Authors: Dennis L. Mckiernan

Once Upon an Autumn Eve (33 page)

BOOK: Once Upon an Autumn Eve

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“Now, Princess, f’r you.” The Brownie replenished the water and dropped another powder within, and bade Liaze to soak her fingers. After a while, he bandaged each one, and when that was done he said, “Now, let us hae a fire, f’r I dona want t’make a mistake.”

With Liaze collecting brushwood, and Twk fetching dry grass, soon, in spite of her bandages, the princess had a campfire ablaze.

“Now, lass, the decanters and bridge.”

Liaze fetched the carven crystals and handed them to Gwyd, and in the moonlight and by firelight, the Brownie examined the runes and selected a decanter and handed it to her. “This be the one.”

Liaze peered at the deep-set runes and nodded in agreement, and showed the carvings to Twk as well.

“And you say this powers the magic?” asked the Pixie.

“That’s what I am told,” said Liaze.

Gwyd rummaged through his pockets and withdrew the golden apple and handed it to Liaze. “Carve this up and drop it into the crystal, if ye please.”

“All of it? Stem, pips, and bottom tip, too?”

“Aye, lass. Cut the whole o’ it into chunks; the size doesna matter, j’st as long as ye can slip them into the neck.”

Liaze withdrew her long-knife and, somewhat clumsily, carved the apple into pieces and dropped each one in. When the full of the apple was inside, Gwyd examined the runes on the bridge, and pointed at one end and said, “This be the cap f’r that decanter.”

Once again, Liaze examined the runes and nodded in agreement, and she showed them to Twk.

“Hmm . . .” mused the Pixie. “Just how oddly shaped signs carved into crystal can do miraculous things, I’ll never understand.”

“Nor will I,” said Liaze, as she capped the decanter with the rune-matched end of the bridge.

They sat and peered at the pieces of apple within, but nothing seemed to be happening. Liaze smiled. “A watched pot doesn’t boil.”

“Weel,” said Gwyd, “I wouldna say that, m’lady. But as to this decanter turning the apple t’cider, recall it takes a day all t’gether, a full twenty-four candlemarks.”

Even with this admonition, they continued to stare at the contents. Finally Gwyd said, “How did I manage t’escape? What happened that the snake missed me?”

“The princess saved you,” said Twk.

Gwyd looked at Liaze. “Did ye, now? Wi’ one o’ y’r arrows?”

Liaze shook her head. “No, Gwyd. You see, I remembered that serpents sense the body heat of their victims, and I flung a torch between you and him just as he was to strike, and the snake went after the burning brand. It seems it was barely enough of a delay to give you time to get over the wall.”

“Mithras, but it was a close thing,” said the Pixie. “I thought you a deader for sure.”

“So did I, Twk,” said the Brownie. “So did I.”

Liaze glanced at the waning gibbous moon nearing the zenith and stood and stepped to the horses. “Let us set camp and get some rest, for dawn will soon come.”

Jester’s crowing announced the arrival of the sun, and Liaze groaned awake.
Too little rest and much to do, and but ten more nights till the dark of the moon. Oh, Mithras, but we have a long way to go and not enough time to get there.

She sat up and looked at the capped decanter, now some quarter full with a yellowish slush.

To one side, Gwyd roused, and he, too, glanced at the decanter. “It be workin, Princess,” he muttered.

From his perch on a bush, again Jester crowed; the chicken sat alongside Twk, the Pixie in a nestlike bower in the bush. Yawning and stretching, Twk said, “Come on, red rooster, let’s get you fed and saddled.”

“Good advice,” said Liaze, and she got to her feet and, after taking care of her immediate needs, she laded the geldings and saddled the stallion and the mare.

She fed them some grain, and fed Jester too, and then broke her own fast along with Gwyd and Twk.

“Princess, it be seven days back t’the inn, and another seven t’the black mountain by y’r reckonin,” said Gwyd. “That be fourteen days in all, and there be but ten left till the moon be dark. How can we possibly get there in time?”

“We’ll just have to press hard,” said Liaze, “and pray to Mithras the horses can hold up. We have this going for us, though: the farther we travel, the lighter the lade of the geldings.”

“Och, aye,” said Gwyd. “The grain be the heaviest o’ their burden, and the horses . . . they be eatin it up on the way.”

