Once Upon a Winter's Night

23

Camille fell into chills and fits of shivering, alternating with spells of torrid fever. She was drenched in cold sweat one instant, then hot and parched the next, and dry coughing racked her frame. Lucid moments she seemed to have, but then babbled quite madly, yet most of the time she was seized by unconsciousness, for surely it could not be called sleep. Days passed with her in this condition, but finally her illness broke, and then she truly slept. And at last she awoke to sunlight and Scruff off chirping elsewhere, and the sound of someone moving about and quietly humming.

She was in a soft bed within a small room, and the day shone through a window; slender shadows wafted to and fro, made by long and hanging-down branches beyond, swaying gently in the air. Past the foot of the bed, an open doorway led to another room, and ’twas from that place the sound of humming came, the sound of chirping as well.

Camille tried to sit up, yet-“Oh, my”-she fell back, quite dizzy.

Footsteps neared, and in the doorway stood a lithe, redheaded woman. Her face was narrow, her eyes emerald-green and aslant, her skin alabaster, tinged with gold.

“Ah, Camille, you are awake.” She smiled, her mouth generous, her teeth white and even.

Again Camille tried to rise, and the woman stepped forward. “Let me help.” And she plumped pillows and aided Camille to sit, then propped her up in place.

“How do you know my name?” asked Camille, her voice faint.

The woman smiled. “ ’Tis a gift I have.”

Camille started to ask another question, but the woman held out a staying hand. “One moment, Camille.” She stepped from the room, and Camille could hear water being poured and the stirring of a spoon in a cup.

But then from beside the bed: “ Chp-chp-chp-pip…! ”

“Scruff,” said Camille, glancing over the edge at the tiny sparrow, who had hopped into the room. “I’d take you up, but I’m afraid that I’d fall out on my head.”

“ Chp-pip-pip-chp-chp…! ”

“Take this, Camille,” said the lady, stepping once again into the room, cup in hand. “ ’Tis a tisane of mint to restore the heart and mind.”

Camille received the cup and inhaled deeply, the keen aroma refreshing.

Still, Scruff chirped insistently, and the lady took him up on one of her long, slender fingers and set him to the bed. The sparrow hopped across the cover to come before Camille, then he cocked his head and peered at her, as if examining a patient.

“Oh, Scruff, I think I am well,” said Camille, “or at least on the mend.”

Apparently satisfied, Scruff scratched up a small mound of cloth and settled down, as if nesting.

The woman laughed, and Camille smiled and sipped the minty tea.

“Camille, indeed you are on the mend, though ’twas touch-and-go for a while.”

“How long have I been sick?”

The lady frowned. “A sixday or seven, I deem. I am uncertain as to which. Time means so little to me.”

“A sevenday?” Camille sighed and looked to see Lady Sorciere’s staff leaning in a corner. “More blossoms withered,” she glumly said.

The lady arched an eyebrow, but Camille said nought.

A momentary silence fell between them, but then Camille said, “I’m sorry, my lady, but I know not who you are.”

The woman smiled, her tilted green eyes aglitter. “Many know me as the Lady of the Bower, yet my name is Lisane.”

Hope flooded Camille. “Lady of the Bower, Lisane, it is you I came seeking.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

Lisane sat on the edge of the bed. “Aye. You did come seeking answers, yet I speak not with just anyone.”

Camille’s face fell. “But I sorely do need your help.”

“Camille, fear not, for well did you pass the test.”

“Test?”

“Indeed, for I tried you sorely, yet you showed me an uncommon patience and goodness of heart.”

“Tried me?”

“Aye. A test to see if you were worthy of my aid.”

“How so? — I mean, how did you test me?”

“Oh, la, Camille, I was the crone with the horse.”

Camille’s eyes widened in shock. “You were the crone?”

“Indeed.” Lisane made a small negating gesture. “ ’Twas but a minor glamour I cast ’pon me and Thale, though he did not like playing the part of a broken-down, swayback mare.”

“Thale?”

“The one who rescued you nights past.” Lisane gestured.

“Look without. You will see him.”

