Once Upon an Autumn Eve

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Finally the sentry passed once more, and the moment he rounded the turn, across the lawn they zigzagged, keeping to shade and bush, Liaze with an arrow nocked and a rucksack at her side, Gwyd with Liaze’s scabbard at his waist and her long-knife in hand, the blade a sword to one of his stature.

  They came to a slanted cellar door, and, as Liaze stood watch, Gwyd haled on the handle, but it didn’t budge. “Garn! It be barred fra inside.”

  Liaze glanced ’round and up. “We can climb to the balcony.”

  “Aye,” said Gwyd, and he sheathed the long-knife and up a trellis he scrambled.

  Liaze slipped her arrow back into the quiver, and slung her bow, and followed.

  Just as she swung her leg across the balustrade, “Oi!” came a call from below. It was the Redcap guard. And he stood gaping up at them.

  In the moonshadow, Liaze whipped her bow off her shoulder even as the sentry took a deep breath to shout.

  “Foe!” he yelled. SsssThock! The arrow took him in the throat, and he fell clutching his neck, a bubbling gargle now his cry. Momentarily his feet drummed the sod, and then he fell still.

  In the near distance sounded a door opening.

  “Come, quickly,” hissed Gwyd, and he stepped to the glass doors, but they were locked. Liaze jabbed a leather-clad elbow into a pane, and it shattered. Gwyd reached through and twisted the handle, and they slipped into the darkened room.

  By moonlight they crossed the chamber, and Gwyd stood with his ear to the door, listening.

  From outside the manor there came a deep call: ’twas the voice of a Troll.

  Footsteps went running past in the hall just beyond the door.

  Silence followed.

  Gwyd opened the panel a crack and peered outward. “Now!” he hissed, and he stepped into the corridor.

  Down the passageway he ran, Liaze following, and he darted into a chamber. Liaze came after, and Gwyd stood, his fists clenched in rage, peering at a large desk. “Those bloody fools!”

  In the moonlight on the desk Liaze saw a jumble of papers and a heap of coins—gold, silver, bronze—next to an empty crystal vessel lying on its side and another standing upright, with their stoppers and a crystal bar lying between. “What is it, Gwyd?”

  “Knobbleheads! They’ve drunk all the elixir.”

  Liaze groaned.

  “Stupidly thinkin, no doubt,” said Gwyd, “ ’twas nought but apple brandy.”

  “What can we do?”

  “The decanters are here and unharmed”—he took up the crystal bar and examined it—“as well as the bridge, and can we get some more o’ the golden apples, we’ll be all right.” Liaze drew squares of cloth from the rucksack at her side, and Gwyd capped and wrapped each decanter separately and then the bar and slipped them into the bag. Then he laded fistfuls of coins onto another square and tied it tightly so as not to jingle and slipped the improvised purse into the rucksack, saying, “We ne’er ken when treasure might be needed.”

  On the grounds outside there was a hue and cry and a thrashing about of bushes.

  “The red scarf,” said Liaze, and Gwyd stepped to a hidden door and within the chamber beyond, and a moment later he emerged with a scarlet length of winter neckwear. Into the rucksack it went.

  “Now f’r ma harp.”

  In the yard a Troll roared and Goblins squealed, as the search for intruders went on.

  Back into the corridor went Gwyd and Liaze, blade in hand and arrow nocked. Gwyd ran to a stairwell and listened, then darted downward, Liaze running quietly after.

  Down they went to the first floor and along a short hallway there. And then down more steps they ran, and they came into the cellars. Gwyd hissed, “Wait,” and after a moment and the sound of a striker, light seeped out through a crack of a hooded lantern. Broken wine bottles were strewn about the floor and sacks of supplies were torn open. Cursing at the mess, Gwyd quickly strode to a small door and opened it and stepped within, while Liaze again stood ward without. In moments Gwyd emerged with a small silver harp. It, too, went into the rucksack.

  “Now t’escape,” said Gwyd, and he led Liaze to another door.

  They entered a root cellar, with tubers and leeks and beets and other such hanging from ceiling beams, and jars of preserves on shelves within. A short set of steps led up to a slanted door barred on the inside by a heavy beam. Together they slid the timber out from the brackets and set it aside.

  “Wait,” said Liaze, unlooping the heavily laden rucksack from over her shoulder and setting it down. “We need to draw them away from the grounds. Give me the lantern, and I’ll take care of that.”

