The Bear raised his head from the bourne, water streaming down from his muzzle. He glanced about and grunted, and then lowered his head again.
“Well, then, let me see. Since your master is Lord of the Summerwood, then this cannot be his demesne, for here ’tis spring, not summer. This must be the Springwood instead.”
The Bear again raised his head, and cocked it to one side as he looked at her, and then he gave a soft whuff.
“Does that mean yes, that I have guessed aright?”
Again the Bear whuffed.
Camille clapped her hands together and laughed. “Oh, Bear, you are not much of a conversationalist, yet when you speak, I listen. But hear me now: my breakfast was sparse, and all of this travel and your constant chitter-chatter has made me quite hungry; you wouldn’t happen to have some food in those bundles you carry, now would you?”
The Bear rumbled deep in his chest, and then turned and padded to the great oak, where he dipped his head low, almost as if in obeisance. Perplexed, Camille looked on as the Bear raised his head and canted it to one side as if listening to unvoiced words from the oak. But Camille could hear nought but the sibilant rustle of new-green leaves overhead. The Bear then turned and began circling the tree, snuffling along the ground. He stopped and scooped one powerful forepaw down into the soft loam.
He turned to Camille.
“Whuff.”
Camille stepped to where the Bear stood, and she looked into the foot-deep gouge, where, within, she espied a dark double-fist-sized growth of some sort.
“You wish me to dig that out, O Bear?”
The Bear whuffed softly and looked into the hole as well.
Camille knelt and pushed away soft loam, and she reached with two hands and grasped the growth and pulled it up. Dark, it was, almost black and somewhat spongy, and it had an earthy aroma. Frowning, she said, “This feels somewhat like a mushroom, but I think it is not. Let us take it to the stream and wash it off, and then we shall see.”
Moments later, with water yet dripping, Camille broke off a small piece, and just as the globular growth was dark on the outside, it was dark on the inside as well. Camille looked at the broken-off piece suspiciously. “Are you certain, O Bear, that this is safe to eat?”
“Whuff.”
Camille took a small nibble and gasped, “Oh, my. How delicious.” She took another small bite, her eyes watering in joy.
Her face suddenly blossomed with enlightenment. “Oh, Bear, I think Fra Galanni spoke of these. This is a truffle, right?”
“Whuff.”
She broke the truffle in two, and gave the larger portion to the Bear.
“Fra Galanni named this the food of the gods, and now I see that he spoke true. He told me that a truffle’s ‘character’ is somewhat like that of garlic laid over a penetrating earthiness, combined with a pungent sensation like a whiff of strong wine. Of course, I never knew what he was talking about, for, though I had eaten wild garlic, I had never had a strong, pungent wine, or wine of any kind, or aught I could say had an earthy taste, whatever that might mean. Yet now I suppose I know what he meant—these flavors in combination—though for the individual things he cited, but for garlic, I still have no idea of their essence.”
With a snap and a gulp, the Bear’s portion was gone, but Camille savored hers to the last, the Bear looking on somewhat avidly as she ate it in small bites. She cocked an eye at him. “If you want more, O Bear, I suggest you dig up another.”
The Bear groaned and looked back at the tree, but made no move to comply. After a moment, he went downstream to a pool, and shortly had a fish to eat. Even so, now and again, he glanced up as if asking, “Are you going to finish all of that?”
They rested awhile, but then the Bear stood and whuffed.
“Oh, is it time to go on? But it is so peaceful here.”
The Bear rumbled low in his chest.
“All right, all right, O Bear, but first—” She stepped into the bracken to relieve herself, the Bear standing guard and looking everywhere but toward her. Camille then trod to the stream and washed her hands, and, after taking another deep drink, she once again mounted up.
Onward through the wondrous springtime woods they went, the midnight-black Bear and his slender rider Camille, and everywhere he bore her were marvels to delight the senses—birds singing, iridescent insects winging, the scent of loam and flowers and other growing things drifting on the air, the mild wafts caressing the skin. And Camille reveled in all.
