Once Upon an Autumn Eve

17

Into bleakness fared Liaze, the princess aiming at the twin fangs in the mountain chain to the fore, for it was all she had as a goal, and even that was but a guess. Petale the Sprite had said that if the messenger crows held to the same line of flight as they had in the Autumnwood, then these two jagged crests were along that route.

And the chill wind blew, buffeting Liaze and the horses, agitating them all. For the most part the animals plodded along with their heads low and their ears laid back, as if seeking somehow to get out of the wind but failing. And now and again Nightshade would snap at one of the geldings; and they would temporarily shy away, but then return to plod side by side with the stallion, as if all sought warmth from one another.

What a dreadful domain! Inhospitable dirt and sparse-rare I would say-patches of weed; and its growth is misshapen, warped as if the wind always blows. And so far, no streams, no pools, no water at all, just a bleak gray realm running up to the fangs of dark mountains. Oh, Mithras, of all the splendid lands along my sunwise border, why did the crows have to pick this one? ’Tis a place I’ve ne’er before seen, hence the way through the shadowlight border from my realm to this one must be somewhat narrow. ’Tis well I had the Sprites to lead the way, else I would likely have missed this land altogether-ha! — as if one could ever hope to enter such a drab demesne.

Throughout the day she rode, occasionally stopping in the lee of a hillock, or down in a dent in the land, where she would give the animals grain-food to help keep them warm. And when she did so, all the horses would huddle together, their tails to the wind, their heads low. And though Nightshade was a well-trained steed, still he was a stallion, and he took a nip at Liaze, and she slapped him on the nose and barked, “No!”

She did not worry overmuch about the animals getting cold, for, living in the Autumnwood as they had, with its chill nights and cool days, they had a fair bit of shag, the start of a winter coat, though it would never become full-blown in that realm.

And as for water, fortunately Liaze that morning had filled all the skins to the stoppers, and she meted out shares to the steeds.

After these pauses, Liaze would ride onward, and she came to hate the ceaseless wind. And the mountains seemed no closer when day came toward the end.

She found shelter in the lee of a hill, and there she unladed the horses and tethered them to thin weeds-knowing they would not hold in the event of something unexpected. Then she fed them some grain and thoroughly rubbed them down and curried out the knots, and, even though the horses clustered together for warmth, as an extra precaution Liaze covered each with a blanket against the night chill.

She had no fire that eve, for there was nought to burn, and, after she ate a cold meal of hardtack and jerky, she rolled up in her own blanket and spent a miserable night, and was certain that she would never get to sleep.

Yet in the morning…

… she awakened with her cheek to the ground. Liaze groaned, for the wind yet blew, and she did not immediately rise. And as she lay, in the low-angled sunlight aglance across the land, she saw in the wintry soil- What are these? They look like… hmm… pockmarks?

With her blanket wrapped ’round her shoulders, Liaze rose and stepped to the first of the impressions, then lay down once more to see- A line of them, along the lee edge of the hill. Just dimples, more or less, running toward the mountains, getting shallower and disappearing once they leave the windbreak.

Liaze rolled over and looked the opposite way. Hmm… They continue toward, or perhaps come from, the way I rode. Yet they were not made by me.

Now the princess studied the mark nearest her. It was nought but a shallow depression. Liaze pressed her hand into the dent; the spread of her fingers did not quite cover the pock. She frowned. Could this be a hoofprint? If so, it is quite eroded by the wind. Once again she lay down and sighted along the line of the impressions; she rose up slightly and looked at the pattern. It could be a horse at a trot. Then Liaze’s eyes widened in hope. Oh, please, Mithras, let it be Luc’s trail, for if the crows fly opposite the path he took when he rode from his woodcutter’s cote and to the Autumnwood…

Liaze did not finish that thought, for she leapt to her feet and rummaged through the supplies and fed the horses some grain and watered them. Then she ate a quick meal. After relieving herself, swiftly she stowed the blankets and laded the cargo on the packhorses and saddled Nightshade and Pied Agile.

Once more she lay down and looked along the line of marks. They headed in the general direction of the twin fangs.

She mounted her horse and rode toward the mountains, her eye upon the soil, and as she left the lee of the hill and fared into the buffeting flow, she could no longer see any dimples in the land.

If those pocks are the remains of hoofprints, and if the rider-oh, let it be Luc-rode as I do now, then he would have sought every windbreak he could find, and mayhap at those places there will be more marks I can use as a trail.

After a while Liaze saw in the distance ahead a dip in the land, and she angled Pied Agile toward it, for it would provide some proof against the constant blow.

At last she came to the dent, and she despaired, for it was too shallow to provide ought more than scant shelter. Nevertheless, she dismounted and stepped to the fore, then lay down and looked for a dimple. But the sunlight was no longer aglance upon the land, and if there were any depressions whatsoever, Liaze could find them not.

Sighing in disappointment, once again she mounted, and continued onward.

She rode some distance before veering rightward to come to the next windbreak-a sheltering knoll-where she found a very limited set of pockmarks, and they yet pointed toward the twin fangs.

Onward Liaze rode, and now and again in dips in the land and along the flanks of hills she managed to locate more marks, yet whether they were hoofprints or merely wind erosions of spinning air, she could not say. Even so, she continued on toward the twin pinnacles, presumably along the line of flight of the messenger crows, or so she sincerely did hope.