  “What be ye goin t’do, Princess?”

  “Start a fire on the first floor.”

  “In ma laird’s manor?”

  “Oui.”

  Gwyd groaned but handed Liaze the lantern.

  Away she ran on light feet, and up the stairs to the first floor. She stepped into a room—a dining hall—and went to a window facing the yard where the Redcap was slain. Flanking the window were ensconced lamps. Quickly she pulled one down and emptied its oil on the drapery. Then she took the other lantern and lit it and set the curtains aflame. Whoosh! Fire roared up the cloth, and Liaze hurled the second lantern crashing through the window and shouted, “Oi, uglies, I’m in here!”

  Yells came from outside the manor, and Liaze grabbed up the shuttered lantern and bolted from the chamber and down the corridor and into the cellars below.

  Swiftly she ran, and as she crossed the floor she heard footsteps pounding above. To the root cellar she fled, where Gwyd stood waiting.

  “Now,” said Liaze, closing down the lantern and shouldering the rucksack and then nocking an arrow, “ ’tis time to fly.”

  In the dark, Gwyd opened the slanted door, and up and out and into the moonlight he stepped, right into the grasp of a great Troll.

  “Rawww!” roared the twelve-foot-tall creature, snatching up the wee Brownie, the long-knife flying from Gwyd’s hand.

  But then the Troll gasped, and looked at his chest, where the arrow had pierced his heart.

  Thock! And another shaft sprang forth from his left eye.

  The Troll reeled and stumbled backward and thudded to the earth, the fiend dead even as it hit the ground, Gwyd yet clutched in its monstrous grip.

  Liaze stepped out from the cellar, another arrow nocked, but it was not needed.

  She helped pry the Troll’s fingers loose, and groaning in pain, Gwyd said, “I think some o’ ma ribs be broke.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Liaze, taking up the long-knife and sheathing it in the scabbard at Gwyd’s side, “we must flee before others come.”

  And so, across the lawn they ran, where Liaze helped Gwyd over the wall. Into the forest beyond they fled, Gwyd gasping in agony, while behind flames roared out from the dining chamber window, the bellow of the fire counterpoint to the shouts and squalls of Redcaps and Trolls as they battled the blaze inside.

  29

  Moor

  The sun had risen by the time they rode out from the woods, and Gwyd said, “Princess, head f’r the nearest burnie, I canna catch ma breath, and I need t’take a simple.”

  Liaze looked downslope to left and right and angled Nightshade a bit dextral, and they rode to a wee bourne running toward a farmstead below. She halted the horses and then helped Gwyd down from Pied Agile and said, “What can I do to aid?”

  “I be needin a cup, if ye dinna mind, Princess.”

  As Liaze fetched a cup from the goods, the Brownie stepped to the rill and, groaning, eased down. He took a pinch of powder from one of his belt pockets, and when Liaze knelt beside him and handed him the cup, he dipped up some spring water and dropped the powder within. After swirling it ’round a bit, he gulped it down.

  “We’ll need t’sit awhile, m’lady,” said Gwyd. “Soon I’ll be ready t’ride, and ma ribs, they’ll be mended in a day or two.”

  “A day or two? What did you drink, a magic potion?”

/>   “Weel, I would nae call it magic, but merely quick healin. Och, we Brunies seldom be injured in the daily course o’ livin, but I would nae call gettin squeezed by a Troll as bein in the daily course. Nae, Princess, ma herbs nae be magic, but the laird’s decanters do be.”

  “Ah, the decanters.” Liaze stood and stepped to the horses to retrieve the rucksack.

  “Och, m’lady, would y’fetch one o’ them bottles o’ wine while y’r at it? Ma ribs could use a bit o’ soothin.”

  Liaze laughed and grabbed one of the cloth-wrapped bottles from the cargo, along with a corkscrew from the cooking gear.

  She brought all back to Gwyd and sat down and popped the plug from the bottle and handed it to him. Gwyd offered her the first drink of the wine, but Liaze shook her head. Instead, she took the small harp from the bag and set it aside, and then one by one she took out the wrapped crystal goods and removed the cloth from each decanter and examined them: arcane runes were deeply carved into their sides.

