Once Upon a Summer Day (49 page)

“Mischievous tease?” said Borel, frowning, looking about, clearly perplexed. “Who might that be?”

Chelle leaned over and kissed him, but she otherwise didn’t enlighten him.

All the next day it rained, and the rade went a bit slower, the footing more difficult in places along the way, and they rode with their cloaks held close and with the hoods pulled up, as the rain fell from the overcast above.

Past cascading waterfalls and along high-running streams they fared, and through woodlands adrip. And that night they camped on a bit of a knoll, for down lower it was quite wet.

The next day dawned clear, as did the day after, and onward they went, and in midafternoon of the sixth day of travel they rode past a field of grain and up the long slope, and nigh the top sat a huge man beneath an oak, a great scythe across his knees.

As the prince approached, the man stood and doffed his hat, revealing a shock of red hair, and he bowed low.

“Afternoon, Reaper,” said Borel, riding past.

“Afternoon, Prince Borel,” said the man, but he remained bowed.

Borel growled something unto Slate, and Slate in turn spoke the same language to Trot and Loll and Blue-eye, and that trio broke away from the escort and went hunting.

“Conies on the way, Reaper,” said Borel.

“Thank you, my lord,” said the huge man, but he didn’t straighten from his bow until the entire cavalcade had ridden by.

“Who was that?” asked Chelle, when she and Borel were out of earshot.

“I call him the Reaper, for he scythes grain for any who need it. Yet beyond that I don’t know. It seems he has always been there, sitting under that tree, and none I know can tell me his tale, and I feel it improper to ask him, for I sense there is a great sorrow involved.”

They rode a bit farther, and then Chelle said, “Perhaps Camille is right, and sometime long past a bard of the Keltoi told a tale about a reaper sitting under an oak, and he has been there ever since.”

“If so,” said Borel, “then that would make him one of the Firsts.”

“First of his Kind, you mean?”

Borel nodded and said, “And perhaps the last.”

On they rode and on, and Trot and Loll and Blue-eye came running and rejoined the escort, and Borel growled a word and Trot answered.

“Three,” said Borel.

“Three?”

“Conies,” said Borel.

“Your Wolves can count?” asked Chelle.

Borel frowned. “Perhaps. But I know it was three because Trot said they each caught one.”

“Ah,” said Chelle. “Three for the Reaper.”

“Two only,” said Borel. “They ate the other themselves.”

As sunset drew near, they came unto another twilight marge, and they crossed over to come into the Summerwood.

 

The night was balmy and they changed into still lighter clothes even as they made camp.

The next morn they set out across this forest, the summer day warming, birds singing, insects humming, among them bumblebees. And Borel and Chelle looked for Buzzer, but finally Borel said, “Love, without Flic alongside, these
all
look like Buzzer to me.”

Chelle ruefully grinned and said, “Me, too.” Then she frowned and added, “I wonder if all humans look alike to bees?”

Borel said, “I think Buzzer came to recognize us as separate individuals.”

Chelle nodded. “We should ask Flic.”

All that day they rode, and toward evening Gerard spurred nigh. “My lord,” he said, “shall we press on, or instead make camp?”

Borel looked at Chelle, and she said, “If I understand the meaning beneath Gerard’s question, I advise we camp, else we’ll arrive at Summerwood Manor in the depths of night. I think that not appropriate for either our staff or that of Prince Alain.”

“We camp, Gerard,” said Borel.

 

The next day in midmorn they came to a long slope leading to Summerwood Manor below. Gerard sounded a resonant call on a horn, and as the cry echoed throughout the woodland, the rade progressed downward.

As they rode, Michelle studied the estate: the mansion itself stood some four or five storeys in height, though here and there it rose above even that; it was broad and deep with many wings, and even courtyards within. The far-flung grounds about the great château were surrounded by a lengthy high stone wall, with gates standing at the midpoints, at the moment all closed. Inside the wall there were groves of trees and gardens with pathways through, as well as a small lake, and—

“Oh, Borel, a hedge maze.”