That night when she camped, the mountains seemed much closer. At this place she ran out of water, for she had to let the horses drink from the supply, and they drained it all. And in this land she had seen no streams nor pools, and-other than the scraggly weeds-no living things whatsoever: no birds, no beasts, nor any small creatures, and no insects, no reptiles… nothing.

And the wind yet blew and was like to drive the princess mad, and the animals were even more agitated, especially Nightshade, who bit at the geldings more often, and tried several times to nip Liaze.

The princess spent another miserable, fireless, cold night.

In midafternoon of the next day, Liaze rode in among foothills, and-lo! — she came unto a stream. The horses eagerly pushed forward, yet Liaze held them back and dismounted and tethered them unto a twisted stalk. She stepped to the rill and stooped down and took up a handful of water and sniffed; it had a faint acrid smell. She cautiously tasted; it was slightly bitter.

’Tis nought worse than some other streams I’ve drunk from.

Nevertheless, she took a small swallow and waited. After a while, when nought untoward had disturbed her stomach, she knelt on hands and knees and quenched her thirst. Again she waited, and after another while, she led the horses to the water, and they drank deeply, while Liaze filled the waterskins to the stoppers.

Once more she looked for pockmarks, but she found none nearby. If a rider and his steed took from this stream, it was elsewhere… or perhaps his marks have faded away.

As Liaze fed the horses a bit of grain, she looked up at the mountains. The twin-spired peak lay straight ahead, yet there seemed no way through, certainly no way between them.

Taking her bow and quiver, and leaving the horses tethered and munching barley, Liaze trudged to the top of the hill at hand. She stood in the wind, her cloak pressed tightly against one side and flapping about on the other. She shaded her eyes and peered for a passable col. Ah, that looks like a possibility. She let her gaze slide along the range, where- Oh, my, two of them: one to the left and one to the right, each with what seems a trail up and perhaps over, and yet in Faery taking the wrong one could lead to a place altogether elsewhere. One sinistral and one dextral; which, I wonder, is the correct choice?

Her gaze followed the traces of the two paths down into the foothills to the fore, where the knolls shielded the trailheads from her sight. The ways seem to be coming together, mayhap even to join.

Sighing, Liaze took a bearing on where she thought the routes might begin, and then she trudged back down to the horses below.

As dusk came upon this bleak land, Liaze made camp in a narrow canyon and well out of the wind. Just ahead, the canyon branched, one way leading up and to the right, the other unto the left.

That night she slept well, for only faint traces of the constant blow reached down into the rift.

The next morning, Liaze walked away from her campsite and took the cleft to the right. She searched for traces of what might have been a rider passing this way. The trail itself was fairly smooth, yet the well-packed pathway showed no sign of hoofprints: there were no dimples, no impressions, no pocks whatsoever.

Liaze returned to the split and walked the left-hand way. Here the trail was even more hard-packed, and stones littered the way, and Liaze despaired of finding Wait!

Liaze stooped and looked at one of the fist-sized rocks. Its color was darker than that of the stones nearby. She turned it over. It’s lighter on what was its down side.

She turned over a nearby rock of nearly the same size. And this one is darker on its bottom. Mayhap…

Liaze continued onward, and she found several more stones that looked as if they had been turned over. Perhaps the hooves of a horse kicked these loose as a rider rode this way.

Liaze looked up the twisting path and beyond to the col on high and sighed. Just my luck: he picked the harder way, and the sinister one at that. Then she smiled. Though if it were Luc on his way to the Autumnwood, going opposite would have been dextral for him.

Liaze walked back to the animals and saddled Pied Agile and Deadly Nightshade and tied on their gear, and then she laded the packhorses with the goods. Mounting up, she said to the steeds, “Brace yourselves, mes amis, we’ve a long climb ahead.”

Liaze heeled Pied Agile in the flanks, and up the canyon and into the left-hand slot she rode, the horses on tethers behind, all the animals calmer today-even the stallion-for they had spent a night out of the wind.

Up the twisting way they went, at times in the lee of the broad shoulders of the slopes, at other times exposed to the hurtling blow, which became fiercer the higher they went. And the climb was rugged and stony, the way quite difficult in places, especially at twisting turns, where the rocks seemed to have piled up in the corners.

At times, Liaze switched off from Pied Agile to Nightshade. At other times she walked and led the animals, the packhorses limiting the pace, for they were never relieved of their burdens, as were the stallion and mare.

Often, Liaze stopped to give them all a breather, and she watered them and fed them some grain-especially the pack animals-to keep up their flagging energy. And then she would continue.

As the sun neared the zenith, Liaze afoot entered a long slot leading to the crest of the col. “Ah, my friends, we are nearly over the top. But I think walking downslope will not be much easier, for making a long descent is almost as difficult as the opposite.”

And out of the fierce wind, on upward toward the summit of the way they went. And just as they reached the crest The ground trembled, and there came a great loud grinding of stone on stone, and a massive slab slid out across the way, and rock clattered down the slope beyond, while at the same time, from arear there came another heavy grinding, and a rattle of stone cascading down the pathway behind.

Even as the horses skitted and shied, Liaze quickly set an arrow to string and looked about for the foe who had sprung this trap. Yet she saw none whatsoever, only two giant blocks barring the way, just as would immense stone gates. And then she gasped in surprise, for these weren’t truly great rough slabs of granite, but had the look of giant hands.

And then to the right a huge stony eye opened in the massif, and, grating and rumbling like an enormous wedge of rock sliding on rock, a deep voice said, “Urrum, hmmm, another one disturbs.” And a second eye opened in the mountainside.