Once Upon a Summer Day (44 page)

“But you got in,” said Chelle, tugging against his grip.

“Oui, yet the sword I used was special, and it is gone, destroyed in turn by the very same vines it destroyed. And the path it made through that tangle is now grown shut.”

Chelle stopped resisting and cried, “Oh, Borel, we must get through and break the spell.”

“Oui. But the spinning wheel yet turns the spindle, and we need find a way to counteract its magie.”

“Spinning wheel?” said Flic.

“Do you remember the squeaking and the music?” asked Borel.

“Oui,” replied the Sprite.

Borel said, “There is a magique spinning wheel turning an enchanted spindle, and the spindle casts the spell. That is what we must overcome.”

“How did you do so?” asked Flic.

“Buzzer kept me from falling asleep—”

“Buzzer?” said Flic.

“Oui. She stung me repeatedly, and the pain barely fended away the charm.”

“Aha!” said Flic. “Perhaps
that’s
what Lady Urd whispered to Buzzer—instructions to keep you awake, and Buzzer did so by the only means at her command.”

“That might be so, Flic, yet at the moment we are helpless. We have no way to get in, and even had we the means to break through the thorn barrier, we would need a way to counteract the wheel.”

“Perhaps we can simply put wax in our ears,” said Flic. “That way we won’t hear the—”

A prolonged, shrill, enraged scream shattered the air, yet whence it came, they could not say.

“Rhensibé,” gritted Borel, turning to Chelle. “She has discovered you are free.”

Chelle gasped and said, “We must flee before she can cast a snare.”

“My lord, look! Something dark and dreadful!” cried Flic, and he pointed at the moon.

Silhouetted against the silver orb, like hideous dark cloaks flapping in the wind, an eldritch black swarm came flying across the sky.

“Where can we run?” said Chelle, looking about even as she pulled a long ribbon from her hair and hiked up her dress and tied it ’round her waist.

“Back through the twilight border,” said Borel, stringing his bow.

“Then let us away,” said Chelle.

And so, out from the green vale they sped and into the Endless Sands, Chelle following Borel, for he knew the way, Flic flying above, Argent in hand.

And the footing was uncertain in the loose sand, yet still they made good headway toward the sheer cliffs.

Behind them, the flapping shadowy swarm reached the great entanglement of thorns and circled ’round and ’round the turret hidden within.

And still Borel and Chelle and Flic made for the high cliffs and the footpath up to the twilight wall above, for they would flee through the narrow portal in the bound.

Like great black leaves blowing in a desert wind, behind them the swarm of Shadows arrowed away from the hidden turret and raced toward those who thought to escape.

And even as Borel and Chelle and Flic came to the pathway up, the first of the Shadows overtook the fugitives. And like smothering black cloths they wrapped themselves about the heads of the runners, and Borel found he could not breathe, for the Shadow, the creature, cut off all air. And he began to suffocate.

Yet of a sudden and with a thin wail the Shadow vanished, and Flic flourished Argent and skewered another Shadow, and it vanished as well. Still another of the black creatures enwrapped itself about the Sprite, only to disappear into oblivion like its dark brethren, for ’twas silver did them in.

“Yahh!” cried Flic, and he pierced a Shadow wrapping itself about Chelle, and it perished whining.

“Run!” shouted Flic. “I will hold them off.”

Up the pathway ran Borel, Chelle in tow, while all about them darted Flic, Argent stabbing and stabbing.

As they reached the top of the outjut, Borel looked back to see a vast horde of Shadows streaming from the desert and toward the cliffs, and he groaned, for there were entirely too many for Flic alone to fend away. Borel slung his bow and said to Chelle, “Come, and follow me exactly. Listen to what I say, else we’ll both plunge to our doom over the cliff or into molten stone.”

Chelle nodded, and Borel took her hand and said, “We must sidle along the very rim of the fall.”

“Let us away, my lord,” said Chelle grimly.

And so they began to edge along the brim of disaster, while Flic darted and stabbed, yet the Shadows came on.

Hand in hand, into the darkness of the border went Borel and Chelle, feeling carefully of the rim ere taking a step.

And the Shadows began to sacrifice themselves against Flic, each one wrapping about and carrying him a bit farther away ere the silver of Argent did it in.

Darker and darker became the dusky wall as Borel and Chelle sidled inward, for this place was ensorcelled to be deeply obscure instead of the usual dim twilight, and even as they reached the depths of the blackness, a Shadow enwrapped itself about Borel’s head.

He could not breathe, and yet he went onward, and at last his foot encountered what he had been searching for. Down he stooped, and he managed to take up the rope yet tied to the black oak beyond the wall, and he pulled Chelle after as he followed the line outward.

The moment he stepped beyond the border, with a feeble, high-pitched shriek the Shadow vanished, for Flic had broken free of the swarm. Once more Flic stabbed, and he slew the dark creature who had enwrapped Chelle. And both she and Borel stood gasping the sweet, sweet air.

But once more the Shadows began flooding Flic, and even as he was carried away a bit at a time, and with Shadows flying about, Borel heard a horn, and in the near distance he saw a cavalcade of horses charging through the moonlit dusk.

And with horns blowing, the riders came, horses in tow, baying dogs running alongside.

A Shadow blotted out Borel’s view, and once more he could not breathe. But of a sudden the black creature released him, and Shadows flew amok.

Borel heard Flic cry out in agony, and the Sprite flew away into the woods.

And then the horses thundered ’round, men with swords waving.

Again and again the Shadows tried to fly in to suffocate Chelle and Borel as well as the men on horseback and even the excited and barking dogs, but always the wraith-like creatures veered away, unable to come nigh.