Borel smiled and said, “You should try it, love; to find the center is the goal, yet it is the most fun when one gets lost,” and on down the slope they rode.

Several outbuildings ranged along part of one wall at the back of the manse: a stable, a carriage house, a smithery, barns for the storage of grain and hay, and various utility sheds, some large, others small.

It was a great deal like her père’s estate, though on a much grander scale.

And they rode through one of the gates and along a white stone lane curving between two lines of old oaks standing sentry, their limbs arching overhead and forming a canopy. Across a stone bridge they went, a stream meandering under, with graceful black swans aswimming. They emerged from the oaken canopy, and straight ahead across a broad mead stood the great château. And waiting in the forecourt were servants to take charge of the horses.

They dismounted at a large and deep portico, and Borel offered his arm to Chelle, and into the manse they strode.

A
t the doorway stood a grey-haired, blue-eyed, lean man dressed in black.

“Lanval,” said Borel.

“My lord,” said Lanval, and he looked at Chelle and smiled.

“Lady Michelle, I present Lanval, steward of Summerwood Manor.” As Lanval bowed, Borel added, “Lady Michelle is Duke Roulan’s daughter, and soon to be mistress of the Winterwood, for we are betrothed.”

Lanval nodded, yet this was not news to him, for messages between the Winterwood and the other Forests of the Seasons had flown back and forth by falcon.

“My lord, my lady,” said Lanval. And he gestured and said, “Shall we?” And down the short corridor they stepped to come unto the welcoming hall, where on an inlaid depiction of a green oak in the center of the floor stood a man and three women; and Lanval called out, “My Lord Alain, and my Ladies Céleste, Liaze, and Camille, I present Lord Borel, Prince of the Winterwood, and the Lady Michelle, daughter of Duke Roulan and betrothed of Prince Borel.”

Borel and Alain bowed, and Céleste, Liaze, Camille, and Michelle curtseyed, and then, unable to contain themselves any longer, Alain and Camille and Céleste and Liaze rushed forward, and hugged and kissed Borel and embraced Chelle, and they all talked at once and laughed and drew the Prince of the Winterwood and his truelove down the hall to a sitting room, where tea and scones and jellies awaited. And as all took seat and Camille served, Alain said, “Well, big brother, you and Michelle have a tale to tell, one we are very interested in hearing. But before you begin, I have the strangest dream to relate to you, a dream shared by everyone in this household: it seems you and a masked”—of a sudden Alain looked at Michelle and said—“Oh, my, it was you! You were the masked lady, Michelle. And you and Borel were here at a gala in Summerwood Manor, and you taught us a strange dance you called the bee dance and—”

Chelle and Borel looked at one another and broke into laughter, and Borel said, “It seems everyone we shared our shared dream with, shared the same dream with us.”

Liaze frowned and said, “Frère, you speak in riddles.”

Borel pushed out a hand and said, “As Chelle told Arnot, it is an effect of the spell she was under.”

At a questioning look from Céleste, Borel shrugged and added, “It will become clear when we tell our tale, but for now just call it magie.” He turned to Chelle and said, “Chérie, why don’t you begin?”

Chelle looked at the four eager faces before her, and took a sip of tea and then said, “It was the day of my majority, and my sire the duke had invited many folk to a gala in my honor. Fairies came on high-prancing horses bedecked with silver bells, and from the nearby town of Riverbend came merchants in broughams and . . .”

 

The next day, as all were sitting in Camille’s favorite gazebo, Scruff the sparrow suddenly began chirping, his attention focused on the grounds beyond. And across the hedge maze two iridescent-winged Sprites and a dark bumblebee came winging. And they flew to the railing and alighted—Flic and Fleurette and Buzzer—and all were as naked as the day they were born, but for Flic’s épée and belt, and the moondrop pendant Fleurette now wore, the pendant given Flic by King Arle. And Fleurette was definitely female, with her wee breasts and cleft groin; she had brown hair as did Flic, though her tiny locks held pale highlights within and fell down to the middle of her back. After introductions were made all ’round, Flic said, “We have talked it over, Fleurette and I, and if rings are involved in this silly human ritual you are about to undertake, Lord Alain, Lady Camille, well, hurm, we would be honored to bear them.”

