Once upon a dreadful time

Gathering

Starwise they rode, did each of the four separate retinues travelling through their respective forests, and were it the Springwood, Summerwood, Autumnwood, or Winterwood, it mattered not, for all cavalcades went starwise, all heading toward the twilight bounds that would take each contingent into the domain known as the Palace of the Seasons. And each of the entourages timed their departures so that all would arrive within a candlemark of one another.

In the Springwood, after a short journey, in midmorn the procession rode onto the grounds of a recently occupied estate, where they were welcomed by Sieur Emile and Lady Simone and their daughter, Lady Avelaine, and their two sons, Sieurs Laurent and Blaise.

As stablemen and boys tended the horses and liveried staff scurried to pour drinks and provide a bite or two for the arriving band, Roel greeted his mother and sister with gentle hugs, and his sire and brothers with fierce embraces and hearty poundings, and Celeste greeted all with embraces and kisses on cheeks. As for their aspects, Laurent and Blaise, with their red hair and hazel eyes, favored their mother, while Avelaine and Roel favored their dark-haired father, though his eyes fell in a blue-grey range, while Avelaine’s were sapphire blue and Roel’s dark grey.

As they moved toward a gazebo, Roel looked about the manicured grounds and, frowning, asked, “Avi, where is your husband, the good Vicomte Chevell?”

“Oh, Rollie,” said Avelaine, “he’s back at our estate in Port Mizon, for King Avelar has him assembling a great fleet and training marines to once and for all rid the seas of the corsairs on the isle of Brados. But despite my protests, he sent me on, for he knows how much I enjoy the tournament.”

“You came alone?”

“Oh non, Rollie. Laurent and Blaise and a small warband fetched me.”

“Well and good, then,” said Roel, turning to nod at his brothers.

“Chevell would like to have been here,” said Blaise.

“I shall miss him,” replied Roel.

“As will we all,” said Emile.

They took seat in the gazebo to chat and quaff a goblet of wine, the men all armed with swords at their waists and long-knives strapped to their thighs and armored in helms and leathers, the latter with arrayed bronze platelets riveted thereon to cover each torso. Celeste and Avelaine wore leathers, too, though they forwent the burden of metal. Lady Simone was dressed in a flowing riding gown, one that was not a split skirt, for she was of the old school.

“Are you well settled?” asked Celeste. It was just summer last that Emile and Simone and their household had left the mortal world to come and live in the Springwood to be near Roel and Celeste.

“Oui,” said Simone, smiling. But then she shrugged and added, “Some of the staff, though, remained behind, for they would not face the perils of Faery.”

“Perils, Maman?” said Avelaine, her sapphirine eyes sparkling. “Oh, poo. This is a wondrous place.” Simone frowned and canted her head, her red hair cascading down one shoulder. “Was it not but some four summers past that you were yet held captive herein?”

“Oui, but that should not dissuade any from living in Faery.”

“Speaking of living in Faery,” said Simone, turning to Celeste, “I thank you deeply for sending Reydeau to tutor us in the ways of Faery, the beings herein, these shadowlight walls we must cross from realm to realm, and the perils we might face if we cross at an unmarked place.”

“Ah, Simone, ’twas meet,” said Celeste, “else who knows what troubles you might have gotten into.” Avelaine laughed gaily and said, “Such as the time you and Rollie fled through a border at an unknown place. Many times did Reydeau use that as an example of the dangers of the borders. Though in your case you landed on the deck of Chevell’s Sea Eagle, thanks to the Fates, else you would have fallen into an ocean far from land.”

Emile frowned. “But Reydeau never said why you couldn’t have simply swum back through the marge.” Roel shrugged. “Mayhap we could have, Pere, had we not landed on the Eagle, though I don’t know whether there were currents that would have swept us along, nor do I know how we would have regained the top of the precipice we sprang from.

Besides, there were Redcap Goblins and Bogles and Trolls on our heels, and we were sorely outnumbered.” Simone sighed. “Redcaps and Bogles and Trolls and Changelings and other such Faery creatures: dreadful things they are.”