Camille raised a bit and peered out through the cote window. Past hanging-down willow branches, there on a sward a splendid white creature cropped grass; horselike, it was, but smaller and with cloven hooves and a pearlescent horn jutting from its forehead, a thin spiral groove running up from its base to its very sharp tip.

Camille gasped. “A Unicorn.”

The Lady of the Bower nodded. “ ’Twas he who saved you.” Lisane gestured at nesting Scruff. “You and your tiny sparrow.”

“Saved us? Saved me? But I thought Unicorns would have nought to do with those who are impure, sullied, those of us who are no longer maidens, who no longer have our virgin’s blood. To have a Unicorn rescue me is a wonder, then.” Camille shook her head in rueful memory. “I was spurned by one once; with a flick of its tail it turned and trotted away.”

Lisane frowned. “How so?”

“It was as I rode the Bear to visit my family-”

“You were upon the back of a Bear when you were so-called spurned?”

Camille nodded.

Lisane laughed. “Ah, then, ’twas the presence of the Bear that caused such.”

“But I was told that when one loses her virgin’s blood…”

“Oh, la, Camille, ’tis not virgin’s blood which draws the Unicorn, but rather purity of heart.-Gods know, were it virgin’s blood, then long past Thale would have left me. ’Tis but an old wives’ tale you did hear.”

“Oh,” murmured Camille, her heart suddenly lighter. Then she grinned and said, “In this case, ’twas an old fra’s tale, bolstered by a votary of Mithras.”

Lisane shook her head and faintly smiled. “I oft wonder if fras and votaries and heirophants and other such have the faintest notion of Truth.”

Again a quietness fell between them, but then Lisane frowned. “What is it you do seek?”

“A place east of the sun and west of the moon. I was coming to you in the hopes you would know where it might be.”

Slowly Lisane shook her head. “I know not where this place lies, but mayhap the cards will know.”

“Cards?”

“Aye. I use them for divination. That’s how I knew you were coming. Oh, not you specifically, but that someone sought me and was on the way, or so the cards did say. That’s why Thale and I were waiting along the road. We would have fetched you the following morn, yet the storm intervened, a thing the cards did not see.”

Camille frowned, then cocked an eyebrow. “These cards, they are taroc?”

“You know of them?”

“Only as a game, as well as what some people say: that there are those who can read the future within an arcane spread.”

Lisane turned a hand over in a small negative gesture. “They do not foretell the future, Camille. They speak not to what will be, but rather what might be, and then only if the reader has interpreted them wisely and true, and only if the acts they portray are not contravened by actions unshown.”

“Hmm… Sounds much like the pronouncements of fras and votaries and heirophants,” said Camille, grinning.

Lisane laughed gaily. “Touche, Camille. Touche.”

Camille’s smile faded, and she looked into the now-empty cup. “How long ere I can go onward?”

Lisane sighed. “A sevenday or so, mayhap.”

“Seven more days?” Camille tried to struggle up in protest, but, nearly swooning, she fell back. Then she whispered, “Oh, but I must not tarry.”

“Hush, hush, Camille. You cannot press on as you now are. Heed, you were most seriously ill-the ague, I believe-and it took much out of you.”

“The ague?”

“Aye. Mayhap caused by ill vapors of the mire, mayhap by the boghole you waded into, and for that I am most sorry. Mayhap ’twas brought on by a biting fly or mosquito, for ’tis said that some carry ill vapors in their sting, though the charm I cast should have protected you from their bites.”

“Charm?”

“Aye, the gift I bestowed upon you when I played the crone.”

“Ah, then that’s the reason!” exclaimed Camille. “I wondered why the pesky pests left us alone, whereas upon our entry into the clutches of that mire they did anything but.” Camille sighed and shuddered, adding, “Would that you had cast a charm against leeches as well.”

“Leeches?”

“Aye. From the boghole.”

Lisane shook her head in rue. “Mayhap ’twere leeches gave you the ague, for surely they carry the worst of ill offerings a mire can bestow.”

