Once Upon an Autumn Eve (30 page)

After a moment, Liaze fetched the food bag and settled to the blanket and took out jerky and biscuits and laid them out for a meal. Then she looked at her companions and said, “We must unravel the full meaning of Lady Verdandi’s rede.”

Gwyd nodded and his face drained of blood. “Aye, Princess, we must, and I ken part o’ it, and a perilous thin’ it be. But the most terrible thin’ is, I dinna believe there be enough time t’do what must be done.”

32

L
iaze looked at the Brownie. “What do you mean, Gwyd, that there isn’t enough time?”

“J’st this, Princess: the rede says a golden draught will surely save, and t’me that means some o’ the life-givin brandy made fra the golden apples, and—”

“Golden apples?” said Twk. “Do you mean Mithras’ apples?”

“Aye, Twk: Mithras’ apples. Anyway, Princess, the garden where they grow is far fra here, and, as I hae told ye before, it be warded by an unsleepin serpent . . . and that be why I say it be perilous, f’r the snake only sleeps f’r a moment on the night o’ the ’until it be too late. J’st how we might get one o’ the apples when he be awake, well, that I nae hae any idea.”

“Just how big is this serpent?” asked Twk.

“Och, mayhap fifteen, twenty o’ ma paces,” said Gwyd.

“Mithras!” exclaimed Liaze. “That makes him, what, some twenty-five, thirty feet long?”

“I told ye it were perilous,” said Gwyd. “He be a great beastie.”

“Why does he stay in the garden?” asked Twk. “I mean, that big, why not slither over the wall and away?”

“I nae ken,” said Gwyd. “Mayhap he be cursed t’guard the tree and its fruit.”

“What does he live on?” asked Twk.

“That, too, laddie, be a mystery. Mayhap the apples themselves. Mayhap those what come t’steal them.”

“You mean he might eat us?” asked Twk, shivering.

“Mayhap,” said Gwyd, looking at the princess.

“How far is it from here?—The garden, I mean,” asked Liaze.

Gwyd paused and, frowning in concentration, he counted on his fingers. “Weel, fra the inn, when I hae gone before, it hae been a moon and a fortnight t’there. But, if I didna dawdle, I reck I could get t’the garden in but a single moon.”

Liaze’s face fell in despair. “A moon? Just to get there? And another one to return? That’s two moons in all, and there are only eighteen nights till the coming dark of the moon falls due.”

“I canna help it, Princess, that be the truth o’ it.” Gwyd glanced at the horses. “O’ course, Princess, I was afoot, and not ridin any beastie.”

Liaze shook her head. “Oh, surely, given the vagaries of the borders of Faery, there must be a swifter way.”

“Lass, lass,” said Gwyd, “ye might be right, yet I hae looked f’r a shorter way and ne’er found one.”

“Princess,” said Twk, “would Lady Lot have said we need the golden draught if there were no hope?”

“No, she wouldn’t, Twk. No she wouldn’t. Hence, there must be hope.” Liaze leapt to her feet. “Hurry and break camp; there’s not a moment to waste.”

As Liaze began lading the packhorses, Gwyd quickly rolled blankets and quenched the small fire, while Twk hefted jerky and biscuits and trotted them back into the food bag. Jester merely continued to scratch at the ground and peck at unseen things.

Ere the sun had travelled a quarter candlemark across the sky, they were en route: Liaze riding Nightshade, Gwyd in tow on Pied Agile, for although the Brownie could ride, he would rather simply be hauled behind. Twk and Jester rode atop the packs of the lead gelding, both seeming perfectly happy to perch on the cargo once more, as they had when Gwyd had brought the Pixie and the rooster from their secluded hollow to the inn.

“Which way now, Gwyd?” asked Liaze as they emerged from the thicket and into the overgrown field.

“Toward the sunup bound,” said Gwyd.

Liaze turned leftward and kicked Nightshade into a trot.

“How far the border?” asked Liaze.

“On foot, four days, if I hied,” said Gwyd, “but ahorse, I canna say.”

 

Throughout the day, to preserve the endurance of the animals, Liaze varied the gait of the horses, going from a trot to a canter to a walk to a gallop. Occasionally, Liaze walked alongside the horses, as did Gwyd, and Twk would ride Jester. At these times they discussed the rede, trying to puzzle out its meaning.

“What I don’t understand,” said Twk, during one of these walks, “is she told me that I could accompany you, Princess, for I would be needed at a critical time. However, she also said ‘Take only one else one will die,’ yet here you have both Gwyd and me. That’s taking two of us, not one.”

