Once upon a Spring morn

9

Dangerous Crossing

“And this is what she gave me.” Celeste held out her hand; the silver needle rested in her palm.

Both Roel and Anton looked, and Roel said, “I don’t see how that is going to help us.”

“Well,” said Anton, “needles are made for sewing.

Perhaps it’s to patch up something.”

“Such as. .?” asked Roel.

Anton frowned. “The map?”

“The map needs patching?”

“Perhaps it’s cloth rather than vellum,” said Anton, shrugging. “I mean, if it’s a magic needle, and if the way to the Changeling realm is somehow obscured by a rip or a tear or a hole, then maybe if this needle is used to stitch the fabric, well, then the way will come clear.”

Both Roel and Anton looked to Celeste for the answer. She merely shrugged and said, “Who knows the way of the Fates? Not I.” They stood a moment in silence, but then Celeste added, “It seems neither my brothers nor my sister nor I can be involved in any kind of a quest without the Fates intervening.” Roel frowned. “Your family is somehow caught up in the entanglements of the Three Sisters?”

Celeste sighed and said, “Oui. First it was Camille in her search for Alain. Then it was Borel and his quest for Michelle. And just moments ago I discovered from Skuld that Liaze dealt with the Fates when she sought Luc. And now, it seems, it is my turn.”

“At least there is one good, my lady,” said Anton,

“and that is, from what we know, the Ladies Wyrd and Lot and Doom aid rather than hinder. Even so, I do not care for the fact that Lady Skuld cast some sort of a spell over this camp of ours. Why, Goblins or Trolls could have attacked, or even the acolyte witches, and we would have been helpless.”

Celeste shook her head. “Anton, I think Lady Wyrd would not allow that to happen. As you say, she came to help rather than hinder.”

Roel shrugged and said, “I still don’t see how a needle can aid.”

“Neither do I,” said Celeste. She turned her back and opened her leathers from collar to breastbone, and high on the bodice of her silk undershirt she stitched the needle into the fabric for safekeeping. Refastening her leathers, once again she turned to Roel and Anton.

Nearby, Gerard cleared his throat and said, “My lady, my lord, and Captain Anton, breakfast awaits.”

“Well,” said Anton, “needle or no, parts of the rede she gave to you seem clear enough, the first quatrain, in particular.”

“How does it go again?” asked Roel.

Celeste frowned and said:

“Seek the map, it is the key,

For Changelings dwell beyond the sea.

Yet beware, for there are those

Who bar the way: dreadful foes.” Anton said, “From that, it seems the map will show that we will have to voyage beyond the sea, and since the map is in Port Mizon, most likely that’s where we’ll set sail from.”

Celeste nodded and said, “I am glad the warband is with us, for the last two lines of that quatrain speak of dreadful foes.”

“Foes we can handle,” said Roel, touching the hilt of Coeur d’Acier. “It is the second quatrain that has me most worried.” He took another bite of bread.

Celeste set aside her cup of tea and said:

“A moon and a day, there is no more For the lost sister you would restore.

Seven years all told have nearly passed; A moment beyond and the die is cast.”

“Oui,” said Anton. “I agree it is worrisome, for if we do not reach your sister a moon and a day from now, it seems she will somehow be lost forever.” Gerard, who had been standing at hand, refreshed Roel’s cup of tea and said, “I believe that will be at the dark of the moon, my lord.”

Celeste frowned and glanced at the moon, now but a thin crescent racing barely ahead of the just-risen sun.

“You are right, Gerard, for morrow night will be the dark of the moon, and we have but another moon beyond in which to find Avelaine.”

“What of your brothers, Roel?” asked Anton.

Roel washed his bite down with tea and said, “Laurent started out a day after Avelaine was taken.We know he was well when he reached Sage Geron. Beyond Geron’s cottage, he fared to the city of Rulon, or so his steel dagger would indicate, the one he traded for bronze. The ride from my sire’s manor to Rulon takes at least a moon and a fortnight.And so, even if he somehow immediately fell into the clutches of the Lord of the Changelings, perhaps we will have that much time after finding Avelaine to locate Laurent. As for Blaise, he set out nearly four years later.” Celeste said, “I know not how long it will take us to get to the Changeling realm, but the sooner started, the sooner arrived. And for me, the rede seems to tell us we have perilously little time to do so.” Agreed, said Roel and Anton together, and Roel stood and said, “Then I suggest we ride.”

“ ’Tis the third quatrain most puzzling,” said Roel.

Celeste, riding alongside, nodded and intoned:

“What might seem fair is sometimes foul And holds not a beautiful soul.

Hesitate not or all is lost;

Do what seems a terrible cost.”

“Beyond the obvious,” said Roel, “I have no understanding of what that might mean.”

“The obvious?” said Celeste.

“Well, clearly it refers to someone or something that will seem fair to us, but instead is foul.”

“Mayhap it is the Lord of the Changelings,” said Celeste. “Did he seem fair?”

“I did not think so at the time,” said Roel. “I thought him dark and sinister. . certainly not fair. But then I was a youth, a boy, and what might have seemed vile to me might seem fair to a demoiselle.”

“Whatever it is,” said Celeste, “we shall have to be on our guard and hesitate not, though what we must do at that time is not certain at all, nor why it would seem a terrible cost.”

“Perhaps we need to slay it,” said Roel.

“Or perhaps capture it,” countered Celeste.

“Or perhaps let it go altogether,” replied Roel.

“What if it isn’t a person or a being, but an object, a thing?” said Celeste.

“Such as. .?”

“A gem, a crown, a weapon, a flower, a painting: something, anything, we might think beautiful, but could be wicked instead.”