“But Maman,” protested Avelaine, “there are also Sprites and Fairies and Elves and Twig Men and Pixies and the like: splendid beings all, Reydeau said, and I would like to meet each and every one.”

Celeste nodded and said, “In Faery there are many dangers to be avoided as well as joys to experience; the trick is to know which is which.”

“Let us not talk of perils and pleasures in Faery,” said Blaise,

“but speak of the tournament instead.” He turned to Roel and said, “This year, little brother, this year, one of us must defeat Luc. The honor of the House of Emile demands it.” Nodding in agreement, Laurent said, “Thrice he has bested us, but you, Rollie, you took his measure last time, though in the end ’twas his skill with a bow that decided the outcome.”

“I have been practicing,” said Roel, “but even so. .”

“Ha!” barked Sieur Emile. “The prince is quite accomplished. ’Twas that armsmaster from his childhood, um-”

“Leon,” supplied Celeste.

Emile nodded at Celeste. “Ah, oui, Leon, who drilled him from infancy on. A more skilled man I have not seen.”

“Leon or Luc, Papa?” asked Blaise.

“Either one,” replied Emile, “though Luc is a shade faster.” Armsmaster Anton came striding, and as they turned toward him, “My lords and ladies,” he said, “the horses are fed and watered. We should leave if we expect to reach Auberville ere sundown.”

. .

As they rode, Lady Simone, who had not yet travelled extensively in Faery, shifted about on her sidesaddle and said, “I just don’t understand it, Celeste, how can we in the Springwood and those in the Summerwood and Autumnwood and Winterwood all be riding starwise-which I still think of as being northerly-when it is said that Valeray’s palace lies central to the four Forests of the Seasons?”

“ ’Tis Faery,” grunted Emile.

“Oh, Papa,” admonished Avelaine, “that’s no explanation.”

“It’s as good as we’ll get, I ween,” said Emile, cocking an eye at his beautiful black-haired daughter, then swinging his gaze toward Celeste.

Celeste grinned and said, “Sieur Emile is not far off in his opinion.”

“Oh, Maman,” said Avelaine, “do you not remember what Reydeau said?”

“He taught us many things, Avi,” said Simone.

“I mean about Faery being like a great jigsaw puzzle, all the pieces separated from one another by the twilight walls.”

“Oui. He said that like a jigsaw, some pieces touch upon many others while some touch upon few. . and some just one.”

“Well, there you have it,” said Avelaine. “It means that King Valeray’s realm touches upon just four other realms: the four Forests of the Seasons.”

“Even so,” said Simone, “how can Valeray’s demesne be surrounded when no matter which of the four forests we cross from, we ride through them starwise bound?” Avelaine shrugged and turned to Celeste, but before the princess could comment, Blaise said, “In Faery, when one crosses a border bearings oft seem to shift-this way and that and the other-and sometimes not at all, and one never knows which direction one will be facing after passing through a bound.”

“Even so,” said Simone, “for a demesne to be completely surrounded when everyone comes at it from the same direction, well, do you not find that odd?”

“It does seem passing strange, Maman,” agreed Blaise.

Celeste smiled and said, “Papa calls his demesne ‘Le Coeur des Saisons.’ ”

“The Heart of the Seasons? Whatever for?” asked Avelaine.

“Because it stands central to the Forests of the Seasons, hence it is the heart, the core, the hub, lying amid all four. The only way in is through one of the four and there are but four ways out. Papa also believes that it is his demesne that somehow allows the four forests to remain as they are: everlasting spring, summer, autumn, and winter.”

“Ooh, then it is the source of the magic?” asked Avelaine.

Celeste turned up her hands. “ ’Tis a mystery, that.”

“Non, not a mystery,” growled Emile, though he was smiling, “but instead, as I said, ’tis Faery.”

“Papa is right,” said Laurent, running a hand through his red hair, red but shading toward auburn. “Faery is a strange place with its twilight walls and creatures and marvel and magic and peril.”

Blaise laughed. “Ah, brother, mayhap I have seen enough of peril, but of mythical and mystical creatures and uncommon beings, I can never get my fill.”

“Speaking of uncommon beings. .” whispered Avelaine, pointing.

