“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 Naïf? 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 Sorcière’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.
24
Images
As Camille crossed the narrow footbridge over the river, sounding above the shush of swift-running water she heard a clarion call, and along the road just beyond the buildings lining the far bank came a great, enclosed red coach, eight horses hauling. A driver and another man, both in red coats, sat on a high seat at the fore, with luggage strapped atop the roof behind. Standing on a footboard arear, and hanging on to a rail, were two lads—footmen—also wearing red coats. Again came the clarion call, and ’twas the man beside the driver sounding the trump, announcing the arrival of the great red coach into town. Here and there, through gaps between buildings, Camille saw folks stepping out from their dwellings and businesses, all to watch as the coach rumbled in, with some of its passengers lowering sashes and leaning out to see to what place they had come.
“Oh, Scruff, travellers. Mayhap one will know of that we do seek, or even perhaps of the Elf Rondalo, the bard Lisane did name.” Camille hurried on across and along the pathway between a pair of buildings and to the main thoroughfare. When she reached the street, a short way to the left she saw the red coach now standing, horses fretting in their traces, while the driver held tightly to the reins, his foot on the long brake lever. The footmen had alighted to the ground and now handed passengers out, while the man who had sounded the trumpet tossed down luggage to a pair of youths below. Standing on the walkway, a woman welcomed passengers—seven altogether, five men and two women—and directed them into a substantial, two-storey building.
“Mayhap an inn, Scruff.”
As the wayfarers trooped inside, Camille hurried toward the structure; nearing, she saw hanging from eyelets a signboard naming the place as L’Auberge du Taureau Bleu, its namesake—a blue bull—depicted thereon. “Ah, Scruff, have they a spare bedchamber, here we will spend the night.”
Reaching the inn, Camille stepped in the foyer and waited patiently amid the bustle of rooms being assigned and luggage being claimed and people declaring just how good it was to be out of the coach at last.
“I need a bath,” said one of the women.
“Me too,” murmured Camille to Scruff. “If there is one thing I did come to appreciate at Summerwood Manor, it was the taking of daily baths, a luxury quite unavailable, it seems, when one takes on a quest . . .” She glanced sideways at the sparrow, who peered with beady eyes back at her. “But not unavailable to you, my wee little friend,” Camille added in afterthought, “you who can bathe in nought but a cup, or flop about in fine dust.”
In that moment—“Ma’amselle, you are next”—she was called forward by the lady of the inn.
“If you’ll come with me, my little poppet,” slurred the portly man, leering at her, and then at the serving maid as she delivered another bottle of wine, “perhaps then I’ll remember.”
“Ah, non, m’sieur,” declined Camille, sighing and stepping away, for he was the last of the passengers. She had asked all the others, some hesitant to respond, peering at her suspiciously. What would a fille like you want with such? some had asked, while others simply shook their heads and kept on eating.
Camille finally returned to her own table, and as the serving girl set a plate of bread and cheese and scallions and beef before her, Camille said. “Ma’amselle, would you know where the driver of the coach might be? It occurs to me that he may have travelled far in his life and seen much.”
“Call me Lili, my lady. And you are correct: Louis has travelled far, and he might know of this place you seek.” She made an apologetic gesture. “I could not but help overhear. As to Louis’ whereabouts, I would suggest you try L’Auge d’Or.”
“Where might this Golden Trough be?”
Lili pointed. “Down the street, just across from the stables. That’s where Louis and the others go after they see to the horses. But rather than waiting for the morrow, ma’amselle, you should ask him this eve, for he and his coach with its passengers will be off just after first light.”
“How often do coaches come through?”
“Lili!” called the innkeeper.
Lili glanced over her shoulder at the man, then took up her tray and said, “Once every fortnight or thereabout, at times more often, at other times less, though Louis comes through but once every six moons or so, for he makes quite long runs. Pardonnez-moi, ma’amselle, but I must go.”
“Merci, Lili.”
The serving girl grinned and curtseyed, then hurried away.
Louis, a stocky man with shag of brown hair hanging down, peered deeply into his tankard of ale, then shook his head. “Non, I know of no such place. But if you ask me, this is not a town where you are likely to find an answer to where it might be, ma’amselle. Too small and out of the way, this village, more of a hamlet to my way of thinking.” He took a swig, and then fixed Camille with his dark brown eyes. “If I were you, I’d go to a notable city, where you are more likely to come across those who can aid you: mapmakers, loremasters at the academies, merchants who import goods from afar as well as the folk who bring those goods, traders and travellers and other such world-wise sorts. Too, you’ll find Elves and Dwarves and other Fey, as well as those of us who are of the common salt, and surely among such an assortment, your answer will be found.”
“Sieur, I am newly come unto Faery, and I know little of cities herein. I would
appreciate any advice you might have.”
“Well, my coach is bound for Les Îles, a city of some noteworthiness.”
“The Isles?”
“Aye. So named for it is built entirely on a number of islands at the confluence of four grand rivers. ’Tis these rivers which make it one of the great trading centers of Faery.”
“Might there be minstrels there?” asked Camille.
Louis laughed. “Oh, yes, minstrels galore, for there are more inns and taverns and theaters there than you can shake a stick at. Many minstrels on street corners, too, singing for a copper or three, minstrels in the parks as well . . . perhaps even this bard you name, um . . .”
“Rondalo,” said Camille.
“Yes. Mayhap he would be there as well, though if he is a true bard, ’tis not likely will you find him on a street corner, but in a great inn, or a music hall, or such.”
“Ah, then, I shall go, if you have room in your coach.”
“I do, for it will bear ten, and there are but seven now.” Then Louis took a deep breath and frowned. “About the fare, ma’amselle, it is quite expensive to travel so far.”
“Expensive?”
“Albert,” called Louis, “the fare from here to Les Îles, how much?”
Across the common room, Albert, the coachman’s aid, the one who had sounded the trumpet, consulted a small book. “Twelve silvers,” he called back.
Louis waved his thanks. “There you have it, ma’amselle: twelve silvers, or a gold and two, or the equivalent in bronzes, or however you can manage your funds.—Oh, and you are responsible for your own meals and lodging along the way. It is, as I said, quite expensive in all.”
Camille smiled. “I can pay. Yet would you charge me for my sparrow?”
“You travel with a sparrow? A true sparrow?” Louis held thumb and finger some three or four inches apart.
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