Camille reached out and laid a hand upon Lisane’s. “Berate not yourself, Lisane, for perhaps it wasn’t the swamp at all made me ill, but instead was the icy storm.”

“Mayhap,” replied Lisane, yet her arching of an eyebrow spoke otherwise.

They sat wrapped in their thoughts for a moment, each looking beyond the window to where a Unicorn cropped grass. Finally, Lisane said, “You did babble of an encounter with Spriggans, and, if so, ’twas they who caused the blow.”

“I wondered,” said Camille. “Vivette and Romy said they could bring on storms.”

“Aye, indeed they can,” said Lisane. “Given its fury, I thought it might be Spriggan-sent, and then did Thale go seeking you.”

Camille smiled. “Not only did Thale save me from the storm, but it was you who saved me from the Spriggans within their cave.”

Lisane’s eyes widened in shock. “You were in their cave?”

Camille nodded. “They stole my goods, but I retrieved them, yet wouldn’t have were it not for your words spoken as a crone. Ah, but you should have seen them run about in panic when I stepped within their vault wearing inside-out clothes. Better than iron.”

“Better than iron,” Lisane echoed. “Even so, ’twas a dangerous thing you did, venturing into their den.”

“Dangerous or no,” said Camille, “I could not let them keep my belongings. And were it not for the words of the crone-were it not for your words-they would have.”

Lisane sighed. “I thought you would set camp wearing inside-out clothes, for then they would not have taken your goods.”

Camille’s eyes widened in realization. “Ah, I see: ‘Even when night lies on the sward, Wrong-side-out stands sentinel ward.’ Oh, Lisane, ere I came unto the Spriggans’ cavern, I thought the crone’s words-your words-nought but the babblings of a mad old woman.”

A slight smile fleetingly crossed Lisane’s face. “Ah, me, mayhap I should have made my warning more plain… Still, I knew not for certain the Spriggans would come upon you, only that they might, or so the cards did say.”

“The taroc cards.”

“Aye.”

“Then this time they did say true.”

Lisane nodded.

Camille squeezed her hand, and Lisane grinned and squeezed back. Then she stood. “I have some broth warming, and ’tis time we began putting some strength back into you. Too, I would hear your full tale.-But first…” Lisane felt of Camille’s forehead, then smiled and opened the window, swinging it inward, allowing fresh air to waft through. Momentarily, Thale looked up at this movement, then resumed cropping grass.

Two days later, Camille was finally strong enough to venture outside. It was then she discovered that Lisane’s small two-room dwelling was wholly within the massive trunk of a great willow tree more than a hundred feet tall, its long swaying branches hanging down all ’round, though sunlight clearly shone through.

“That’s why they name me the Lady of the Bower,” said Lisane, “for does it not look as such?”

“Oh, it’s much more, my lady,” breathed Camille. “ ’Tis a place of wonder.”

Camille walked about the massive girth. There was but one door into the trunk, and it a bright yellow hue; two windows looked out on the world-one in each chamber. Both the door and the windows had willow-bark shutters, such that when they were closed, the trunk looked entirely whole, and nought could be seen of the dwelling within.

Shaking her head at the marvel, “Indeed, ’tis truly a wonder,” said Camille as she came to the sward, where Lisane sat on a blanket.

Lisane smiled, then poured tea, and they sat and sipped the drink, while tasting small, sweet cakes. Scruff chitted and scratched about for insects, and Thale stood nobly by.

After a while, Camille said, “Lady, I think it is time I returned your bed to you. I will sleep on the pallet in yon chamber where you have been.”

Lisane shook her head. “Nay, Camille. I oft arise in the night and read the cards by candlelight. I would not disturb your sleep. Think no more of it.”

Camille started to protest, but Lisane pushed out a shushing hand and passed Camille another small cake.

And as the day slowly went by, Camille took in fresh air and basked in the sunlight, warming in the rays. Finally, Lisane said, “I shall read the cards for you this eve.”

Of a sudden Camille’s heart clenched, for though she was not yet well enough to venture onward, she felt a pressing need to go.

