Once upon a Spring morn

26

Le Bastion

Through the forest they rode, the leaves adrip with rainwater from yester eve’s storm. The air smelled fresh and clean, as if the world had been washed and now sparkled anew. The azure dome of a cloudless sky arched above, and birds sang and small creatures scampered, and a deer and fawn broke from cover and bounded away. In spite of the bright morn, both Roel and Celeste rode in glum silence, their thoughts dwelling upon the occurrences in the night.

Finally Celeste sighed and said, “That poor house-

perhaps cursed forever to recall a terrible eve.” Roel nodded but said nought.

After a moment, Celeste added, “Yet if someone lived therein, the manor might store new memories to displace the old.” As if in deep thought, again Roel nodded without speaking.

They rode in silence awhile, and then Roel asked,

“Do you think most so-called haunted houses are simply ones who remember a tragedy?”

“No ghosts, no spirits, you mean?”

“Oui. Just events recalled.”

Celeste shook her head. “I think spirits do roam abroad, as well as remain attached to a place. Yet I also believe we witnessed memories long held by that troubled dwelling; hence some so-called hauntings are of that ilk.”

“And you think with new occupants those memories would be displaced?”

“Oui. Or at least I believe there is a possibility that will happen. For I would not like to think someone moving in would have that terrible event visited upon them every night.”

Roel nodded and said, “Perhaps as long as the scars remain, so will the memory.”

Celeste looked at him. “Your meaning?”

“Well, once the doors are rehung and the windows replaced and the manor repainted and swept and cleaned and set aright, then the vestiges of that night will be gone from the dwelling. In my own case I have scars, and when I look upon them, I am put in mind of deeds done in battle. Too, my companions and I-as well as many others-have scars of the mind, and they recall dread deeds done as well. Were these scars to vanish, both those in mind and form, then mayhap I would not recall those dire events, or at least not as vividly.”

“But, Roel, would not that require taking away some memories entirely?”

“Oui, it would, and that is my point, for perhaps if the scars visited upon that manor were wholly removed-

repairs made, painting done, and a loving family settled in-then gone would be the residual leftovers of that terrible eve.”

“I suppose, but I think we’ll never know,” said Celeste.

And onward they rode.

As they passed through the woodland, they came upon a wide swath of destruction: trees downed and cast aside, as if something huge had passed this way, leaving wrack in its wake. Starwise to sunwise through the forest it ran for as far as the eye could see. Roel dismounted and looked for sign, yet he found no track to tell him what had made this waste.

Roel gestured at the run. “It’s as if someone had started a road through the woods, but then abandoned the effort. Yet I think it not neglected, for if that were true, then weeds would have sprung up and saplings would be agrowing.”

Celeste glanced about. “The uprooted trees have long been lying to the side; hence I deem this was done some time in the past, yet the way is still being used by something or someone.”

“I agree,” said Roel as he remounted. “Nevertheless, let us follow this windrow to make our way through the forest, for it seems to be going in our direction and will ease the ride.”

Celeste strung her bow, adding, “As long as whatever uses it does not dispute our passage.” On they rode, following the wide path, and the sun climbed up the sky and across and down, and nothing and no one challenged them. As sunset approached, Roel and Celeste moved well off the swath, where they made camp in a small glade.

The next morn, once more they took to the path, and with the sun mounting the sky, they followed the way, pausing now and again to feed and water the horses.

As the noontide wheeled past, they emerged from the woodland, and came unto derelict fields where crofters had once cared for the land.

And they passed abandoned farmhouses, some in nought but ruins, and Celeste gritted her teeth and said,

“Lokar. It was Lokar who made the windrow through the forest. He used it as a way to fetch his dreadful fare.”

Roel looked back toward the woodland. “Oui. I think you are right, cherie.”

On they went, and more abandoned farms they passed. But in midafternoon they came to a roadway, and it led them across the fallow land to finally come in among tended fields. Along this way they went, and after some while and in the distance ahead they saw crofters driving herds and wagons in through the gates of a modest town, the settlement walled all ’round with a high palisade.

“Protection against Lokar,” said Roel. “Mayhap against other enemy as well.”

On they rode, and as they drew closer, Roel said,

“Look! Along the wall they have huge ballistas.”

“Ballistas?”

“Great, heavy bows. And these are arrow casters, or perhaps instead I should say spear casters.”

“More protection against Ogres,” said Celeste.

Roel nodded and said, “Those and other foes. But come, Celeste, let us pick up the pace. If Lokar be the only one who raids these environs, we have good tidings for them. Besides, the ville looks prosperous, and I have a taste for a good hot meal and a frothy mug of ale.”

Celeste laughed and said, “Ah, men, always thinking of their stomachs.”

“Only our stomachs?”