 

The very next day, a long horn call in the distance announced the arrival of another rade, and, in cavalcade, up the length of the vale came slim, dark-haired King Valeray, his eyes piercing and grey, much as were Alain’s. And at his side rode Queen Saissa—slender, dark-haired, with arresting eyes of black. How these two could produce Borel with his ice-blue eyes and silvery hair, and Liaze with her eyes of amber and auburn hair, and Céleste with her green eyes and pale blond hair, none could say, though perhaps Fairies were involved, or so went the rumor.

In Valeray and Saissa’s entourage rode Hierophant Marceau—bald-headed and short and a barrel of a man and seemingly all laughter and cheer . . . when he wasn’t pontificating.

And when the king and queen came into the welcoming hall, awaiting them were two sons, two daughters, two daughters-to-be, as well as two Sprites and a sparrow and a humming bee.

 

Once again Borel and Chelle told their stories, and when they were done, Valeray said, “Rhensibé, Hradian, Iniquí, and Nefasí: four sisters, all acolytes of Orbane. And Rhensibé came after my old friend Roulan through his daughter. How cruel.”

“She also tried to prevent Borel’s happiness,” said Alain.

“What a terrible thing to do,” said Camille. “Four sisters, acolytes all, and out to gain revenge.”

Hierophant Marceau made a warding sign and said, “Mithras, protect us.”

Valeray looked at the rotund priest and then turned back to the others. “I knew of Nefasí. And after Saissa’s and my experience, and Camille and Alain’s as well, we were certain that Hradian was one of Orbane’s acolytes, too. But that there were two more . . .”

“Well, at least Rhensibé is dead, Father,” said Liaze, “thanks to Michelle and Borel.”

“Thank Mithras,” said Marceau, making another warding sign.

“Thank the Wolves instead,” said Chelle, “for they were the ones who did her in.”

They sat in silence for long moments, and finally Céleste glanced at Hierophant Marceau and turned to the others and said, “Since it seems we are here to witness Alain and Camille’s vows, let us all take another pledge upon ourselves: that we will do whatever it takes to rescue Lord Roulan and the others, and vow as well that we will do all in our power to stop Orbane’s acolytes from setting that vile wizard free.”

“Well, I do so pledge,” said Chelle, “and—”

Of a sudden there came the sound of shuttles and looms, and before the gathering stood three women: Maiden, Mother, and Crone; the Ladies Skuld, Verdandi, and Urd; the Fates Wyrd, Lot, and Doom.

Borel and Alain and Valeray stood and bowed, as did Flic. And Chelle and Camille and Liaze and Céleste and Saissa curtseyed, as did Fleurette. Buzzer was asleep, and so too was Scruff, and neither bee nor sparrow stirred. Hierophant Marceau did nought, for he had fainted dead away.

“Be careful what you pledge,” said the Maiden, Skuld.

“For we will hold you to it,” said the Mother, Verdandi.

“If not to the letter, at least to the spirit,” said the Crone, Urd.

Camille said, “
Mesdames,
when I was searching for Alain, you did tell me that if Orbane ever escaped the Castle of Shadows beyond the Black Wall of the World, he would pollute the River of Time itself. And so, any pledge to keep that from happening seems worthy.”

“Indeed it is,” said Skuld, with Verdandi and Urd nodding in agreement.

“My Lady Wyrd,” said Borel, “since you see the future, have we a chance?”

“Better yet, have we time?” said Valeray.

Skuld turned up her hands and said, “I will not say what I have seen, only that a distant peril comes.”

“This will I say,” said Verdandi, “with the death of Rhensibé, you have seriously set back their plans, though you have also gained even more enmity.”