Once upon a Spring morn

8

Riddles and Redes

They passed into the woodland through a grove of flowering dogwoods at the edge of the lawn, did Celeste and Roel and the warband. Scattered cheers from some members of the staff followed them within, but soon faded to silence in the quietness of the ever-awakening trees. And the only sounds were those of shod hooves on soft soil and the creak of leather and the quiet conversation among the riders.

But then Anton called, “Verill, ride point. Garron, Deverel, one to each flank. Merlion, assume rear.” As those riders swung away from the cavalcade to take up their assigned positions, Celeste said, “Are you expecting more brigands, Anton?”

“My lady, with the news of another of the witches being slain, this one by your sister, we need ward against revenge. Hradian or Nefasi most likely were responsible for those brigands who attacked you, and who knows what they might do next?”

Roel nodded. “My love, Anton is most likely correct, for did you not say the leader spoke of his mistress wanting to see you dead or alive? And did not the crow itself cry out for revenge? And if not these witches, who else comes to mind as someone who might wish you ill?”

Celeste shrugged. “No one else I know of.”

“How powerful are these witches?”

Again Celeste shrugged. “That I cannot say, though if indeed the crow was bewitched or- Oh, my, I wonder if the crow was actually one of the remaining sisters.”

“Changed her shape? Transformed herself into a bird?” asked Roel.

“Oui.”

“Is that even possible?”

“We are in Faery, my love,” said Celeste, as if that explained all.

Roel’s hand went to the hilt of his sword and he said,

“Strange are the ways herein, and I can only hope Coeur d’Acier will ward us against any ills that might beset us.” Anton shook his head and said, “I’m afraid, Sieur Roel, sharp edges are no guarantee against sorcery.”

“Anton is correct,” said Celeste. “Many are the tales of witches and mages and sorcerers and the like overwhelming knights and warriors and paladins and others who solely rely upon weaponry.”

“Oui,” said Anton, “but there are just as many tales of warriors and their weapons overcoming such foe.” Celeste laughed and said, “My sire, King Valeray, says no matter the foe, stealth and guile are better weapons than force of arms. Of course, he started out in life as a thief.”

Roel’s eyes flew wide in astonishment. “Your father was a thief and is now a king?”

Celeste smiled and nodded.

“There is a tale here for the telling,” said Roel, “and I would hear it one day.”

“I will tell it one day,” said Celeste.

Roel grinned. “From thief to king is quite a leap, my love. -Regardless, as to stealth and guile, my father says the same thing. Yet he also cautions there are instances when there is no time to bring them into play, and one must fall back on force of arms. . either that or a rapid retreat.”

“You mean run away?” asked Anton, cocking an eyebrow.

“Perhaps,” said Roel. “It all depends on the situation.

Let me give you an example. . ”

They continued to ride throughout the morning, Roel and Anton and Celeste discussing strategy and tactics and the choices one might make, given the foe, his numbers, the terrain, and the numbers of allies one might have at hand to go up against the enemy. They discussed when it might be better to fall back to a new position, when it is better to create diversions, flanking attacks, ambushes, and when it is better to charge head-on, and other such choices of combat.

During these discussions it became clear to both Celeste and Anton that Roel was a master of strategy and tactics as well as being a knight of surpassing skills. They marveled at his grasp of battle, whether it involved armies or a handful of warriors or single combat, though he seemed unaware of the admiration in their eyes, so focused was he on the exchange of ideas, though in truth he did most of the talking.

When they stopped to feed and water the horses and to take a meal of their own, Celeste said, “Roel, I have often heard my sire and brothers speak of war and combat, but never so clearly have I understood all that is entailed.”

“Oh, my lady, we have not covered even a small fraction of everything involved,” said Roel. For a moment he paused, his gaze unfocused, as if he was lost in memory. But then he took a deep breath and said, “A grim business is war and combat and not to be undertaken lightly, but when it is unavoidable, one should fight to win, and that means turning every weakness of the foe into an advantage, while preventing him from doing the same.”

They sat in silence for a while, eating bread and cheese and drinking hot tea that one of the warband had brewed. Finally Roel said, “Your brothers: are they knights as well as being princes?”

“Non,” replied Celeste. “Although there are many knights in Faery, seldom do we fight great wars. I think the Keltoi never told long sagas of such.” Roel frowned. “The Keltoi?”

“Legendary bards,” said Celeste.

“What would their stories have to do with, there not being wars in Faery?”