  She unwrapped the crystal bar. It, too, had runes carved into its sides, and along one side at each end there seemed to be a stopper. “You called this a ‘bridge,’ Gwyd. What is it for? And these runes: what are they?”

  Gwyd took another long pull on the wine and wiped his mouth along his sleeve and said, “Wellanow, Princess—these runes?—they be what powers the magic. Them and the fact the decanters and bridge be carved fra the same single piece o’ pure crystal. Y’see, when I came t’ma laird’s place, he told me that the runes be used t’turn grape juice t’wine, and then the wine t’brandy. Here, let me show ye.” Gwyd took up one of the decanters, uncapped it, and poured a cupful of wine in it, and then picked up the crystal bridge. “Though it now be wine therein, usually y’put ord’nary juice in this one and stopper it wi’ the bridge, like so. Mind ye now, top j’st this vessel and nae the other. See this rune on the decanter—and this end o’ the bridge wi’ the matchin rune—that be the cap f’r this one.” Gwyd popped the stopper on the side of one end of the bar onto the decanter, the bar itself now jutting out thwartwise. “Then ye wait f’r the juice t’ferment, which it does o’ernight.—And don’t that be a wonder?” He paused in his explanation and took another slug of wine as Liaze examined the decanter and bar.

  “Then what?” asked Liaze.

  “Then, Princess, ye connect the other end o’ the bridge t’the other decanter—see these runes on the bar and the matchin ones on the vessel?—so that it spans fra this one t’that one.” Now the decanters stood side by side, with the crystal bridge spanning crosswise from the top of one to the top of the other. “This one, the first one, turns hot,” said Gwyd, “and that one, the other, turns cold. Here, feel them.”

  Liaze reached out and placed a hand on each, her eyes widening in wonder. “Why, yes. Warm and chill. How splendid.”

  Gwyd took another gulp of wine and said, “As the heated vapors be driven fra the hot t’the cold, they drip out as brandy. And that do be a wonder in itself.”

  Liaze watched as the first drop fell into the cold side. “How long does that take altogether?”

  “If the hot decanter be full when y’start, less than a candlemark, Princess. This one, wi’ nought but a cup or so in it, well, it should be done right soon.”

  Liaze nodded and then shook her head in bemusement. “How marvelous these are. In the Autumnwood, we make brandy using copper vats and a coil of copper tubing.”

  “Aye, and that’s the way I maself always did it, but when I heard my laird hae such wondrous thin’s, I knew I could take ma golden-apple juice and turn it t’cider and then connect the bridge and distill the elixir o’ life-givin all in a day or so. Och, wi’ them, I could be done so much faster than I otherwise could.”

  Liaze nodded and watched as brandy was distilled from wine. “Gwyd, what if we connected the bridge backwards? Would it make a death-dealing drink instead?”

  “I nae ken, m’lady, f’r I hae ne’er tried it such. F’r all I ken, it j’st might explode.”

  They watched while more brandy dripped into the cold side, and finally Liaze said, “This life-giving elixir, how far must we go to fetch some golden apples?”

  “Many a day, Princess. Many a day.” Gwyd gestured toward the horses and said, “Though on Pied Agile and Nightshade, it’ll be quicker than me afoot, as I hae always gone before. But, list: fetchin the apples be a dangerous thin’, f’r the garden and the apples themselves be well warded.”

  “Garden?”

  “Aye, a high-walled garden wi’ but a single e’erbearin tree.”

  “And this tree is well warded?”

  “Aye, by a giant unsleepin serpent.” Gwyd drank the last of the wine and Liaze got up and fetched another bottle.

  “If it’s warded by an unsleeping serpent, how did you get some of the apples in the first place?”

  As Liaze sat down and opened the second bottle, “Ah, Princess,” said Gwyd, “there be but one day a year when the serpent dozes f’r a moment—and a moment only—and that gi’es him all the rest he needs f’r another entire year. It be in that moment the tree itsel’ be unwarded, and that be when I dart in, fetch a single apple and dart away fra the garden. I hae done it thrice altogether, and in the third instance I was nearly the snake’s dinner. But I got o’er the wall j’st in time, and he missed his strike.” Again Gwyd offered the princess first drink, and again Liaze shook her head.

  “And when is this day he sleeps?”

  “It be in the night o’ the longest day o’ the year.”

