lady Urd cackled in glee, and then she glanced once more at the vanishing dusk, and the sound of looms swelled and Lady Doom disappeared, leaving only the sigh of chill wind behind as full night fell o’er the land.
“Are the Fates somehow entwined with your family, Princess?” asked Twk.
Liaze took in a deep breath and let it out. “It would seem so.”
“J’st as are entwined these witches ye told me about,” said Gwyd.
Liaze nodded. “Hradian, Rhensibé, Iniquí, and Nefasí.”
“Rhensibé is the dead one, oui?” asked Twk.
“Oui,” replied Liaze. “And I wish they were all very much dead.—Come, let us ride.”
“What about the rede we just heard?” asked Twk.
“We’ll deal with that as we go, for there is no time to lose.”
On toward the mountain they fared, puzzling over Lady Doom’s rede, yet they only knew that it had to do with getting to the top of the black mountain to reach Luc, and little else. Oh, they did understand that none of them were to set foot on the dark slopes, for should they do so, then somehow, according to Lady Urd, they would die by fire.
As they rode onward, the sky clouded over; there would be no stars this night. Liaze lit a lantern, and on they fared.
By dead reckoning, they reached the base of the black mountain with but a candlemark or so to spare, and Liaze wept in relief as she looked at the conical slopes leading up to a flat-topped crest.
“Ah, lass, ye weep out o’ gladness that we made it,” said Gwyd, “but now ye hae t’get t’the top.”
“I’ll ride Nightshade up,” said Liaze.
“Och, Princess,” said the Brownie, “that be no easy task.”
“Your meaning?”
“See how the sides o’ the mountain gleam in the lantern light? Now we ken why Lady Doom said, ‘Precious steps will get ye there, / As up black glass ye steeply fare.’ Princess, this be obsidian; it be up a glass mountain ye would ride.”
36
Black Mountain
Liaze dismounted from Pied Agile, and Gwyd jumped to the ground from Nightshade. Twk wakened Jester and mounted the wee saddle, and the rooster fluttered to the ground. Untying the tethers, Liaze said, “Glass mountain or no, we cannot delay. I will ride to the top and awaken Luc.”
“What if you cannot rouse him?” asked Twk.
Liaze looked at Gwyd. “If I cannot awaken him, will the life-giving elixir aid?”
“Aye, it should, but if he be in an enchanted sleep, ye’ll hae t’go slow, else he’ll strangle.”
“How much should I give him?”
“A sip should do,” replied Gwyd, “a spoonful or so.”
Liaze slipped the decanter of elixir into the stallion’s saddlebags.
“Oh, Princess,” said Twk, “will you be safe?”
“As long as I do not step on the slopes, or so Urd implied.”
“And what about Nightshade?” asked the Pixie. “He will be setting foot upon the mountain; will he be safe?”
“Remember the rede, Twk. Urd said ‘Do not dismount as ye try,’ ” said Gwyd, now lighting a second lantern.
“Ah, I see,” said
Twk. “The princess has to ride to the top, else Lady Doom would not have told her to not dismount. Horse steps: those are the ‘precious steps’ of her rede.”
At these words, Gwyd fell into reflection, as if trying to catch an elusive thought.
Liaze checked her bow and quiver, and she took up her lantern and mounted Nightshade and set off up the slope of the obsidian mountain, glass chips flying in his wake. And even as the stallion clattered up the slant, now and again a hoof slipped, but the steed fared on.
Up he went and up, his breath blowing white in the air upon the frigid black mountain, Liaze urging the stallion higher, and still his shod hooves skittered now and again.
On the ground below, by the lamp Liaze bore, the Brownie and Pixie watched, and they sucked in air at every slip and slide. Of a sudden, Gwyd said, “Precious steps! Lady Doom said ‘precious steps’! Oh, Twk, now I ken what those words mean.”
Gwyd raced to the packhorse, and, struggling, he unladed the gelding. By lantern light he fetched the shoeing hammer and nails from the gear, and he threw the rucksack on the ground and took out silver coins.
“Nightshade has stopped about a third of the way up,” cried Twk, then, “Oh no! He’s sliding backwards.”