Lisane glanced up at Camille. “Remember, with all the cards, though I might name them he or she, they could just as well be the opposite: female instead of male; male instead of female.”

Camille nodded, murmuring, “I will remember.”

“Remember as well”-Lisane tapped the remainder of the deck-“there are four cards yet to come, but not until after the reading of the wheels, for they will speak to the whole, and I would not have their influence ere then.”

On the table in the candlelight, upon a silken cloth spread o’er the oaken plank, a great circular array of cards lay, rings within rings, concentric, the cards facing outward, away from the center, or inward toward. Camille sat on one side of the table, her eyes wide in wonderment; the Lady of the Bower sat opposite, and she slowly shook her head in dismay. “There are so many swords, Camille, so very many swords, here about the center.”

“Is that to the good?”

“It means great conflict.”

“Do you mean combat, fighting, bloodshed?”

“Mayhap. Yet it can also mean confrontation, a great physical effort, a testing of wit, any number of things. Think of conflicts, Camille, and how so very many different kinds there are: conflicts of the heart and mind and body and spirit and soul; conflicts from within and without. Why, this illness from which you are on the mend, it, too, is a conflict of sorts.”

“Oh.”

Long did Lisane study the array, Camille silent, waiting. Finally, Lisane took a deep breath and closed her eyes, then circled her left hand widdershins above the wheel of cards, followed by her right hand, circling deasil. She then opened her eyes and said, “This is what I see,” and she began speaking of the meanings of the cards and their relation to one another, and as she spoke, she touched each card: her right hand for those upright-facing inward-and her left hand for those reversed-facing out.

“Here at the beginning are the Two Lovers, upright. I can but think the card bespeaks of you and Alain. But flanking are the upright three of swords on one side and the upright four of swords on the other, and here is the Tower, upright. Respectively they mean separation, isolation, and disaster. Immediately at hand is the three of cups, reversed, signalling a reversal of circumstance, and what was good now causes pain. It is directly followed by the nine of swords, and upright it means despair, anxiety, misery. Camille, this is what has been.”

Lisane looked across at Camille, who nodded, tears brimming. Lisane reached out and patted her hand, then spoke on:

“Here is the two of cups upright; it indicates harmony between two souls, yet I think this card does not represent you and Alain, for its position in the array seems to point to two souls you do know, yet mayhap in truth do not.”

“How can that be?” asked Camille, a puzzled frown upon her face.

Lisane shrugged. “I cannot say, yet these cards flanking, this one upright, the six of cups, signifies friends, while this three of cups reversed speaks of a test or tests, the double-edged nature of intuition, and since it is reversed, your intuition, or mayhap your first thought, may be wrong.”

“Oh,” fretted Camille, her worried gaze upon the cards, “But I hope that does not mean something ill.”

“Camille, in this case it merely means you should not always take things at face value.”

At this, Camille relaxed a bit, though apprehension yet lurked in her gaze.

And on Lisane spoke, touching cards, explaining, as she moved ’round the array, coming ever closer to the center. Finally her reading of the wheels-the rings within rings-came to an end, though she was not yet finished, for some specifics remained and four cards were yet to come.

Camille shook her head and pointed at three of the cards. “I don’t understand. The King and Queen and Page of Swords all reversed, all against me. Enemies unknown?”

“You do know the King, yet not as a King. Who he is, I cannot say.”

“Hmph! Neither can I,” replied Camille. Then she pointed at another card in the array. “And you say this represents me? The Naif? Why so?”

“Ah, Camille, you are quite guileless and trusting, which is both to your good and ill; yet, remember, there will come a time when guile will win the day.”

Camille turned up a hand. “I am who I am, Lisane. If that means I am guileless, then so it is I am.”

Lisane smiled faintly in reply, then frowned at the cards. “I have never before seen this arrangement of Hermit and Fortune and the three of wands and pentacles: the Hermit, aiding, and see how the threes point; and the pentacles might indicate treasure; and the Wheel of Fortune aiding as well. I know not what it means, unless it is three recluses or mentors tied to destiny.”