Again Celeste laughed. “Ah, not always, for they would have other pleasures to sate their needs. For me I would have a hot bath as well as a good meal and a fine goblet of wine. -Oh, and a soft bed to sleep in, for last eve I swear I slept on a rock the size of a boulder-

grinding into my back it was-yet this morn when I found the stony culprit, it was no larger than a pea.” Roel broke into guffaws and managed to say, “Ah, the true test of a princess, eh?” And then he spurred forward into a trot, Celeste following, the princess laughing as well.

Closer they drew, and closer, and now they could see the very tall logs of the high palisade were sharpened to wicked points. Roel also pointed out that some of the wagons among the train moving toward the town were equipped with ballistas to guard the crofters and their herds.

Celeste and Roel reached the gates just as the last of the herds were being driven through. And as they waited for sheep to flock in, followed by a gaggle of geese, a guardsman came and, raising his voice above the bleating of lambs and honking of fowl, asked Roel, “Your names and your business here in Le Bastion?”

“I am Chevalier Roel, and my companion is Celeste de la Foret de Printemps. Our business is to seek lodging for the night.”

“And have you a smith or an armorer?” asked Celeste.

The ward of the gate canted his head in assent. “Oui, demoiselle, Monsieur Galdon; he is a fine smith as well as a gifted armorer.”

“And where might we find Monsieur Galdon?”

“We would see your mayor, too,” added Roel.

“You have a need to see our mayor?”

“Oui,” replied Roel. “We might have some welcome news.”

“Welcome news?”

Gesturing at the palisade and the ballistas above, Roel said, “I note you are well defended. Is it perchance to ward off a giant Ogre?”

The man nodded. “Oui.”

“More than one?”

“Non, Chevalier Roel. Just one.”

“Would his name be Lokar?”

Alarm filled the man’s face, and he looked over the fields in the direction of the unseen woodland. “Oui, that is his name. He shouted it often when he came to our walls.”

“Stay calm, Sieur,” said Roel. “You have nought to fear.” He gestured at Celeste and added, “For my companion slew Lokar three days past.” A look of disbelief filled the guard’s features. “Non.

That cannot be. A mere demoiselle slay such a monster?

Non. You are making a mockery of me.”

“I swear on my honor as a chevalier it is true,” said Roel, “and that is why we would see your mayor.” Celeste growled, “And this ‘mere demoiselle’ would also see your armorer.”

The guardsman called his captain, and Roel repeated to him that Lokar had been slain by Celeste. The captain shook his head in disbelief; nevertheless he escorted the two to the town hall. Mayor Breton of Le Bastion was a tall yet portly man, bald-headed but for a ruddy fringe of hair running ’round the back of his head from one ear to the other. He invited them into his humble chamber, and there Roel introduced Celeste as la Princesse de la Foret de Printemps.

A gleam of skepticism shone in the mayor’s eye; even so he bowed to Celeste and treated her with deference.

When they were seated, Celeste told of her capture by Lokar, and her subsequent slaying of him.

Making noncommittal comments throughout the telling, the mayor clearly did not believe her. And when she was finished, Breton said, “Your tale is very interesting, Princess, and you describe him well, but perhaps you slew someone else, for Lokar is a giant of an Ogre.” Celeste sighed in exasperation, and before Roel could reassure the mayor, Breton said, “Tell me, what brings you two to my ville?”

Stifling his own frustration, Roel said, “We are on our way to rescue my sister and my two brothers.” The mayor frowned as if searching for an elusive memory. “And where might they be?”

“In the Changeling realm,” replied Roel.

“The Changeling realm? I warn you, Chevalier Roel, no one ever returns from- Wait! Wait! Now I remember. You are the third knight to come through my town seeking the land of the Changelings.”

“Laurent nearly seven years past? Blaise nearly four years agone?”

“Oui, those were their names.”

“Hai!” exclaimed Roel, clenching his fist in joy. “They are my brothers, and they went seeking my sister, Avelaine, stolen by the Lord of the Changelings himself.” Breton looked closely at Roel. “I see the resemblance now, for you do favor them. Ah, me, but they were brave, these brothers of yours, for each in turn helped repel Lokar from our very walls. And each promised to make an end to him upon returning from the Changeling realm. But, alas, they did not heed my warning, and I fear both are lost.”

Now the mayor looked at Celeste and then back to Roel. “And you say you slew Lokar?”

“Not I,” said Roel, “but Celeste instead. Mayor Breton, what we tell you is true. As I said to your gate wards, I swear it on my honor as a chevalier.” With wonder in his gaze Breton turned to Celeste.

“Princess, you must forgive me, but I found it altogether preposterous to believe that a mere slip of a fille had succeeded in slaying Lokar. Such is quite improbable.”

“I thought so, too,” said Celeste. “Nonetheless, I did so.” Tears suddenly welled in Breton’s eyes. “With Lokar dead, I can lead my people back to our lands.”

