Once upon a Spring morn

25

Memories

Hacking and wheezing, they came out through a smoke-filled cleft nigh the crest of a rocky tor, and Celeste filled her lungs with sweet, fresh air, and she wept to see open skies. Roel embraced her from behind, and Celeste clasped her hands to his and said, “I thought I might be trapped forever.” Roel kissed her on the nape of the neck. “And I thought I might never find you.”

“But you did, and I wasn’t,” said Celeste, and she turned in his arms and kissed him deeply; then she looked into his eyes.

Roel smiled down at her. “Burning wet straw was quite clever, cherie; else it would have taken me longer to fetch you. -But tell me, how did you manage to slay the giant Ogre?”

Celeste leaned her head against his chest and murmured, “I remembered an old tale of men being trapped by a giant being, and they got him drunk and blinded him. Me, I did not want him blind, but dead instead.” She raised her face. “Where are the horses? I’ll tell you the full of it as we ride.”

“Yon,” said Roel, pointing to one of the twisting canyons below.

“Then come,” said Celeste, kissing him once more and then freeing herself from his embrace, “let us away from this Ogre hole.”

Roel nodded, and from its anchorage, he untied the rope they had climbed to get free and coiled it. Then he took her by the hand and down the slope they went.

“. . and so you see, I slew him, though in hindsight mayhap ’twould have been better had I blinded him and tricked him into rolling the boulder aside, as did the men in the tale, though I only thought of that later.”

“Non, cherie, what you did was right; else he might not have been fooled and would have slain you instead.” Celeste shrugged. “Mayhap so, but I wouldn’t have risked starving to death, for alone I could not move the rock.”

Roel laughed. “You could have eaten the Ogre. He would have lasted for many, many days.” Celeste shuddered. “Don’t even think that, Roel.” They rode without speaking for a while, and then Celeste said, “He was a man-eater, and many a victim had he consumed. His stew was of people he had captured and thrown into his pot. Oh, Roel, though I did not take pleasure in slaying Lokar, Faery is a better place without him.”

“Oui, my love.” Roel reached across the space between them and touched her arm.

In that moment Celeste gasped and cried in dismay.

Roel jerked his hand back and clutched the hilt of his sword, and he stood in his stirrups and scanned about, yet he saw nought but the rolling hills they had come into. “What is it, Celeste?”

“I deliberately let Lokar win at pips,” said Celeste, despair in her tone.

“Oui, and. .?”

“Don’t you see, Roel, Lady Lot told us there would be many challenges along the way and we must win them all. But I let Lokar triumph at pips.” Roel frowned in thought and then intoned:

“Difficult tests will challenge you At places along the way;

You and your love must win them all, Else you will not save the day.” He looked at Celeste and shook his head. “I think the test was not in playing pips, but rather in defeating an Ogre. That, and finding a way to get free. And in both of those, you managed skillfully.”

Celeste sighed. “Well, I did slay Lokar, and together you and I got me free. Oh, my love, I do hope you are right.”

In midafternoon, the wind strengthened and clouds scudded across the sky above, presaging an oncoming storm, for on the far horizon, a dark heave of clouds roiled toward them. Left and right and ahead they looked, but nought of shelter did they see. They paused long enough to fetch their oiled, leather cloaks from their bedrolls, and to make certain the gear on the packhorses was well covered. On they rode-a candlemark and then two-and even as in the distance ahead they caught sight of a broad forest, spatters of rain forerunning the storm came flying on the wind.

“We can make shelter in its eaves,” said Roel, spurring his mount to a trot, Celeste doing likewise. But a deluge came pouring down ere they reached the woodland, yet at last, and with the horses thoroughly drenched and chilled, they rode in among the trees.

“I deem we can-”

“Roel, wait. I think I see a dwelling, or rather the wall of one.”

On they rode, deeper into the forest, where they found a high stone wall running to left and right, and along this barrier they turned rightward.

And the rain thundered down.

They came to a gate ripped from its hinges and lying across the way, beyond which lay a courtyard covered with litter and leaves, and beyond that sat what was once a stately manor, for it had the look of long abandonment: vines grew wildly, and shutters hung awry; windows were broken, and the front door stood ajar.

“Hello!” cried Roel above the hammer of rain.

There was no answer.

“Hello!” he cried again, louder.

Still there was no answer.

He turned to Celeste. “I deem this place be a derelict.

’Round side or back should be a stable; let us get the horses into shelter.”

Through driving rain, past weed-laden gardens and overgrown flower beds they splashed, and beyond a broken fountain and a staved-in gazebo. Behind and off to one side of the manor sat a neglected stable, and casting back their hoods the better to see, they dismounted and led the horses in, Roel with his sword in hand, Celeste bearing her long-knife.

Rain pelted down onto the roof, filling the shelter with its drumming.

But for shadows, the place was deserted.

As vapor rose from the animals, Celeste sheathed her long-knife and said, “Roel, until we see what’s afoot, let us leave the horses be, in case we need take quick flight.”

“Oui. My thoughts exactly,” he replied, slipping Coeur d’Acier into its scabbard.

They loosely tied their mounts to a hitching post, while leaving the packhorses tethered to the saddles.

Roel took up his crossbow and cocked and loaded it, and Celeste strapped on a quiver and readied her bow and nocked an arrow to string.

Roel glanced at Celeste and received a nod, and out into the storm they went.

Angling across the overgrown yard behind the house, they strode to a service entrance. The door flapped back and forth in the swirling wind. Into the manor they stepped, and a hallway stretched out before them, its dust-laden floor unmarked by track other than those of mice. Doors and archways stood to left and right, and no sound other than that of the rain disturbed the silence.