“Haven’t I already met two? The Lady of the Mere, and the Lady of the Bower?”

Lisane laughed. “Indeed. Even so, I think this hermit or these hermits yet lie along the way.”

Lisanne paused, her brow furrowing. “Camille, here you are greatly opposed by two beings unrevealed: by the Magician, and by the Priestess, who in this array appears to be but an acolyte of the Mage; yet the Mage is somewhat off center-not directly engaged in your immediate quest; even so, I believe he is somehow responsible; the acolyte, though, seems more involved in the events, albeit from behind the scenes.”

Baffled, Camille looked at Lisane, and the Lady of the Bower shrugged. “As I say, the cards speak but arcane messages, yet one thing seems clear”-she touched a card with her right hand-“this one will aid, the Minstrel, for he is surrounded by good omens; even so, he is not the ultimate key to your quest, yet he is someone who can greatly help. He represents wisdom.

“And here is the card of Strength, and I believe can you find the one who is represented by the Minstrel, he will lead you to Strength.”

“Do you know any minstrels?”

“Oh, Camille, the one so represented does not have to be a true minstrel, but someone with much wisdom, much lore.”

Camille shrugged. “Nevertheless, my question remains: do you know any minstrels, especially those with much wisdom, much lore?”

Lisane shook her head. “No minstrels, directly, though I do know a bard. An Elf. Rondalo. He is one of the Firsts.”

“Firsts?”

“Those who dwelled in Faery from its inception. Yet he may not be the one, Camille, the one of the card, for as I say, this card may not represent an actual minstrel, but someone altogether different. Recall as well, no matter how named or depicted, any of these cards can represent a male or female-one or the other or both, or perhaps neither.”

Camille cocked an eyebrow at this last, but nodded. Then with her right hand she touched the Minstrel and said, “Know you others of wisdom and lore? Other Firsts?”

Lisane pursed her lips. “Raseri the Firedrake: he was one of the Firsts as well. Tisp the Sprite, yet she is quite whimsical and not given to lore which touches not on her life. Adragh the Pwca, but he is quite dangerous, yet then again, so are all those I name; even so, Adragh is one to avoid. Then there is Jotun, but him you have already met, and though he helped you across the Endless Mountains, that lies in the past, and I think he is not the Minstrel to come. -Oh, Camille, there are many who have much lore, and only by your own efforts”-Lisane gestured at the array-“is such likely to come about. Heed, the cards only indicate that which might be, not that which is certain.”

“Well, then,” said Camille, nodding, “it seems I should continue in the manner I started: seeking mapmakers and travellers and merchants and traders and the elderly, for they might know of the place where I can find my Alain and tell me how to get there.”

Lisane turned up her hands and then said, “Now for the last four cardinals-first the two which speak of things to be nigh the end.”

“Cardinal premier,” said Lisane, and she turned up a card and laid it directly before her, just outside the array; the card pointed toward the center. Even so, she sucked in air between clenched teeth, saying, “Devil; upright.”

“Cardinal deux,” she then said, and this time she laid the card directly before Camille and just outside the array, and at sight of the card, Camille blenched. “Death; reversed,” said Lisane.

“Oh, Lisane, these can’t be good, especially Death.”

Lisane shook her head. “Certainly the Devil upright is a terrible omen, for it means ravage, violence, vehemence. Yet at the same time it also means a dweller without, someone not allowed in.” Lisane fell into long contemplation, and Camille thought she would go mad in the silence. But at last Lisane reached out with her left hand and touched the Magician. “Perhaps this one.”

“But what about Death?” asked Camille. “Isn’t it even worse?”

Lisane shook her head. “No, Camille. Death reversed can mean death just escaped, partial change, or transformation. Even so, it can also suggest great destruction as well, and coupled with the Devil upright”-Lisane took a deep breath-“I deem it signals a disaster you cannot avoid.”

Tears welled in Camille’s eyes. “Should I forgo my search, then?”

Slowly Lisane shook her head. “I think not, Camille, for the cards only say what might be, not what is certain to come. Were it my quest, I would go on”-with her right hand she touched the Lovers-“for true love can overcome much.”