“They need it,” said Liaze, “for we drive them to their limits.”

“Perhaps,” said Twk, “in some of the towns we go through, we can get fresh mounts.”

Liaze shook her head. “I think we cannot afford the time it would take to bargain for such. Besides, I know these horses, for five of them are from my own estates, and I would never yield up Nightshade. Non, these are all worthy steeds, capable of long travel. I would rather have them than some unknown animal.”

“Still,” said Gwyd, “we took plenty o’ coinage fra the Trolls, and so, should it come t’it, there be nae need t’bargain; we’ll j’st board our own and take fresh mounts and pay whate’er be wanted.”

Liaze sighed and nodded.

By pressing the horses a bit harder, they arrived at the twilight border and crossed over into the wide river valley at sundown. They paused for rest by the flow and replenished their water and waited for the moon to rise to light the way up the path along the sheer cliff.

Liaze and Gwyd walked the steeds along the narrow way and through the tunnel, and they camped that night on the plateau above.

That night as well, they unpacked the decanter, and they found the apple had completely turned to cider, all but the pips and stem and floretlike very bottom of the fruit, now stirring in the yellow liquid. Gwyd then spanned the bridge to the other decanter, and they bedded down for the night.

The next morning, at Jester’s alert, they wakened to find the distilled golden elixir in the brandy side, with the pips and stem and floret lying on the bottom of the cider side. Gwyd pulled the bridge and capped the decanters and wrapped all in cloth.

This morning as well, Liaze’s fingers were healed and she left off her bandages.

The next two days they spent wending through the mountains, and in early afternoon of the third day they crossed into hill country, and rain fell from the sky.

“Mithras, it rained all throughout the time when we crossed this realm before,” said Twk. “Is it going to do so again?”

“It hae been this way ev’ry time I hae come through,” said Gwyd.

Liaze groaned and pulled her cloak tight around and cast her hood over her head, and, as she had done before, she covered the Pixie and chicken with the weatherproof cloth.

On they pressed, and even though they had no light in the overcast nights, still they rode onward, going slowly much of the eve, but eventually stopping to set a sodden camp.

Two nights they spent in that drenched land, splashing across streams, fording rivers, riding through dripping woodlands, but in the late morning of the third day, again they crossed a twilight marge to come into sunlight gracing wide, rolling plains.

On they pressed, and they reveled in the warmth of the day, and in the distance they saw one of the great herds of the shaggy beasts, but this day they did not have to pass around the animals, for the dark grazers were well off their path.

Cantering, galloping, trotting, they came to the next twilight border late in the night and crossed into high moorland.

The next day at noon they passed at last into the realm where lay the inn Gwyd had once served, and they stopped in a town and had a warm meal, the first one in a fortnight.

But soon they pushed on, for they could not afford to tarry.

The next day, at noon, they reached the ramshackle inn.

“We cannot rest,” said Liaze, she and her companions weary beyond compare, “for the black mountain is far, and in four nights comes the dark of the moon.”

And so on they pressed, anxiety gnawing at Liaze.

Following the track of the landmarks she had committed to memory, toward that distant dark peak she aimed, while the sun sank through the sky, night to fall at last.

There was no moon and wouldn’t be until the wee hours, but, guided by the stars, still Liaze drove onward, the animals feeling the strain.

The next day at the remembered lake they crossed a border to come in among a jumble of boulders.

“Are we on track?” called Twk.

“Oui,” said Liaze, and grimly they pushed on.

Two days after, late in the eve and some four leagues beyond a modest town, they came unto the shadowlight border across which lay the bleak plain wherein the black mountain stood, that dark pinnacle more than a full day’s ride. It was at this border that one of the geldings, though now lightly loaded, went lame.

“Oh, no,” said Twk, as the packhorse stumbled to a halt beneath him and his rooster.

After a swift inspection, “I hae some lameweed wi’ me,” said Gwyd, fumbling at a pocket in his belt, “but it will take three days f’r the animal t’be sound ag’in.”

“We cannot spare the time to take him back to the town,” said Liaze. She peered about. “There is grazing here and water nearby.” She sighed and said, “Treat him; I will set him free.”