“O Bear,” she said, laughing gaily, “to think how I did dread coming into this place, for many are the tales of monsters and of peril dire, and yet I deem herein are no monsters, no peril; I think ’tis but a rumor fostered by the Fey Folk to hold us Humans at bay, else we would o’errun the—”
But the Bear roared at these words, as if protesting their untruth. And crying in fright, birds fled into the sky, and only the soft hum of an insect or two and a trickle of water broke the stillness left behind.
“Oh, my,” whispered Camille, her heart racing at the thunderous outburst. “Mayhap I am wrong after all.”
She rode in silence for a while. But then—“Is it that there is peril herein after all?”
“Whuff.”
“Monsters?”
“Whuff.”
At these answers, Camille’s eyes widened in apprehension, and she looked about the splendid forest, seeking . . . seeking . . . she knew not what.
Onward they went, Camille somewhat on edge, for a nagging disquiet clutched at her heart. And now and again movement flickered in the corners of her eyes, yet when she jerked about to look, it seemed nothing was there. Birds perhaps, or small, running things. Oh, Bear, why did you have to bring me such ill news?
The sun continued to slip down the sky, and but for the fact that she rode through Faery on the back of a great black Bear within an enchanted forest, the day seemed normal to Camille, though far in the distance all ’round, twilight graced the land.
The sun set and dusk came, and, in the nearness to the fore, Camille could see a small flicker of fire. Toward this glow the Bear trod. As they moved among the trees, Camille thought she detected the patter of small feet running lightly alongside. A bit of an animal hieing nigh, I suppose. Wait, it seems there’s more than one. And—What was that? A giggle? Was that a giggle? Camille listened intently and peered into the evening shadows. Yet she saw only darkness, and the sound was not repeated, and the footsteps pattered away.
They came to a wee glade in which a small campfire burned within a ring of stones. Spitted above the flames, a brace of rabbits cooked, fat dripping down asizzle. No one was there to greet them; no one seemed about. Nearby, a spring gurgled from the earth and ran down a slope to a lucid mere, cattail reeds ringing ’round.
In the tiny campsite, the Bear stopped and looked over his shoulder at Camille and whuffed. Camille dismounted. Now the Bear nuzzled the harness; she unbuckled the straps, and at another sign from the Bear, undid one of the bundles: it was a bedroll.
“We are to spend the night here?”
“Whuff.”
“But there must be someone who kindled the fire and spitted the rabbits to cook; are we to camp with him . . . or with them, if there’s more than one?”
The Bear made no reply.
Camille stamped her foot. “Oh, would you had more than a simple whuff to say, or more than that deafening roar.”
Again the Bear made no comment, but instead looked back and forth between Camille and the rabbits over the fire.
“Oh, no, Bear, that’s someone else’s meal.” Yet Camille’s mouth watered at the aroma and sight of the well-cooked meat.
Camille looked out into the forest ’round, and she called aloud, “Allo, the woods! Is the owner of the camp nigh?”
No one answered.
Frowning, she turned to the Bear. “Do you know whose camp this is?”
“Whuff.” And the Bear looked at Camille and the bedroll on the sward, and then sat do
wn.
Camille cocked a skeptical eye. “My camp, O Bear? Our camp?”
“Whuff.”
Camille shook her head in disbelief. “And just who set it up? Fairies? Sprites?”
“Whuff.”
Camille was taken aback by this answer from the Bear. Wait, the footsteps. The giggle. But who could command—? “The prince of the Summerwood, did he arrange such?”
“Whuff.”
“And this is our meal?”
At another soft whuff from the Bear, Camille grinned and said, “Well, then, let us eat. I am starving.”
“WHUFF!” agreed the Bear, loudly.
Camille plucked the spit from the fire and gingerly—“Ow, ow”—pulled the rabbits from the wooden skewer. She held one out for the Bear, and with a great crackling and crunching, he ate it bones and all. Then he sat and watched longingly as Camille daintily ate of hers.
It was delicious.
But she could only eat one hind leg and a fore, and she gave the rest to the Bear, and snap, crunch, it was gone.