Camille nodded, and then Lisane said, “Now for the last two cards.”

Calling out “Cardinal trois” and “Cardinal quatre,” Lisane dealt two more cards and placed one to the right and the other to the left, just outside the wheel, and at the sight of these, both she and Camille gasped, startled, for they were the Moon and the Sun, both upright. Lisane touched the Moon on the right-“Somewhere between concealed enemies and danger”-and then she touched the Sun on the left-“and a promise of bliss”-she looked at Camille-“somewhere between the hidden and the revealed does your true heart lie.”

A fortnight altogether it took Camille to recover well enough to travel onward. “I shall leave on the morrow,” she said to Lisane that eve.

“I shall greatly miss you,” replied Lisane.

“And I you,” said Camille, reaching out to squeeze Lisane’s hand.

They sat in silence before the great willow, twilight drawing down on the land.

“Would that I had been of more help,” said Lisane after a while.

“Oh, Lisane, you nursed me back to health; without you I would have died.”

“Mayhap,” said Lisane. “But mayhap without my test in the mire you would not have fallen ill.”

Camille shrugged. “That we’ll never know. Yet there is your reading: just knowing that there is someone out there who can truly aid me has lifted my heart, for now I do have hope.”

“Let us pray that hope is enough,” said Lisane.

Once more silence fell between them, but then Lisane said, “Thale has agreed to bear you to a town, where you can continue your quest.”

“But I know not how to ride aught,” said Camille, “much less a Unicorn.”

“Did you not ride the Bear? And did you not ride Thale from the wrath of the Spriggans unto here?”

“Yes, but-”

Lisane smiled. “Fear not, Camille, for a Unicorn will not let fall one who is pure of heart. You do not need to know how to ride, for Thale will bear you securely.”

They sat until lavender twilight turned to star-laden cobalt night, and then went inside. But ere she crawled into bed, Camille took up Lady Sorciere’s stave and by candlelight counted the days:

Two hundred eighty-seven blossoms remain; seventy-nine dints where blossoms once were. A fortnight lost to illness. Oh, Alain, will I find you ere all the blossoms are gone?

In the silvery light of the onset of dawn, Camille and Lisane hugged and kissed one another, tears standing in the eyes of each. Then Camille mounted up, Thale whinnying and tossing his head as if anxious to be away. Lisanne stepped forward and handed up Camille’s goods, and then she lifted up chirping Scruff, who, until he was safely perched in his customary spot on Camille’s shoulder, seemed to think he was being left behind. And when all was settled in place, “Seek the Minstrel, Camille, whoever he or she might be,” said Lisane, and then she stepped back.

“I shall,” replied Camille, and with a final au revoir, she rode away on the back of a Unicorn, leaving the vast willow behind, it with its dwelling within.

Lisane watched until they were gone from sight, then she turned and went inside to once again lay out the cards to see if aught had changed. She found on the table awaiting her What’s this? Gifts from Camille? Fourteen silver pennies: one for each day of her stay. But what need have I for coin?… Ah, but this white-pearl ring, a symbol of purity…

Lisane took up the ring and slipped it onto a finger, where it softly shone in the oncoming light of the newly arriving morn.

Two days later in the waning afternoon, Thale halted just within the edge of the forest. Down a long slope beyond, and across a narrow bridge above a swift river, stood a modest town of five hundred dwellings or so.

Quietly, Thale whickered and Camille dismounted. She embraced the Unicorn about the neck and said, “Merci, mon ami, not only for bearing Scruff and me here, but also for showing me that I am not sullied for having loved and been loved.”

Camille stroked Thale’s muzzle one last time, and he blew softly into her hand, then he looked up at Scruff and snorted.

“ Chp! ” protested the sparrow, but Camille laughed.

Tossing his head, again Thale whickered, his pearlescent, spiral-wound horn agleam in the slanting rays of the sun.

Camille sighed and turned and started down the long slope. When she looked back the Unicorn was gone, and on down toward the town she went to whatever lay within.