From under shrubbery and from behind clumps of grasses and from among tree roots, tiny folk, no more than a foot tall at most and many quite a bit smaller, stepped out from hiding and took off wee hats and stood and bowed or curtseyed as Princess Celeste rode by. And in one place they passed by an Homme de Vert, a twelve-foot-high manlike being all covered in leaves who respectfully bowed as well. Celeste acknowledged his and the others’ obeisance with inclinations of her head.

“Where are the common folk?” asked Simone.

“Oh, la!” exclaimed Avelaine. “Can anyone who lives in Faery be said to be common?”

Celeste laughed and said, “We will pass through several villages and by farmsteads along the way, Lady Simone.”

“Tended by humans?” asked Simone.

“Some, but not all,” replied Celeste.

They rode in silence for a while, but as they fared down into a vale, with a plunging white waterfall of snowmelt to their right cascading down into a tumbling stream to feed the dell crowded with cherry trees in full pink bloom, Avelaine swept her arms wide and said, “Look about you; isn’t it marvelous? I mean, even the lands are numinous. We ride in a realm of everlasting spring.”

Blaise smiled. “Clearly, Avi, you are besotted with this world.”

“To be sure, I am, now that I’ve escaped the clutches of that dreadful Lord of the Changelings.”

“Thanks to Celeste and Roel,” said Laurent.

They passed along the dell humming with bees harvesting nectar and pollen from blossoms on branches reaching forth to fill the air with gentle fragrance. Hummingbirds, too, flitted among the blooms along with gossamer-winged Sprites and gentle butterflies, all sipping nectar.

On they rode passing across high bluffs and along meandering streams and down long slopes and up sharp rises, and everywhere they went, spring lay on the land: from the chill onset stirrings of the season to the warm days leading into summer, the forest ran the entire gamut. In places there was snow yet clinging to deep shadow, while in other places flowers were in full bloom and warm zephyrs caressed the passersby. Birds sang for mates, and mushrooms pushed up through layers of leaves.

Stags bounded away from their paths, some with their antlers nought but buds agrowing, while others had velvety coverings over tines, and still others had full racks with shreds of velvet dangling or gone altogether.

“Give me a good pack of dogs and my bow,” said Laurent,

“and I would have us our dinner.”

They rode onward moments more, passing through a grove of bourne-side willows leafed out in green as if in late spring.

And as they cleared the dangling strands, a wood grouse sprang up from a tuft of grass nigh underfoot and hammered away.

The horses snorted and shied, yet firm hands kept them under control. “Ah, there is the game of my choice,” said Emile, his gaze following the flight of the bird. “Hard to bring down, but oh so good on the table.”

“I prefer pheasant to grouse,” said Simone.

“Mere always claimed she could tell the difference,” said Laurent.

“Well, I can,” replied Simone, “and if you ever took the time to savor the meal instead of wolfing it down, you could too.”

“They eat like I do,” said Emile. “On the battlefield, it is an advantage.”

“But most of the time you are not on the field,” said Simone.

“And there is indeed a difference between grouse and pheasant, though both are quite delicious.”

“Me, I like spit-roasted boar,” said Blaise. “A good hearty joint and a mug of ale and a bit of bread, that’s all I ask for.” Roel laughed and said, “Given the dining habits of you and Laurent and our sire, the entire hog would vanish in but moments.”

Blaise broke out in laughter and nodded his agreement.

As onward they rode they spoke of game and hunting and good meals and other such talk, and they stopped occasionally to water the steeds and give them a bit of grain, as well as to take a bite of food or drink and to stretch their legs and otherwise relieve themselves.

But these pauses were short ere they resumed travel through Celeste’s realm. Occasionally they passed by farms, where pigs wallowed and chickens scattered and cows and sheep grazed on green slopes. Farmers and their wives and children oft came to their fences of split rails or stacked fieldstone, and they would remove their hats and bow and curtsey as the princess rode past. Some of these folk were human, while others were small brown men and women that Celeste called Hobs, a folk somewhat like Brownies, though quite mischievous and given to pranks. And at one place they passed, the crofter seemed to be a Gnome.

