Once upon a Summer Day

37

Borel stepped across the stone floor of the dark turret and took Chelle’s hands in his and kissed her fingers. Yet holding on, he said, “Tonight, ma cherie, I would have you choose what to do, though it is I who must choose where to go, for the secret door opens only to those places.”

“As to what to do, Borel, I have enjoyed all your choices. The flight on the back of the Great Eagle was marvelous. And the strolls through the Summerwood and Autumnwood and Springwood were lovely. And I liked the lake and the boat and the island.”

“Nevertheless, my darling,” said Borel, “what would you have?” He released her hands and made a sweeping gesture toward the deeply shadowed wall. “Our hidden door awaits.”

Chelle canted her head, her brow furrowed in thought, though Borel could not say what look dwelled in her eyes, hidden as they were by a shadowy band. “Archery,” she said at last. “Either that or echecs.”

“You play echecs?”

“I do.”

“Tres bien!” exclaimed Borel.

“My pere taught me long past,” said Chelle.

“So did my pere teach me,” said Borel, smiling. “My sisters and my brother as well. My mere plays, too, as does Camille, my soon-to-be sister-in-law. Occasionally, we have tournaments, and there is much laughter, especially when we play heartbeat echecs.”

Chelle’s brow furrowed. “Heartbeat echecs?”

“Oui. Each player must move within ten heartbeats following the other’s move. If you and I were to play, Chelle, I would count for your moves, and you would count for mine.”

“A very fast game, I see,” said Chelle.

“Indeed, and with many blunders,” replied Borel, grinning. “It is much fun.”

Chelle smiled. “It sounds quite gay. Even so, I think I’d rather test your skill first.”

“Oho! You would then duel?”

“I would,” replied Chelle.

“Very well, Demoiselle,” said Borel, and he bowed.

“Then, Sieur, let us have at it,” said Chelle, curtseying.

“Have you a setting, Mademoiselle, where you would like to hold this contest? Perhaps I can conjure one up.”

Chelle said in mock haughtiness, “I remind you, Sieur, it is a duel; I named the weapons, hence you must choose the site.” Then she broke into laughter.

Borel’s laughter joined hers, and he said, “Very well.” He stood a long moment in thought, and then looked up and smiled and said, “I have just the place, where hunters and hunted do dwell-a site most fitting for our deadly duel.”

He closed his eyes in concentration a brief moment, and then offered his arm and said, “My lady.”

Grinning, Chelle hooked her arm through his and said, “Let us away, my lord.”

They stepped through the enshadowed door to emerge — in a small clearing in a thorn grove on a savanna, where bright stars wheeled through the black sky overhead, and a narrow crescent of a waning moon rode above the far horizon. A modest campfire burned bright in an earthen ring, and on the yellow grass beside the fire sat an echiquier, the pieces thereon of ivory and ebony.

“Oh, Borel, how unique. Where are we?”

“I am not certain, Chelle, but it is a wondrous place. In daylight you can see thousands of animals aroam in vast herds, with perilous predators lurking ’round the fringes.”

As if to underscore Borel’s words, a deep roar sounded in the distance, as of a beast enraged afar.

Chelle turned in the direction of the bellow. “A hunter?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” said Borel. “Yet here we are well protected by the thorns; do not be afraid, my love.”

“I’m not,” Chelle replied calmly. But then she gasped. “Oh, look, Borel, a winged Sprite asleep on a leaf next to a bumblebee.”

“They are my companions,” said Borel. “It is the bee that the Sprite and I follow, for she is our guide.”

“And where is it you are going?” asked Chelle, turning to face Borel.

He took her hands in his. “We are looking for you, my love.” Before she could reply, he kissed her fingers and released her and said, “Come, let us play.” Borel stooped and took up the white and black queens, one in each hand, and put them behind his back and pretended to shuffle them. He held out both hands, a queen hidden in each fist. “Choose.”

“Dextral,” said Chelle.

Borel opened his right fist; in it lay the ivory queen. “You move first,” he said, smiling. He gave her the white queen and handed her down to the grass on the ivory side of the board, and then stepped to the ebony side and sat.

“King’s spearman advances two paces,” said Chelle, moving the piece.

Borel leapt his king’s chevalier over the spearmen ranks and leftward one square in response. “King’s chevalier two paces before king’s tower,” he said.

And the game was under way.

Out in the darkness of the veldt, a beast giggled in seeming glee, and Chelle looked up from the board and said, “What is that laughing creature? — And, no, my prince, I am not afraid, but instead just curious.”

Borel grinned at her and shrugged. “Were I to stay here long, perhaps I would find out. Though to me it sounds rather like a mad loon’s hilarity or the joy of a jackass being tickled.”

Chelle broke into laughter, and as if in response the distant beast laughed with her, and Borel’s guffaws joined them.

Finally Chelle sobered and said, “King’s hierophant steps out four. He’ll bring religion to you, my prince, with a bloody club, I add.”

“Oh ho, with a club, you say. Well then, my queen’s hierophant’s spearman steps forward one.”

Many were the moves and countermoves, her game no less reckless than his, and, with heroic spearmen butchered, hierophants brutally murdered, towers awreck, and kings taking flight but a pace at a time, at the end of these many moves, black and white pieces were lying slain beyond the borders of the board.

“It seems we are evenly matched, my love,” said Borel.

“Not any more,” said Chelle, and with a low throaty laugh she took Borel’s remaining tower with her remaining hierophant.

“Ah, so you fell for my trap,” said Borel, chuckling, and his sole chevalier cruelly took her now-unprotected sole tower in return. “Check.”

“Oh ho, so you think you’ve got me. Well, my arrogant prince, here-”

Of a sudden, Chelle raised her head in alarm. “Ssst!” she shushed. Then she whispered, “ ’Ware, Borel, peril is nigh.”

Borel raised his own head and listened. Beyond the thorn grove stealthy paws padded. He reached for his bow and said, “Chelle, you must leave.”

“No, I will stay.”

Borel growled, but set arrow to bowstring, and then faced out into the dark. And there he saw three pairs of smoldering red eyes above bared fangs adrip.

And beside him Chelle cried, “Wake up, my love, wake up!” and Borel — awakened to see in the dim glow of his low-burning fire the peril of his dream had come, for there in the shadows three pairs of eyes glowed crimson above slavering jaws as three dark-blotched creatures pushed through the thorns and toward his small encampment.