Liaze nodded and said, “Oui, but she also told me that I would have to cast a needed spell, yet I am no witch, mage, wizard, no spellcaster whatsoever.”

Twk nodded and said, “And how are we going to make a golden draught? That takes special gear. I mean, the juice will have to ferment, and that needs time, and then we have to heat it to drive off the vapors, and then condense and collect those vapors, and—”

“Och, Twk,” said Gwyd. “Indeed, all that need be done, yet list, thanks to the lass here, we hae the gear wi’ us t’do so.”

Liaze frowned. “Gwyd, how many apples does it take to—Oh, wait, I recall you saying that each time you went to the garden, you had but moments to get just one and then flee. Is a single apple sufficient to make a golden draught?”

“That be the wonder o’ Mithras’ fruit,” said Gwyd. “Though an ordinary apple by itself would only make a wee dram o’ brandy, one o’ the golden ones seems to entirely turn into brandy in the end—juice, peel, pulp, and all. Only the stem and pips and the very tip end at the bottom o’ the apple remain unaffected.”

“Pips?” asked Twk. “Why, if you have seeds, Gwyd, can’t you simply plant them and raise your own crop of Mithras’ fruit?”

“Ah, laddie, believe me, I hae tried that, but they dinna grow anywhere but in the soil o’ the garden where we go.”

Liaze shook her head and said, “Be that as it may, we at least understand the first four lines of Lady Lot’s rede.”

“We do?” asked Twk.

“Yes,” said Liaze. And she chanted:

“The ‘bed ’neath ebon sky’ of Verdandi’s rede is on the black mountain spoken of in her sister’s rede.”

“Her sister Skuld, you mean?” asked Twk.

“Oui, in Skuld’s rede,” said Liaze, “and I know where that cold mountain lies.”

“Aye, lass, go on,” said Gwyd.

“Then there is this,” said Liaze. “When Verdandi said, ‘One plans for one to slowly die,’ I believe she means that the witch who stole Luc away is the one who plans for him to die. Hark back to Skuld’s rede, where she said that one would die in the dark of the moon two moons from now, and that surely is the slow death of Verdandi’s rede.”

“Aye,” said Gwyd, “I see where ye are takin this, lass, f’r the third and fourth lines o’ her rede tell us we must be brave t’get the apple t’make the life-givin’ elixir.”

Liaze nodded. “That’s what I think as well, for she did say ‘if ye three are truly brave / A golden draught will surely save.’ ”

“Aye, and—whoosh now—we’ll hae t’be truly brave t’face the unsleepin serpent.”

Twk shrugged and said, “I do not question the bravery of the princess, for did she not face Lord Fear himself and triumph? As for you and me, Gwyd, perhaps we’ll manage in spite of the serpent. Regardless, even though it seems we have ciphered the meaning of the first four lines of Verdandi’s rede, what of the last six lines?”

They strode in silence a few more steps, but then Liaze said, “We’ve walked far enough; ’tis time to ride. Think on the rede as we press onward, and pray to Mithras that we resolve the quandary ere we reach the garden of the serpent. We cannot afford to yet be puzzling when we get there, for the dark of the moon comes toward us at a steady pace, and time dwindles even as we talk. Let us ride.”

Liaze quickly shifted the tethers about so that Pied Agile would take the lead. She lifted Twk and Jester back onto one of the geldings and boosted Gwyd into Nightshade’s saddle, and then mounted Pied Agile and led the train onward at a trot.

 

Walking, trotting, cantering, galloping, stopping at streams to take water, pausing to feed the horses and Jester grain and to take a meal themselves, onward they fared throughout the remainder of that day, passing through hamlets and across farmland and through forests.

They pressed on well into the evening, using the bright gibbous moon to light the way, ere at last making camp.

 

The next day, as the sun passed the zenith, they came unto the twilight wall, and Liaze said, “Gwyd, it has taken us one day, from noon to noon, to reach the place it would take you four days in all at a swift pace afoot. Hence, if the remainder of the trip continues in this fashion, what would take you a moon to reach the garden, we should be able to accomplish in a sevenday, but only if the horses hold out. Oh, Gwyd, it is but a desperate hope that we can reach the garden and get an apple and then return and push on to the black mountain ere the coming dark of the moon.”

“Aye,” replied Gwyd, “desperate indeed.”

And on they rode to enter a realm of high moors, and Gwyd had them angle a bit leftward, though they kept riding in the general direction of the sunup bound.