Along this way they quietly walked, past storerooms and a kitchen, its hearths unfired, gray ashes lying within. The chamber across the hall held a large pantry, its shelves yet laden with goods, these dusty as well. Past a laundry room they went, its ironing boards standing unmanned, its tubs empty, and nought but a few tattered jerkins hanging from the strung lines. More doors they passed, and all chambers lay untended; all were unoccupied. They came to a door, and beyond they found a welcoming hall, its marble floor covered with trackless dust and leaf litter. Sweeping staircases led upward to the floor above. ’Round the welcoming hall itself, doorways led to a music room, a parlor, a chamber with a desk and bookshelves, a dining room, a ballroom, and other such places where people gathered.

But all was in disarray, chairs o’erturned, tables smashed, leaves stirring in the wafts from the storm, and all the windows seemed broken inward as if by a great force from without.

“What shambles,” said Celeste, looking about and sighing.

“Oui,” said Roel.

Up the stairs they went, where they found bedrooms awry, some large, others modest, and some small. For here were the household and guest quarters, and dust lay thickly, and again the windows were smashed inward, even in the bathing rooms and privies.

“Something dreadful happened here,” said Celeste, and Roel only nodded.

Back downstairs they went, and they came across an entry into the cellars, wherein they discovered dust shy; covered kegs of ale and casks of brandy and bottles of wine. But in one corner they also found an upturned open cask and dried human feces within, as if it had been used as a chamber pot.

“Perhaps some group took shelter in this cellar to escape the disaster above,” said Roel, surveying the scene.

“It looks as if they lived here for a while in isolation. Yet there are no bones of any occupants, so they must have eventually fled.”

Celeste looked about as well. “Roel, there are no windows to the outside, and so whatever befell this manor, this is the only protected place.”

Roel nodded. “Love, although there are beds above, beds we could make habitable, I say we spend the night in the stables.”

“I agree,” said Celeste. “Let us go from this damaged place now.”

They unladed and unsaddled the horses, and they brushed the animals thoroughly to take away as much moisture as they could, and then took a currycomb to them. Then, as the steeds munched on their rations of grain, Celeste and Roel dried themselves, for in spite of the cloaks and hoods, their heads and necks and hands and forearms were quite drenched.

Roel built a fire, and together they made a hot meal of tea and gruel honey-sweetened, along with hardtack and jerky.

And the rain yet drummed on the roof as they made ready to sleep. Celeste insisted on taking first watch, and Roel nodded and lay down, the knight yet ruing the fact that he hadn’t thought to bring along a nervous but plucky dog.

Some candlemarks later Celeste wakened Roel and whispered, “Listen.”

Above the now-gentle patter of rain there came the strains of music.

It was the quadrille.

Too, there was soft laughter.

“Come, let us see,” said Roel, taking up Coeur d’Acier and his shield. Celeste grabbed up a hooded lantern and lit it, then took her long-knife in hand.

With the lantern all but shuttered, together they crossed the yard and entered the service door. The house was dark, but the music yet played and the voices sounded as down the hallway they went.

Through the door at the end of the hall they crept, and the sounds-harpsichord, flute, violin, along with gentle chatter and the rustle of gowns and the measured steps of dancers-came from the direction of the ballroom, whence an aetheric glow emanated.

Moving quietly through the litter, Roel and Celeste eased across the marble floor and to the archway. But the moment they peered within, the light and sounds vanished. Celeste threw the lantern hood wide, and the luminance filled the chamber, but no one whatsoever did they see. The room was yet litter filled, and the dust and leaves stirred not. No tracks could be seen, and when Celeste walked to the harpsichord and looked at the keys, they had not been disturbed.

Roel frowned. “Ghosts? Spirits?”

Celeste took a deep breath and shook her head. “I know not. But whatever it is let us leave it in peace.” Back to the stables they trod, and even as they left the house, again music and gentle voices came from within.

“I’ll take the watch,” said Roel, and he stirred up the fire and brewed tea, while Celeste fell into slumber.

Again some candlemarks passed, and this time Celeste was awakened by Roel. “Hsst!” he cautioned.

“Something large comes.”

Above the sound of music and voices, the ground thudded with heavy tread, more felt than heard, and Celeste quickly strung her bow and nocked an arrow.

Together they stepped to the doors of the stable. The storm was gone, and the drifting clouds were riven with ONCE UPON A SPRING MORN / 211

great swaths of starry sky, and a full moon looked down through the rifts and shone upon the abandoned estate.

“Though the steps come closer, I see nought,” said Roel.

“Neither do-”

Glass shattered and screams rent the air, and running footsteps clattered. Something or someone roared and shouted in triumph, and more glass crashed, and wood splintered, and shrieks ripped out from fear-filled throats and split the night.

But nothing and no one could be seen tearing at the manor, though the moon shone brightly.

Again came a triumphant roar, and a crunching.

“Lokar,” spat Celeste. “I know the voice.”

“But Lokar is dead. You slew him.”

“Yes, and of that I am glad.”

“Are you saying that his ghost, his spirit, has come calling upon the ghosts of those who dwelled here?” Even as the crashing of glass and the screams yet sounded, Celeste gazed through the moonlight at the once-stately manor, and her eyes filled with tears.

“Non, Roel, not spirits, not ghosts. It is the house, my love. It is the house itself remembering.” They spent the rest of the night holding one another, each taking turns dozing.

And the next morn they saddled and laded the horses and rode away from a place where both gentle and terrible memories yet clung.