Gwyd only spared a quick glance at what was happening above as he stepped to Pied Agile. The Brownie lifted a forefoot and cleaned away the dirt and mud and then began driving new nails through pure silver coins and into the hoof, affixing the soft metal in place upon the bronze shoe.
“Gwyd, Gwyd, we’ve lost,” cried Twk. “The princess has turned about and is riding down. You were right: it is a glass mountain and entirely too slick for a horse to reach the top.”
Gwyd moved to the opposite forefoot, where once again he drove nails through silver coins and into Pied Agile’s hoof. “Be nae certain about that, Twk,” he said. “I ken what Lady Doom meant when she said ‘precious steps.’ And wouldna ye ken, she as much as told me what she meant by those words when she mentioned t’me that I bore treasure—the coins fra the Goblins and Trolls.”
“I don’t understand,” said Twk. “How are coins going to help?”
“Well, laddie buck, I hear silver be a counter f’r some forms o’ magic, and I ween this mountain hae a charm o’er it.”
“A charm?”
“Aye, how else can somethin this cold cause one t’die by fire?”
“But why Pied Agile?” asked Twk. “Why not put the silver on Nightshade’s hooves? I mean, he’s bigger and stronger.”
“Aye, but we canna waste the time. Anyway, Pied Agile’s name in the old tongue means Nimble Foot in the new. She’ll reach th’top, I ween.”
Liaze, tears of frustration on her face, came riding back to the Brownie and Pixie. “I can’t make it up,” she said.
“Dona be certain, lass,” said Gwyd, finishing the last of Nimble Foot’s hooves. “Y’see, I ken what the words ‘precious steps’ mean in Lady Doom’s rede. I ween ye’ll get up this glass mountain yet. Pied Agile now be shod in silver, a metal more precious than shoes o’ bronze.”
Moments later and full of new hope, Liaze mounted Pied Agile, the elixir in the mare’s saddlebags. Off she set, Pied Agile at a trot, and onto the obsidian slopes.
But even as she did so, Gwyd was nailing gold coins to Nightshade’s hooves. “Gold be e’en a softer metal than bronze or silver. Mayhap it will cling t’the glass better should the princess need another try.”
Up the glass mountain fared Liaze on Nimble Foot, black glass chips scattering in the mare’s wake, and soon she passed the mark set by the stallion.
“Oh, Mithras,” cried Twk, “I believe she’s going to make it.”
Still Gwyd hammered hard bronze nails through malleable gold and into Nightshade’s hooves.
“She’s nearly two thirds of the way there,” cried Twk. “And still she—Oh, no! No! Oh, Mithras, no! Gwyd, Gwyd, she’s stopped, and Pied Agile is sliding hindward.”
Gwyd finished with Nightshade’s last hoof. “Well, Twk, the black now be ready for another go. Bronze we tried, and silver—the moon metal—and now we try wi’ e’en more precious gold—the metal o’ the sun. If this doesna work, I ween we be defeated. Pray t’Mithras that the third time be the charm.”
Liaze managed to turn Pied Agile, and back down the glass mountain she rode.
“Nightshade be shod wi’ gold, Princess,” cried Gwyd when she rode into earshot.
Frustrated once more, “What makes you think it will be any better than silver?” asked Liaze.
“It be a softer metal, and Nightshade be a heavier horse than Pied Agile. I ween wi’ his weight and the softness o’ the coinage, it’ll cling better than both bronze and silver.”
“Mithras, let it be so, for there is scant time left ere the full dark of the moon,” said Liaze, dismounting and transferring the elixir to Nightshade and swinging up into the saddle.
Once again the princess rode onto the slopes, while Gwyd and Twk watched, their hearts pounding in anxiety, their breaths bated in fear. And they gasped at every perceived slip, whether or not Nightshade had done so.
Up rode the princess, now on precious steps of gold, the metal conforming to the arced ripples of obsidian, the shiny surface like glass.
Up she rode and up, up past the place where Nightshade had faltered before, up past the place where Pied Agile had slipped, and on up.
And Liaze’s heart soared as Nightshade’s steps of gold fared onward.
Yet just ere the white-blowing stallion reached the truncated top of the glass mountain, there came a steepening of the slant: no more than twenty feet all told.
“Hai!” cried the princess, kicking Nightshade in the flanks and leaning into the saddle, and the stallion leapt forward, and though his hooves were slipping the final few steps, up and onto the flat he clattered.