Roel sighed. “There are so many things in the world and in Faery that are beautiful, my love, at the pinnacle of which are you.”

Celeste smiled and said, “I can be quite wicked, you know.”

“Indeed,” said Roel, grinning, and on they rode.

It rained all that darktide, but the next morning dawned clear and bright. Leaves were adrip and the air freshly washed, and Roel looked on in amazement as a troop of tiny beings-each person no more than an inch tall-came marching out from among the roots of a nearby grove and paid homage to Princess Celeste. They did so at the edge of the coppice, some bowing, others curtseying, and they presented her with a bouquet of tiny lavender flowers. One hung back to keep a wary eye on the men and the horses, for a single misplaced boot or hoof could easily destroy at least half of their wee band.

Celeste set the tiny bouquet behind her right ear, the soft violet hue in contrast to her pale blond hair. The princess in turn presented the tiny folk with a thimbleful of pepper poured upon a leaf. They bowed and curtseyed, and then several of them lifted the leaf up above their heads, and they all marched back among the roots whence they had first appeared.

“What were they, my love?” asked Roel.

“They have their own name for themselves,” said Celeste. “Twyllyth Twyg, it is, but most folk call them Twig Men. They prize pepper above all.” Roel looked toward the place where they had gone and shook his head. “Why, they could ride mice or voles as their steeds, could they tame them.”

“They sometimes do, Roel,” said Celeste.

“Twig Men. .,” mused Roel, and again he shook his head with the wonder of it all.

The cavalcade rode onward, the band pausing at the noontide to feed and water the horses and take a meal ONCE UPON A SPRING MORN / 81

of their own. It was in midafternoon when they came upon the twilight border looming upward among the trees of the Springwood.

Anton sent scouts left- and rightward, and then the remainder of the cavalcade rode nigh the marge and dismounted.

“Now we must find the proper crossing point, my love,” said Celeste, “for, if you’ll recall Vidal’s words, this bound is particularly complex.”

“I believe he said it was ‘tricky,’ ” replied Roel.

“Tricky indeed,” said Celeste. “To reach Port Mizon, we must find the lightning-struck remains of a large black oak; ’tis there we need cross. We will wait here while the scouts fare along the bound. A bugle will sound when one finds the tree.”

“Why not simply ride through and then, if it is the wrong place, ride back?”

“Oh, cheri, one of the crossings leads to a land of flowing molten stone; another leads to a great fall; still others lead to realms just as perilous. We need cross at the place that will not put us in jeopardy, and-” Celeste’s voice was lost under ululation, and a flood of Goblins and Bogles and monstrous Trolls came charging from the shadowlight. Above the onrush flew a crow crying, “Revenge, revenge.” Celeste sounded her silver horn, even as men leapt to the backs of their steeds. Roel on his black drew Coeur d’Acier and took his shield in hand. Celeste drew her bow from its saddle scabbard, and nocked an arrow and let fly. It pierced the breast of one of the eight-foot-tall Goblinlike Bogles.

Even as the creature crashed to the ground, a monstrous Troll leapt over the corpse and rushed at Celeste.

Roel charged forward, Coeur d’Acier cutting a bloody swath through the Goblins. He intercepted the Troll and gutted the twelve-foot-high monster.

Men of the warband lanced and hacked and flew arrows, only to be met in turn by cudgel and warbar and spear and arrows in return.

“Revenge, revenge,” skreighed the crow, now circling above Celeste, and here the Goblins and Bogles and Trolls charged, surrounding the men protecting the princess, and clawed their way toward her.

“Celeste! Celeste!” cried Roel, and he turned and drove his black toward her grey, taking down a Troll in his way, Coeur d’Acier keen and bloody.

With men all about her in melee, Celeste did not chance loosing an arrow, and she slipped the bow across her shoulders and drew her long-knife.

Now a Bogle crashed its way through the men, and with a massive smash of his great club he slew Celeste’s horse. She leapt free even as the grey tumbled to the ground. The Bogle loomed above her; he swung his bludgeon up to strike, but the blow never fell, for Coeur d’Acier took off his head.

“Celeste,” cried Roel. He reached down and she grabbed on to his sword arm and swung up behind him.

Now with sword hewing and shield bashing and Celeste’s long-knife slashing, Roel spurred his black forward through the melee and up a slope toward the shadowlight border, seeking higher ground.

Above them, “Revenge! Revenge!” cried the crow, yet marking the princess’s whereabouts.

Roel’s black screamed, and fell to its knees, a Goblin arrow jutting from one eye. Roel and Celeste sprang free, and they fought their way through Goblins and on up the slope, but Trolls and Bogles lumbered after, their great strides overtaking.

“Revenge!” cried the crow above, but of a sudden it squawked and tumbled from the air, a crossbow quarrel through its breast.

Still Roel and Celeste fled onward, a horde in pursuit.

“Know you where this goes?” cried Roel.

“Nay, I do not,” cried Celeste in return.

“Celeste, we must chance it,” called Roel, bashing a Goblin aside and running onward, with the princess slightly arear and on his flank, her long-knife slathered with dark grume.

Up the slope they ran and into the twilight, Goblins and Bogles and Trolls in chase.

Dim it became and then darker, and Roel hissed,

“Angle leftward-we’ll lose them in the gloom.” On they ran, deeper into the border, the shadowlight becoming ebon as they blindly fled.

Headlong they ran, recklessly, shouting pursuit behind them. Now rightward they angled and raced straight on and past the pitch-dark midpoint, to hurtle out into empty space and plummet downward, plunging into blackness below.