“Back to your lands? Is not this ville your home?”

“Non. We fled from Lokar. Starwise is where we belong. On the other side of the forest.”

“Did you have a manor there?”

“Oui. But Lokar came on a night of celebration, and only a few of us escaped his dreadful grasp. Some days after, I alerted the countryside. We fled through the forest and settled here. But seasons later Lokar found us, and he raided our farms and slew many, and took the corpses back with him. To prevent such a calamity in the future, we built this fortress and called it Le Bastion.”

“That must have been some years ago,” said Roel.

“Seasons upon seasons past,” said Breton. Then he looked at the chevalier. “You are from the mortal lands?”

“Oui,” replied Roel. “But how did you know?”

“Your use of the term ‘years.’ ”

“Ah, I see.”

“Mayor,” said Celeste, “your manor remembers that night still.”

Again tears welled in Breton’s eyes, and he said, “As do I, for my own daughter was slain by that monster. It was her betrothal we were celebrating.” Of a sudden Celeste gasped, and said, “Did she have hair the color of yours?”

Breton touched his fringe of red. “Oui.” Celeste reached into her pocket and withdrew the silver locket she had all but forgotten, and handed it across the desk to the mayor, saying, “Perhaps this is rightfully yours.”

Breton’s eyes widened in recognition, and he took it up and opened the leaves and burst into tears. After long moments he said, “My Melisande and her Chanler.” He clasped the locket to his breast. “Princess, where did you find this?”

“In Lokar’s cavern. He had it in a chest along with other possessions of those he had slain.” Breton looked again at the portraits. “I gave this to her on the eve of her betrothal. Oh, Melisande, Melisande.” Once more he clutched the keepsake to his breast.

Again long moments passed, as tears slid down Breton’s face. Finally, he closed the leaves and placed the pendant on the desk and said, “Merci, Princess. Merci.” Celeste canted her head in silent acceptance.

Breton then pulled a kerchief from his sleeve and blew his nose. Then he called out, “Sauville!” and when the door opened and a small man appeared, Breton said, “Tell the town criers that Lokar is dead, slain by Princess Celeste de la Foret de Printemps.”

“M’sieur?” His eyes flew wide and he looked at Celeste.

“Oui, she is the one,” snapped Breton, and he snatched up the locket by its broken chain and held it up and said, “I have here the proof. Now go, Sauville, go!” The small man rushed from the office, and for moments quietness reigned, though shouts from the street began breaking the silence. Finally, after one more look at the portraits, the mayor slipped the keepsake into his pocket. “Princess, my captain said you wish to see our armorer. Was your long-knife damaged when you slew Lokar? If so, we will gladly replace it.”

“Non. My long-knife is quite satisfactory. Instead, I would have Monsieur Galdon blunt half my arrows.” Breton glanced at Roel and then back to Celeste.

“Blunt half your arrows? Whatever for?” Celeste shrugged. “Whatever for? That, Monsieur Breton, I do not know.”

The news of Lokar’s death hurtled throughout Le Bastion. Impromptu celebrations erupted. An innkeeper offered Roel and Celeste his very best rooms, but the mayor would have none of that, and instead put them up in his own modest residence. Armorer Galdon was fetched, and shaking his head, he took away half of Celeste’s arrows to refit them with blunt ends.

Celeste retrieved the silver needle and golden tweezers, and then she and Roel gave over their leathers and undergarments to the mayor’s staff to be cleaned. And the princess and her knight luxuriated in hot baths, and drank fine wine, and stuffed themselves with hot beef and steaming goose and savory gravy and onions and bread and artichokes and mushrooms and other such delicacies.

That evening, crowds gathered before the mayor’s residence, and they called for Celeste and Roel to make speeches, and to repeat the story of the slaying of Lokar.

Long into the night did the revels last. As for the two heroes, they climbed into a soft bed, and the moment their heads touched the pillows, they fell into deep sleep, though the next morn they made sweet love in the onset of dawn.

It was not until the noontide that Monsieur Galdon returned with the twenty blunt, bronze-tipped arrows. “I made a special mold,” he said of the teardropped points, their rounded ends forward. “I do not know what good these will serve, but here they are. ’Tis the best I can do given your strange request.”

Celeste thanked him, and within a candlemark, she and Roel rode out through the gate to the cheers of the citizenry.

A league or so later, Celeste snapped her fingers and said, “Ah, me, but we should have gotten a dog.”

“I asked, cherie,” said Roel, “but none would part with any, for all said it is certain death to go into the realm of the Changelings, and the townsfolk do not want a vile shapeshifter to come back disguised as one of their dogs.”

Celeste sighed and shook her head, and down the road they fared, and there were but ten days and a nighttide left ere the fall of the dark of the moon.