“Ah. Well, this is the way of it, or so Camille thinks-

and I happen to agree. You see, it is said that before there ever was a Faery, the Keltoi told such marvelous tales that they entranced the gods themselves. And the gods in turn made Faery manifest and populated it with all the many kinds of folk the Keltoi told of, be they human or Elves, Dwarves or Fairies, Trolls or Goblins, Sprites or Pixies, or whatever other kind you wish to name. And now we ourselves must be entertaining the gods, for the Keltoi seem to have gone to a green island somewhere beyond the rim of the world.” Roel frowned and said, “And these Keltoi never spoke of war?”

“For the most part, only in passing, my love. They told tales of knights going off to war, or returning from war, or of the folk left behind, but seldom of the war itself.

Instead they spoke of the heroism of those who were on their way home from war, or of the hardships of those left at home, or of the terrible deeds done in the absence of the warriors.

“Oh, not to say that the Keltoi never told of battle, for some of their tales did speak of the great deeds done by heroes in combat or by heroic armies. Usually though, most of their tales of war spoke of a king and his army riding off to meet the army of a neighboring kingdom, or of war occurring in a realm far away. Where this so-called ‘neighboring kingdom’ might exist, I haven’t any idea, nor do I know where the faraway realm lies.

“But for the most part these gifted bards told of heroic deeds done in pursuit of villains, or in the rescuing of maidens, or the doing in of Dragons, or of the slaying of Giants, and such: great deeds all, but by single men or single women, or by a mere handful of doughty people, and not by vast armies clashing.

“And so, you see, if it is true that the Keltoi did cause the gods to make Faery manifest, that’s why war is seldom fought in Faery, or if it is, then it happens someplace away.” Celeste fell silent and took another sip of tea.

“Hmm. .,” mused Roel, “would that were true in the mortal world as well.”

Again a quietness descended between them, but Celeste finally said, “It occurs to me that you and I and the warband are caught up in a heroic tale much like those told by the Keltoi, for you seek your sister to rescue her from the Lord of the Changelings, and we ride at your side to deal with whatever the Fates decree. If that doesn’t become a saga to be told, well. .” Roel sighed and said, “It is not a tale much to my liking, though within it I have found my truelove, and that I would not trade for ought.”

Celeste smiled, her eyes bright, and she squeezed Roel’s hand, and in that moment Anton came to the two and said, “My lady, the horses are full watered and fed, the men as well.”

“Then let us be on our way,” said Celeste.

Roel leapt to his feet and handed her up, and in a trice all mounted and fared onward.

And as they rode they passed through a forest ever caught in the moment of spring, and in places snow yet lay on the ground and the air was chill and trees were barely abud, while elsewhere warm breezes wafted and forest and flowers and grass were full leafed and full bloomed and full green. Throughout the entire swing of the season did they ride, coming upon early here and late there and intermediate elsewhere. And limb runners chattered and scolded; birds sang melodies with words unknown; deer bounded away with tails like flags held high in warning; a black bear waddled downslope toward a raging creek to move out of the line of the ride; and just within the edge of a briar thicket, a heavy boar bristled and snorted and turned and lumbered deeper in among the thorns. Partridges burst away in a thunder of flight, and hummingbirds darted among the flowers, though Roel now and again thought he espied among them tiny beings with iridescent wings flitting thither and yon. And he was certain that he had seen a wee man sitting in the knothole of a tree and smoking a pipe and watching the cavalcade ride past, even as small brown things-were they people, too? — ducked away on two legs.

They rode through a flurry of snowfall, which turned to rain, and then to hail, and they took shelter under the trees, even as the wind whipped at them. But the hail turned to a light spring shower and within a league they rode in sunshine.

“Your demesne is full of marvel, Celeste,” said Roel,

“caught as it is at the edge of winter on the one hand and at the verge of summer on the other; you have both the best and the worst of the season. I think it is fitting that a woman rules herein, for it is stormy and mild and cold and warm, pleasant and cruel.”

Celeste cocked an eyebrow. “Are you saying it is fickle like a woman?”

“Non, my love,” said Roel, grinning. “Challenging instead.”

Celeste laughed. “Ah, Silvertongue, are you certain that you have no Keltoi ancestry?”

Roel shook his head. “If I have such blood, I know it not. Instead all I am saying is that I love this place, with its rushing streams, wildflowers, spring berries, its plentitude of game. . as well as its wondrous tiny people.”

“Not all are tiny, Roel, for some are great lumbering things, such as the Woodwose all covered in hair, or the Hommes Verts all covered in leaves. For the most part, they are shy, and rarely come to the manor, and then simply to show respect.”

“When do they do this? Come to the manor, I mean.”