 

Under Gwyd’s guidance, the following day they crossed the next twilight border to come into rolling prairie. In the distance a great blot of darkness covered the land, and it slowly moved across the hill-sides.

“What might that be, Gwyd?” asked Liaze, shading her eyes and peering intently, puzzlement in her gaze.

“That be a great herd o’ shaggy beasties,” said the Brownie. “There be nae reason to worry, lass, f’r they be gentle, though I dona think we should pass among them, f’r they hae young’ns and might get riled.”

Swinging wide, they passed around the herd whose numbers seemed countless, and on they pressed. Within that day, they came to the following border and entered hill country, where rain swept across the land in blowing sheets. Gwyd and Liaze pulled cloaks tightly ’round and cast their hoods over their heads, and Liaze spread a weatherproof cloth o’er Twk and Jester; in the dimness under, the rooster went to sleep.

That eve they stopped when daylight was gone, for, under the dark overcast, the moon shone not.

 

Two days later, in unremitting rain, they came unto the third border and crossed over into a mountainous region of high peaks and low valleys.

“Princess,” said Twk, “because of the rain, we’ve lost some time. Can we make it up?”

“Twk, we are among mountains,” said Liaze, “but if the terrain is gentle in the valleys, perhaps we can do so.”

“The terrain nae be gentle,” said Gwyd, “f’r in a day or two we need climb to one o’ the cols above.”

Liaze groaned in despair, but on they pushed.

 

Another two days passed, and walking the horses to give them relief, they climbed the col and reached a high plateau; and in midafternoon they came to a sheer precipice. Mayhap a thousand feet below, a wide vale stretched out, and a river snaked its way toward a looming wall of twilight in the near distance.

“Beyond that bound lies the garden,” said Gwyd. Then he pointed sinistral. “The way down the face o’ the cliff be yon.”

Leftward they turned to come to the path downward. “Oh, no,” said Liaze, her face falling. “It is too narrow for the horses. Is there no other way?”

Gwyd slapped himself in the forehead. “Och, Princess, it ne’er occurred t’me that the size o’ the beasties would make a difference. I hae always come afoot.”

“How far the garden?” asked Twk. “If it’s close enough, perhaps we can leave the steeds here.”

“Four days f’r me afoot,” said Gwyd. “A day or so ahorse.”

Liaze looked at the three-foot-tall Brownie and the tiny Pixie and his rooster. She shook her head, saying, “Even running, we can’t go afoot, else we’ll not make it to the garden and back in time; we must find another way.”

“I ne’er looked f’r one,” said Gwyd, “but ye be right, lass. Untether me, and I’ll take the dextral.”

“I’ll go sinistral,” said Liaze, dismounting and loosing the lines. “Twk, you and the geldings will come with me.”

As the princess retied the packhorses to the stallion, she said, “Remember, Gwyd, it need be wide enough all the way down for Nightshade.”

“What about the packhorses?” asked Gwyd. “They be wider wi’ their gear.”

“If necessary, we can leave the geldings and goods here,” said Liaze.

“Och, aye,” said Gwyd, and he turned Pied Agile and trotted away along the plateau to the right.

Liaze called out after him, “I’ll sound the horn should I find a way.”

Without turning, Gwyd waved, showing that he had heard her.

Liaze mounted the black, and she and Twk and the geldings went leftward.

Along the precipice they rode, seeking another way to the valley below, and at two places they stopped and looked at promising paths, but one became entirely too narrow within a short span, and the other one did not go all the way down.

The third path seemed wide enough, but it twisted away under an overhang, and Liaze could not see where it went.

“I’ll go,” said Twk, and he leapt into Jester’s saddle and goaded the bird into fluttering to the ground. Down the path the rooster darted and soon the two were out of sight.

Liaze sat upon Nightshade and gazed out across the vista and to the twilight border, so close and yet so far. And as she peered toward the shadowlight, of a sudden she knew the answers to Verdandi’s rede.

33

W
ith her heart racing in excitement, for she had solutions to Verdandi’s rede, Liaze looked back along the precipice for Gwyd. But ere she could spot him, she heard the far-off crowing of a rooster. Frowning, Liaze dismounted, and she stepped to the brim of the cliff and peered downward. Again and again the rooster crowed, and at last the princess spotted a reddish dot in the valley at the foot of the sheer drop.
Is that Jester? Surely it must be. If so, then why would—? Ah, Twk must think the path is passable by horse.
Liaze turned and lifted the silver clarion and blew a call to Gwyd; it was the Autumnwood signal to return, and though he might not know its precise meaning, still it should bring him to her.