As Gwyd stirred a powder into a cup, and then poured the solution into a feedbag with a small bit of oats, Liaze transferred Twk and Jester to another pack animal, and then unladed the lame horse and examined the goods, and set most of it beneath a nearby tree, and placed the rest upon the sound geldings.

Gwyd, who had not been watching, said, “Ye kept the hammer and nails and shoes, eh, Princess? We might need them should a beastie throw one.”

“Yes, Gwyd.”

“Good,” said the Brownie, and, while Liaze rearranged the tethers, he fastened the feedbag over the nose of the animal. “He’ll be done in a nonce, then we can push on.”

Moments later, Gwyd removed the bag from the lame horse, and set it with the abandoned cargo.

Liaze boosted the Brownie into the saddle of Pied Agile, and she mounted Nightshade, and through the border she rode, the mare and three geldings in tow.

Into this cold, bleak, dark land they moved at a swift trot, for the mountain lay nearly two days distant, yet this was the last night before the night of the dark of the moon.

Darkness fell, and, once again setting her course by the stars, on Liaze rode through the chill. Just after mid of night they stopped for a rest, for the horses were weary, as were the riders thereon. Liaze rubbed the animals down, for she would not have their lathered sweat turn to ice against their hides.

Yet some two hours later, they pushed on through the dark, starlight alone illumining the way. And Liaze prayed that none of the horses would go lame or throw a shoe or step into a hole and break a leg or founder.

Daylight saw them still moving forward, though now at a walk, Liaze and Gwyd pacing alongside Pied Agile, the mare now in the lead, Twk on Jester trotting at hand.

“This is the final day, Gwyd,” said Liaze. “Tonight is the dark of the moon.”

“Till what candlemark do we have, my lady?” asked Twk.

“I do not know, but mid of night it reaches full depth.”

“Aye,” said Gwyd.

“How much farther?” asked Twk.

Liaze shook her head. “I am not certain. Riding high in the sky with Lord Fear as I was, I found it rather difficult to judge ground distances from the back of a spectral steed.”

“Would that we had one o’ those spectral steeds now,” said Gwyd.

Liaze nodded. “It would have made short work of our journey.”

“If we had Asphodel, the Fairy King’s horse, that, too, would make the journey short,” said Twk.

“My brother Borel rode that steed,” said Liaze.

“He did?” asked Twk.

“Oui. He won the ride when he defeated the Fairy King in a game of échecs.”

“Oh, my,” said Twk. “Then your brother must be a wonderful player indeed, for I hear the Fairy King cannot be bested in that game.”

“In this instance he was, and my brother managed to ride the steed and find his ladylove,” said Liaze.

“Weel,” said Gwyd, “let us hope that ye can find y’r own true love wi’out needin the Fairy steed.”

Grimly, Liaze nodded and said, “Time to ride.”

Soon they were agallop across the icy-cold plain, and as of yet the black mountain was not in sight.

It was in the noontide that Liaze espied the truncated tip of the dark peak, and on they rode, the mountain slowly coming up o’er the horizon ahead.

Even so, it seemed to Liaze that they would not reach the mountain in time, yet she could not press the flagging steeds any faster, and on they rode.

It was as the sun set and twilight came creeping o’er this bleak and forbidding realm that Liaze saw up ahead a small girl sitting on a rock and weeping.

She drew Nightshade to a halt beside the fille, and she and Gwyd leapt down, Twk on Jester following.

“Child, what are you doing out here all alone?” asked Liaze, kneeling and embracing the girl, who was no more than seven or eight summers old. The thin youngling shivered uncontrollably. “Oh, child, you are freezing,” said Liaze, and she whipped off her cloak and wrapped it about the little girl.

Snubbing and snukking, the girl looked through nearly black, tear-filled eyes at Liaze and said, “Thank you for the cloak, madame, but I am crying for I know not the answer to a riddle.”

“A riddle?” said Liaze.

The child pulled Liaze’s head close and murmured in her ear: “Feed me and I live; give me a drink and I die.”

“Are you hungry?” asked Liaze.

The girl looked at Gwyd and then at Twk on Jester, and she managed a smile. “Non, madame,” she whispered. “That is the riddle, you see.”

“Ah,” said Liaze. She frowned in thought for a moment, and then brightened and said, “The answer to that riddle is ‘Fire.’ ”

BOOK: Once Upon an Autumn Eve

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