  Liaze’s face fell. “Oh, Gwyd, the night of the longest day is three moons past and will not come again for nine or ten moons, and I now have but a moon and a sevenday ere a heart will cease to beat.” Liaze sighed. “Mayhap we’ll have to forgo the life-giving elixir.”

  They sat in glum silence for long moments, Liaze thinking, Gwyd sipping wine, while in the far distance downslope crofters worked in their fields.

  “Ah,” said Gwyd, “the brandy, it be done. Feel the decanters now, m’lady.”

  “Why, they’re cool, Gwyd.”

  “Aye. The process be finished.” He rinsed out the cup from which he had taken his powdered simple and handed it to her. “Here, Princess, gi’e it a taste.”

  Liaze removed the bridge and poured the distillate into the cup and took a sip. “Oh, my, it is quite good.”

  Gwyd rinsed out the decanters and the bridge, and set them in the sun to air-dry.

  Together, Gwyd and Liaze sat awhile on the bank of the rill, she sipping brandy, he drinking wine.

  Finally Liaze reached into the knapsack and pulled out the red scarf. “Why this, Gwyd? Why the red scarf?”

  “Princess, let me speak t’some Pixies first. If I be right, then it be part o’ the plan t’let ye ride wi’ the Wild Hunt and yet escape Lord Death in the end.”

  Liaze gritted her teeth and said, “Gwyd, there is no reason for you not to tell me of this plan of yours. If it happens to be based on mistaken assumptions, well—”

  “Ah, Princess, let me speak t’Pixies first, then I’ll tell all.”

  Vexed, Liaze peevishly rewrapped the crystal decanters and the crystal bridge, and put them back in the rucksack, and tossed the scarf in after. “I don’t know why I have to ride with the Wild Hunt in the first place, and your refusal merely adds to the frustration.”

  “Well, m’lady, I reck ye need t’ride wi’ the Hunt simply t’find y’r Luc.”

  Liaze frowned. “Why, I would think he’s at the Blue Château, or nearby. That’s what Léon believes as well. Besides, that’s the way the crows flew.”

  “Nae, Princess. ’Fit were that simple, why would Lady Skuld hae gi’en ye the rede in the first place?”

  Liaze threw up her hands. “Who knows the ways of the Fates, Gwyd? Not I, and certainly not you.”

  “Nae, I dinna ken the Fates, and about that ye of certain be correct, yet here be the way I think on it: Lady Skuld says right in the beginnin o’ her rede ‘In y’r long search f’r
y’r lost true love, ye must surely ride wi Fear.’ T’me a key part o’ the rede is ‘long search,’ which means y’r Luc will nae be easy t’find. Now this we do know: the Wild Hunt rides o’er many a realm, and if Luc be nae at the Blue Château or e’en nearby, then the only way ye might find him be if the Hunt passes o’er where he be ensconced, where he be imprisoned. If that be true, then the Wild Hunt be the only chance ye hae t’recover y’r Luc.”

  “Oh, Gwyd, think you that is true?”

  “I dinna ken, m’lady,” said the Brownie. “But Lady Skuld says it be a long search and that ye need ride wi’ Fear, and that be Lord Dread and the Wild Hunt t’my way o thinkin.”

  Glumly, Liaze sighed and nodded.

  “My ribs already be knittin,” said Gwyd, getting to his feet. “I ween it be time t’be on our way, f’r the moor be some days afar, and, as ye hae said, the moon waits f’r no one.”

  The princess reladed the goods and then helped the Brownie onto Pied Agile. “Which way, Gwyd?”

  “We’ll hae t’go t’ward the inn where I once served as Brunie, f’r that be the way t’the moor. Besides, that also be the way t’the Pixies I ken, Twk among them, though the heath comes first.”

  Liaze stepped to Nightshade, and of a sudden Gwyd groaned. Liaze turned. “Are you in pain?”

  “Och, nae, Princess, but I hae a revelation.”

  “A revelation?”

  “Aye. A problem hae reared its head: a flaw in ma plan. Y’see, since the moor comes ere the realm o’ the inn, and since in that realm be where the Pixies live, then if the Wild Hunt happens by ere I speak t’the Pixies, then you’ll be aridin’ ere we ken what I hae in mind will work or nae at all.”

  “Then, Gwyd, you had better tell me what my part in this plan is, for I will not forgo a chance to ride Nightshade with the Wild Hunt.”