“In the Springwood, usually it is on the vernal equinox, though sometimes not. In Liaze’s realm they mostly come at the autumnal equinox. In Alain’s demesne it is at the summer solstice, whereas at Borel’s it is at the winter solstice, though his Hommes Verts are covered in evergreen needles.”

“Ah, I see,” said Roel, “each in its own season.” Celeste nodded and said, “Indeed, most of their visits are governed by the sun. Often, though, some come at other times, usually to settle a dispute, but not always.

Some simply come at their own hest to visit their liege and swear fealty.”

“I would be at your side next equinox,” said Roel,

“for I am struck by the wonder of it all.” Celeste smiled and said, “And I would have you at my side on that day of balance.”

They made camp that eve nigh a stream swollen with chill melt, and men began unlading gear. Horses were gathered in a simple rope pen, and Anton assigned several members of the warband to see to their care. A full day they had ridden, some twelve leagues in all. “At this rate,” said the princess, “we’ll be at the border shortly after the noontide two days hence.”

Nearby, small tents were being pegged to the ground, for the erratic weather of the Springwood could just as easily send a great lot of wet snow as send a balmy night. Two men of the warband came bearing a somewhat larger tent for the princess. Roel said, “Here, I’ll pitch it.” But the warriors protested, and when Roel glanced at Celeste, with a faint shake of her head she indicated to him that he should let the men do the task.

Swiftly ’twas done, and Celeste thanked them with a smile, and, beaming, the warriors moved on to other duties.

When they were out of earshot, “My love,” said Celeste, “they vie among themselves to be the ones to serve me. Take not that away from them.” Roel grinned and said, “As I would vie were I among their company.”

They walked down to the chill-running water and stood holding hands in the twilight, neither speaking.

Behind them, men set campfires, and some began brewing tea. As Roel and Celeste dwelled in the comfort of one another, a polite cough caught their attention, and Roel turned to see Gerard standing nearby, his eyes fixed steadily on a point somewhere in the gallery of woods beyond the stream. Roel frowned. “Gerard, did I not instruct you to remain at the manor?”

“Indeed you did, my lord,” replied Gerard, not shifting his gaze away from that distant point among the shadowed trees, “yet who would pitch your tent were I not about?”

“I’m of a mind to send you back even as we speak, Gerard.”

Still standing at formal attention, chin held high, eyes peering off yon, Gerard said, “My lord, would you send me through these deep and dark and perilous woods alone? I think you cannot spare a warrior to escort me.” Celeste giggled.

Roel sighed in exasperation. “I did not see you among the company. How came you in the first place?”

“Why, on a horse, my lord. I knew you would need your valet de chambre, though it seems you yourself did not. A candlemark or so after you rode away, I realized where my duty lay, and so I saddled a mount, and took another one in tow, one laden with needed supplies, and I followed. I just now reached the camp, or, let me say, I reached the camp a short while ago.”

Roel smiled and said, “You rode all the way completely alone through the deep and dark and perilous forest?”

“Indeed, my lord, though I believe it will be even deeper and darker and certainly much more perilous were I to have to ride back to the manor.” Roel burst into laughter; Celeste’s own giggles turned to laughter as well. Gerard didn’t blink an eye or shift his stance one hair as he let the mirth run its course. Finally, he made a slight gesture toward a newly pitched tent and said, “My lord, your shelter is ready. And would you and Princess Celeste like a good red wine to go with your evening meal?”

Once more Roel and Celeste fell into helpless laughter.

“I’ll take that as a ‘oui,’ my lord.” And with that, Gerard turned on his heel and strode away.

In the silver light of dawn, Celeste rose and walked past the sentry toward a wooded area designated as a place of privacy for her.

After she relieved herself, Celeste strode through the strip of woodland and toward the swift-running stream.

As she neared, she heard someone weeping, and at the edge of the flow she came upon a small lad, no more than four summers old. In tattered clothes he was, and sitting on a rock and holding a trimmed branch in one hand-more of a long switch than a pole-and a length of fishing line in the other. Celeste looked ’round, but no adult did she see.

“Child, what are you doing here so early in the morning and all alone?” Sobbing in snuck s and snub s, the small boy looked up with tear-filled eyes. “I came to catch a fish for breakfast.”

“Where are your pere and mere?”

“Elsewhere, my lady. Very far elsewhere.”

“They left you alone in the world?”

The child managed a whispered, “I have two sisters, and they will have nothing to eat,” and then he broke into wrenching sobs.

“Two sisters? No one else?”

“Non.”

“Then come with me, my lad,” said Celeste. “I will gather some food for you and your sisters.”

“Non, non,” cried the child, “I must catch a fish for them. But the string came loose from the pole, and a knot is needed.”