The princess never failed to acknowledge these subjects of hers as on passed the rade, and when she was gone the farmers and wives returned to their tasks of driving geese and milking cows and gathering eggs and sweeping floors and mucking stalls and other such chores and domesticities.

On rode the cavalcade, while Celeste and the others spoke of this and that, of twilight walls and the wonders of Faery, of grimoires and amulets and swords and rings and other things of magic, all of them quite rare.

“But what of Coeur d’Acier?” asked Avelaine. “Is it not a magic blade from Faery?”

“Ah, Heart of Steel,” said Celeste, glancing at Roel and the sword at his side. “Flashed in silver and bound by runes it is, and hence does not twist the aethyr, and therefore Roel can bring it into Faery without facing the wrath of the Fey. It is indeed a marvelous blade, but it came from the mortal world.”

“Non,” objected Emile. “If I understand Sage Geron’s words and those of Roel, it might instead have come from the Three Sisters, and if the three Fates are not of Faery, then whence come they?”

“That I do not know,” said Celeste. “The Sisters Wyrd, Lot, and Doom are an enigma unto themselves, and who can say whether or no they are Fey? Not I nor any I know. But as to Coeur d’Acier, it was Sage Geron who gave it to Roel there in the mortal world.”

“A fine point, I would say,” said Emile, lifting an eyebrow askance.

Celeste laughed. “Indeed it is.”

And so they left it that way, with no further explanation, as four separate cavalcades in four separate domains respectively rode through the Springwood, the Summerwood, the Autumnwood, and the Winterwood, all heading starwise toward the completely surrounded demesne of the Castle of the Seasons.

. .

In midafternoon a full day later, into Valeray and Saissa’s realm rode the four individual retinues, and were Lady Simone able to see each one enter she would have said the entourage of the Springwood came in from the east, while that of Alain’s Summerwood entered from the south, and Liaze’s Autumn shy; wood contingent broached the west, while Borel’s Winterwood band, with its Wolfpack leading, entered from the north.

Indeed, though all fared through the marked places on their own starwise margins-the sunlight fading as they neared the ebon heart and then returning as they passed through-they emerged travelling dawnwise, sunwise, duskwise, and starwise into their sire and dam’s domain-one moment they were travelling starwise, and the next in another direction, all but the Summerwood band, that is, for starwise they continued.

In the warm breeze, three of the rades paused to shed cloaks and other outer clothes, especially those from the Winterwood, for they had come into summertime here in this small realm.

And as the sun slid down the sky, on they rode toward the distant castle, with its tall, gleaming spires rearing high and flying long banners of bleu and rose and vert and rouge in the gusting wind.

Nigh sunset, one after another the cavalcades arrived on the castle grounds, and, as each did, the men in the war bands sounded horns, signaling the identity of their principality, answered in kind by horns from the ramparts, proclaiming the king’s own call. And across the drawbridge above the moat rode the four contingents, the heavy wood of the span ringing under hooves, and then on flagstone as they passed through the gates.

In the courtyard beyond, the full staff of the castle was turned out, all but the ward on the walls, and gaiety swirled about as did the breeze while families and friends and acquaintances were reunited and lovers met lovers again. And amid the delight of reunion, squealing and laughing and riding high on Borel’s shoulder, three-summers-old Prince Duran-waving his toy horse in the air and calling out, “Asphodel!”-was paraded around the bailey, with a small brown sparrow flying about both man and child and chirping in jubilation, while four deadly knights-Luc, Roel, Laurent, and Blaise-smiled and embraced and clapped one another on the back and spoke of a testing of mettle. And amid this hullabaloo, the Wolves looked to Borel for instruction and, receiving none, looked toward his mate Michelle, for Borel had been teaching her their language, yet she, too, was caught up in the greetings and gave them no guide, and so they flopped down upon shaded stone.

And as the sun slid into the horizon, pursued by a fingernail-thin crescent of a moon, mid all the babble, Queen Saissa, her black hair astir in the breeze, her black eyes snapping with urgency, gathered Celeste and Liaze and Camille, and said, “As soon as you are freshened up, fetch Lady Simone and Michelle and meet me in the green room, for surely we must talk.”