She washed her face and hands in the rill running down, and scrubbed her teeth with a chew-stick, and then took to her bedroll, where she was lulled toward sleep by the ripple of water and the chirruping of small things nearby. But then she remembered the Bear’s implied warning that in Faery were monsters dire and other hazards herein, and this momentarily startled her back awake. But then she recalled Lisette’s words: As for things of peril, Camille will have the Bear for protection, and a finer guardian none could want. The last thing she remembered seeing was the great black Bear standing ward.
The next morning tendrils of a misty fog wreathed among the trees as Camille stepped down to the spring-fed mere, and though the water was chill, she doffed her clothes and parted the reeds and slipped into the limpid pool, gasping at the bite of the water.
Saving her precious soap for her hair, she scrubbed her skin with sand from the bottom. As she did so, again she heard the patter of tiny feet and the sound of a faint giggle. “Allo! Bonjour! Who is there?” she called, unable to see aught for the reeds. Once more came a giggle, and then the sound of wee feet running away.
Camille sighed. If the Bear is correct, ’tis small Sprites you hear, ma fille.
Working swiftly, soon she had scrubbed herself clean and had washed her golden tresses. As she clambered out through the reeds and into the chill morning air—Oh, no. How will I dry myself?—she found a soft cloth for a towel lying next to her clothing, and looked up to see the black Bear ambling away.
And when she returned to the campfire, she found waiting a mug of hot tea and a meal of cold biscuits. They, too, were delicious.
Her hair, though combed, was still wet when once more Camille mounted up, and the Bear headed through the forest again. As they padded onward, she could hear rustlings in the surround. In the morning light, Camille looked left and right, fore and aft, seeking to see what made the swash and swish among the undergrowth. Perhaps it’s whoever set the fire and spitted the rabbits last night, and who made the tea in the morn, and who may have been watching me bathe. Camille blushed at this last, yet she continued to search among the bracken and tall grass and the boles of the trees, where wisps of the morning mist yet threaded the greenery here and there. Finally, down within the early shadows, she thought she detected movement, for she caught glimpses of somethings or someones, small beings, perhaps, passing through the woods, though the sightings were so brief she could not be certain.
The morning light waxed, and the sun shone aglance through the branches of the trees and down, and though it was daylight where trod the Bear, the distant twilight yet clung to the forest afar.
Now Camille was certain she saw small beings keeping pace, for now and again one would pass through a shaft of sunlight, and it seemed they were riding small animals of some sort, lynxes she thought, though she was not certain.
Onward went the Bear and onward she rode, yet scanning the surround; and then she gasped, for in the near distance and passing among the trees and keeping pace on a parallel track was a small white horse or some such, yet out of its head rose a—Oh, my, it is a Unicorn! Just like the one pictured on the tapestry in the sanctuary. “They seek out unsullied maidens,” Fra Galanni had said, but then did not tell me what unsullied meant, though Agnès, votary of Mithras and gardener to Fra Galanni, told me it meant ‘pure.’
When the sun reached the zenith, again the Bear stopped. And this time they dined on true mushrooms, the kind Fra Galanni had named in the Old Tongue “le champignon de morelle, une autre nourriture des dieux,” and Camille had to agree, for morels truly also must be the food of the gods. Still, the truffle of yesterday had seemed even better. But here in this place the Bear had found an excess of the mushrooms, and he and Camille dined extravagantly. “O Bear, are mushrooms and the like to be our everyday midday diet? Even though these are delicious, I think our palates will grow weary of such over time.”
The Bear did not respond, but continued snuffling after the scent of mushrooms and gobbling down those he found.
After a rest and a drink from a nearby stream, onward they pressed, and Camille began to wonder just how far away the Summerwood lay, for the Springwood was yet all about.
In midafternoon they topped a rise and came to the lip of a wide, deep gorge. Along one side sheer rock fell into the depths, while along the other, numerous waterfalls cascaded over the brim and down. On the floor of the ravine far below, the Springwood continued, the new green leaves vivid in the light of the afternoon sun. A river wended along the bottom of the gorge and seemed to disappear into a great split at the base of the rock-wall face. Far to the fore and in the distant twilight, the slope of the gorge rose up to meet the crags of a rising mountain range, and Camille thought she could see snow lying high.