And then Borel saw why: it was King Arle and the Riders Who Cannot Dismount. And they bore iron, and that was why the Shadows could not close, and why Flic flew away . . . though with his silver épée the Sprite was in no danger from the black, flapping creatures.

And dogs barked and leapt snapping at Shadows as the men on horseback milled ’round and held the black creatures at bay. Surrounded by iron, Chelle and Borel held each other and watched as the dark wraiths were repelled.

Even so, the Shadows continued to try, but their attempts were in vain.

And as if from another world altogether, there came an enraged and distant scream much like the one before, and the Shadows flew back to vanish through the slot and into the Endless Sands.

Borel turned to thank Arle, and in that same moment—“No!” cried Borel—the king swung his leg over his saddlebow and leapt from his steed and strode forward and embraced the prince.

“W
hy didn’t you tell me that you wanted to find the Endless Sands?” asked Arle upon hearing Borel’s tale. “My men and I have ridden over much of Faery in the untold time since cursed. I could have saved you days.”

“Oh,” groaned Borel, smacking himself on the forehead. “
That’s
what Lady Lot meant when she said I had missed an opportunity. Ah, me, I was so intent on finding the King Under the Hill that it simply didn’t occur to me to ask.”

Chelle merely smiled, but Flic said, “Had I been at your side, my lord, it would never have occurred to me either, but that is neither here nor there, for iron had driven me off.”

They were sitting in a small grove a goodly distance away from the other eight riders, for Flic could only bear to be at hand if no iron were nearby. And so, Arle had shed his armor and weaponry—all but his bow and arrows—and he and Borel and Chelle had walked away from the main campsite to set up a small fire within a horn call should the need arise for the others to come or for Arle to return to his men. And then Flic had flown in, and they had patched up Borel’s many scrapes and wounds from his fight with the thorns. And now they sat and supped and drank and, as requested, Borel told his story to Arle, Chelle hearing it for the first time as well.

Arle looked at Buzzer asleep in the night. “And this was your guide?”

Borel and Flic both nodded, and Arle said,
“Incroyable!”

As Arle replenished their cups of wine, including a droplet in a tiny upturned leaf for Flic, “And you, Lord Arle,” said Borel, “what is your tale?”

“Ah, my friend, we broke the curse, just as you said we would. The Fairy King’s little dog leapt down of its own volition the moment we came upon a bitch in heat.”

“There is more of a tale here for the telling,” said Chelle.

Arle laughed. “Indeed, there is, Lady Michelle. Would you like to hear it?”

Chelle nodded, and Arle said, “You see, I am from the mortal world, and one day twelve of my chevaliers and I went ahunting. We jumped up a White Hart, and into Faery it fled, and we . . .”

 

“. . . And so, following Prince Borel’s advice, we rode into town, and stopped in the square and, frightened by our ghastly appearance, the citizens rushed to comply when we asked that they bring all the bitches in town who were in heat.” Arle broke out laughing. “One of the men brought us his wife.

“Regardless, three female dogs were fetched, and nearly as soon as they came into scent range of the Fairy King’s little dog, he leapt down and almost immediately—begging your pardon, Lady Chelle—almost immediately began copulating.

“We sat there and watched a moment, and then Roubaix leapt down from his horse, and lo! neither he nor his mount fell into dust, and we knew the curse was laid to rest.

“Ah, me, but it was good to get off my steed and take a bath and eat my first meal in—I don’t know—in summers beyond count.”

“My lord,” said Flic, “you mean you didn’t eat or drink or, or, um, relieve yourselves all the time you were cursed?”

“Non, for it was part of the curse that we and our mounts had no needs whatsoever while the dog was with us,” said Arle.

“Well, that answers that,” said Flic, looking at Borel, the prince grinning at the Sprite.

“Flic, Flic,” said Arle, “that is what is so
diabolique
about the spell. You see, with no need to procure food or water or ought else, we would ride forever unless we deliberately chose to dismount. And of course, should we do that, a thousand years would catch up with us all at once.”

“Oh, how dreadful,” said Chelle.

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Chelle said, “But that is not all the story, surely. I mean, you now have horses with you and dogs and goods. How came you to acquire those?”

“Ah, that. There is a citadel above the town of Níone, a goodly sized
ville
just a half day’s ride from here. Three years past, the former chevaliers of that stronghold rode off on a campaign against nearby Trolls and haven’t been seen since. A representative of that town happened to be where we found the bitch—the dog, not the wife—and he asked us to come and be their protectors, for we have weapons of steel, and that’s most certainly good enough to lay the Trolls by the heels. He gave us funds, and we bought what we would need to get us there: packhorses, supplies, other goods.”

“What of the dogs?” asked Chelle.

Arle laughed. “I told the merchant I would use them to track, but the truth is I love to hunt, though I’ll not pursue White Harts ever again.”

“I should think not,” said Chelle, laughing.

“Ah, so it is to Níone you go?” asked Borel.

“Oui.” Arle looked at Borel. “You and your party are welcome to join us, my prince.”

Of a sudden Chelle looked at Borel. “Are weapons of iron—of steel—such that they can break through the tangle of thorn? If so, we can rescue those within.”

Borel said, “There is still Rhensibé to deal with, and the wheel yet turns the ensorcelling spindle.”

“I said this before and I’ll say it again: can we not simply put wax in our ears?” asked Flic. “That would shut out the sound.”

Borel said, “I tried stopping my ears, Flic, but Rhensibé’s spell overcame that. After all, it is magie at work here, and I think we will need a magicien in our company to cope with the arcane.”

Chelle’s face fell, and she glumly nodded in agreement. Then she said, “But we must find one as soon as we can, Borel.”

Borel nodded and took her hand and sealed the agreement with a kiss on her fingers, and then he turned to Arle. “My lord, when we find someone powerful enough to go against Rhensibé, will you aid us?”