Liaze’s eyes brimmed with the release of tension, and she wiped away the tears and sprang to the hard glass surface.
And by her lantern she could see her Luc lying motionless upon an icy bed ’neath the open-sided pavilion.
Oh, Luc, please, my love, be alive.
Liaze snatched the elixir from the saddlebag, and she stepped to the black slab and knelt beside Luc.
Mithras, he is not breathing.
She placed her ear against his chest and listened for his heartbeat. Nought!
Quickly, she stood and uncapped the decanter and opened Luc’s lips, and slowly, drop by drop—Oh, please, please, Mithras, let Lady Verdandi be right when she said a golden draught will surely save—Liaze dripped the elixir into his mouth.
Drop by drop.
But nought seemed to be occurring.
Drop by drop.
Tears welled in Liaze’s eyes. Oh, Mithras, am I too late in this dark of the moon? Is he dead? Oh, my love, my love.
Drop by drop.
But he lay cold and unmoving.
Liaze wiped her free hand across her eyes and looked at the rune-marked crystal. Fully a quarter of the elixir was gone, and still he lay unmoving.
Oh, please, my love, let this not be.
Liaze burst into tears and leaned over and kissed Luc’s cold lips—Please, my love, oh please—and, distraught, she sank down beside him and lay her head on his chest . . . in that moment he drew in a long, shuddering breath.
“Oh, Luc, Luc,” Liaze cried, leaping to her feet. And she spun about, her arms spread wide, her face raised to the heavens, and she called out, “Oh, thank you, Mithras, thank you!”
—But her joyful cry was lost ’neath a shrill scream, and of a sudden, Liaze could not move. And down and down and riding a besom spiraled a woman in black.
It was a witch, and fury filled her face.
37
Iniquí
Gwyd and Twk, at the foot of the mountain, heard a distant shriek, and, by the dim light cast upward by the lantern Liaze had carried above, they saw something or someone spiral down out of the ebon sky.
“Oh, Gwyd, what might it be?” cried T
wk.
Gwyd moaned and said, “Ah, laddie, I think it must be the witch what carried Luc away. She’s come at the dark o’ the moon t’see the result o’ her evil handiwork.”
“Oh, Gwyd, Gwyd, what can we do?”
“Nought, Twk, nought, f’r the mountain be enchanted, and we canna set foot thereon, else we’d die by fire, and that would be nae good t’anyone, much less the princess. We canna go up the mountain.”
“But there must be something we can do,” cried Twk.
“What, Twk, what? And e’en if there were, we canna defeat a witch.”
“Well I—Oh, Gwyd, I don’t know, I don’t know.” Twk was nearly in tears. “But we can’t just stand here and do nothing.” Of a sudden the Pixie’s eyes flew wide in revelation. “Gwyd, listen, listen, here’s what we can do. . . .”
Down spiraled the witch on her besom, rage consuming her features. “Fool, you fool!” she shrieked, her fury directed at Liaze. “You have ruined everything! Now I will have to start over.”
Liaze could not move, but for her eyes, nor could she speak.
Alighting upon the glassy flat, the witch stalked toward Liaze, the fury replaced with cold rage. Stopping before the princess, the witch glanced at Luc, the knight’s shallow breath wafting white in the icy air. Once again the features of the witch twisted in rage, and she turned to Liaze and raised a black-nailed hand as if to strike. But then a look of recognition replaced the one of fury, and she laughed in triumph.
“You are Liaze, one of Foul Valeray’s get, daughter of he who is most responsible for imprisoning my master.” Again the witch laughed. “Oh, my, but this is too sweet, and almost makes up for setting back my plans by two more darks of the moon.”
She strutted before Liaze, the hem of her longsleeved black dress flowing behind. She was tall and imperious, and her black hair matched her eyes, and then she turned to Liaze and said, “You don’t know me, do you.” It was not a question.
“I am Iniquí, sister of Hradian and Nefasí, and of Rhensibé, whom your vile brother slew. Oh, this revenge will be most enjoyable well beyond your death, for Foul Valeray and his whore Saissa and their get will grieve long when word comes that the elder daughter has been slain by my hand. Oh, yes, sweet revenge.
Once Upon an Autumn Eve Page 26