The Bear turned toward the cataracts and padded along the rim. He came to a pathway down into the chasm, and this he followed, descending toward the floor far below, the way quite narrow for the Bear, and the drop into the depths sheer. Gasping, Camille grasped the harness and cast her bent leg across the Bear, changing from sidesaddle to astride, for she thought it a safer way to ride. Now more firmly mounted, she did turn about to see if any wee folk were arear, those who perhaps were accompanying the Bear on the journey, but the way behind was clear of followers, and the path ahead clear as well. Looking up, she saw on the rim above the Unicorn standing in a shaft of sunlight, its coat a glorious white, as if the sun itself held the magnificent creature in awe, but it made no move to follow the Bear down into the deepness below.
The Bear came alongside a cataract plunging, the great downpour falling silently but for the rush of wind, the water to thunder into a churning pool far under. And as the Bear wended back and forth along a series of switchbacks, now and again Camille thought she could hear giggling, yet the ways before and behind seemed clear. But then as they came toward the waterfall again, the laughter came quite near, and Camille’s eyes widened in astonishment, for swimming within and up the cataract was a trio of small laughing beings: nearly transparent they were, as of water itself come alive. Webbed fingers and long webbed feet they had, the latter somewhat like fishtails. Translucent hair streamed down from their heads, as if made of flowing tendrils of crystal. And they were female, Camille could see, for pert breasts and all-but-smooth cleft groins did they have. And though completely engulfed in lucid water, still did their laughter come ringing clear. And they swam, oh how they swam, defying the power of the cataract, as up and up they drove, until they were lost to sight. Camille in awe looked upward, yet seeking, but they were gone as if vanished. Then Camille laughed in joy, for momentarily the trio of two-foot-tall beings reappeared, standing on the lip of the linn high above, only to dive into the falls and plunge merrily past, their shrieks of gaiety growing and then fading as they hurtled nigh and at hand and down.
“Oh, Bear, oh, Bear, did you see and hear? Waterfolk. Waterfolk dear.”
The Bear merely grunted, and,
bearing Camille, followed the narrow way.
On down they went and down, down to the valley floor, and the sun sailed downward as well. When they reached the bottom of the gorge, shadows from the mountains ahead o’erspread the land. But to the fore and alongside the river a small campfire burned, and upon arriving at the stone-encircled blaze, they found pheasants roasting above.
That night Camille awoke to find the valley filled with wee dancing lights flitting among the trees, as of a tiny folk bearing lanterns and riding upon dragonflies. While the Bear had been nigh when she had gone to sleep, of him there was now no sign, though the back of her neck did tingle, as if an unseen observer stood somewhere in the darkness watching her. And even though she saw the Bear not, still she did feel safe, and she fell asleep again, while in the forest all ’round, dancing lights did weave.
After fording the river next day, up a long slope toward the far end of the valley they fared, making for the mountains ahead, Camille again riding astride. And as they went, the noontime came, and this day they dined on wild spring éschalots and the pale tubers of a sedgelike plant, all harvested by the Bear from the earthy banks of a stream, the gentle piquancy of the shallot bulbs complementing the mildly sweet and starchy taste of the nodules of sedgelike rootstock.
After their meal, up the long remainder of the slope they went and out from the valley, and as they reached the beginning of the mountains, they came to the end of the Springwood. In contrast to the land behind, that before them was snow-covered and ice-laden and bleak. It was marked by a border of twilight, a dusky wall rearing up unto the sky, only this seemed a darker, more sinister marge than the one they had crossed when they had first entered Faery, and the moment the Bear stepped into that bound his ebony color vanished, and once again he became an immaculate white. Within the ambit of that frigid realm a harsh coldness bore down upon them, and Camille donned her cloak and wrapped it tight about her and pulled her hood up and ’round, for they had come once more into the brutal clutch of cruel winter.
Once Upon a Winter's Night Page 4