Celeste sighed. “Here, let me.” He held both out to her.

She took them and quickly she tied the twine to the end of the switch, and then cast the hook into the stream. She handed the branch back to the lad, and he looked up at her and said, “Merci, Princess.” And in that moment a shimmer came over the boy, and of a sudden before Celeste stood a slender maiden with silver hair and argent eyes, and from somewhere, nowhere, everywhere, there came the sound of battens and shuttles, as of looms weaving.

Celeste glanced at the dawn light growing in the sky and curtseyed and said, “Lady Skuld. Lady Wyrd. She Who Sees the Future.”

Skuld smiled and said, “We meet again.” Celeste nodded, for on the day before the wedding of Camille and Alain, Skuld and her sisters-Verdandi and Urd-suddenly appeared before her family-her pere and mere, her brothers and sister, and Camille and Michelle. Too, Hierophant Marceau had been there as well, though he had fainted dead away from shock when the three Fates abruptly materialized.

“My lady,” said Celeste, “when last I saw you, you warned that the acolytes would seek revenge. Is that who-?”

Skuld held up a hand palm out, stopping the flow of Celeste’s words. “Child, you know I cannot answer questions directly. I cannot e’en give you advice unless you first perform a service for me, and then answer a riddle. Because you tied my line to my pole when I was in the form of a small child, you have met the first requirement.” Celeste sighed. “I take it that you have something to tell me, and to hear it a riddle I must answer. Yet I have never been particularly good at riddles. May I at least fetch someone to help me? Roel perhaps?” Skuld laughed and shook her head. “They are all yet asleep and will not waken-not even your truelove-

until our business here is done.”

Celeste groaned and glanced back at the camp. In the growing light, no one stirred, not even the sentry, who seemed locked in his stance. She looked again at Skuld and said, “In all fairness I must confess that I know the riddle of the Sphinx and the riddles you posed to Camille and Borel.”

Skuld smiled. “I shall not ask you any of those, nor the one I posed to your sister.”

Celeste’s eyes flew wide in startlement. “You aided Liaze in her search for Luc?”

“Is that a question you would have me answer?” Celeste threw out a hand of negation. “Non. Non. If you posed a riddle to her, one she correctly answered, then you aided her.”

Again Skuld smiled.

Celeste took a deep breath and said, “As for a riddle you would have me answer, say away,” and then she braced herself as if for a blow.

Of a sudden the sound of looms weaving swelled, and Skuld said:

“Trees on my back, dwelling below, I fare when a wind does flow.

Name me. . ”

Even as the clack of shuttle and thud of batten diminished, Celeste’s heart sank and tears sprang into her eyes. I will never get the answer, never.

“Wipe away your tears,” said Skuld, “and think.”

With the heels of her hands, Celeste dried her cheeks, and she looked at Skuld and then away. In that moment a small piece of wood caught in the flow went racing downstream. Watching it, Celeste recalled a happier time long past in her childhood, when she and her brothers stood by a brook and-

“A ship!” she cried. “Lady Wyrd, ’tis a ship, for the trees on its back are the masts, the dwelling below houses the crew, and a ship does fare when a wind flows.” With hope in her eyes, she looked at Skuld.

Skuld now smiled and said, “Correct. And now I have something to tell you, and a gift for you as well.”

“This something you are going to tell me, is it in the form of a rede?”

Skuld nodded, and again Celeste groaned. “Lady Wyrd, I am not good with puzzles and redes, can you not say it straight out?”

“No, Princess, I cannot, for my sisters and I must follow the rules.”

“Rules,” mused Celeste. “I wonder just whose they are.”

“That I will not say,” replied Skuld. “Instead, this is what I’ve come to tell you.” And again as the thud and clack of weaving intensified, Skuld 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.

“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.

“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.”

Skuld fell silent, and Celeste said, “I understand some of it but not all. Lady Wyrd, would you please-?” Again, with an upraised hand, Skuld stopped the flow of Celeste’s words. “I cannot, Celeste. But this I can tell you: along the way you will face terrible trials, but you will also find aid as well.”

Skuld glanced at the sky, the dawn bright, the sun yet below the horizon, but barely. “I must now go, Princess, yet remember all I have said. -Oh, and here, you will need this.” Between thumb and forefinger, Skuld held out the gift she had promised. As Celeste took it, the sound of batten and shuttle swelled and then vanished altogether, as did Lady Wyrd.

In the distance, of a sudden the camp came awake.

Men began stirring even as the limb of the sun rose above the rim of the world. Yet Celeste paid them no heed and instead peered at what Skuld had given her:

’twas nought but a small silver needle.