Their supper dealt with, Camille set about making camp, arranging her bedroll and laying the basis for a small fire, but she fell asleep before she could set it ablaze. Even so, when she awoke the next morning, warm coals yet glowed in the ring of stone she had laid the night before.
On that second day in the Autumnwood, in spite of the glowing remnants of a fire, there had been no prepared breakfast at the dawning, just as at the close of yester there had been neither a waiting camp with a burning fire nor a cooked meal of fish or fowl or game. Still they did not want for fare as deeper into the forest they went, for, although they were surrounded by woodland, there were runs of what seemed to be fruit orchards-apples, for the most, yet other kinds as well, many of which were unknown to Camille, but were delicious nevertheless: some sweet, some tart, some with a delicate flavor, but all delightful to the tongue. And there were small stands of laden nut trees-hazel and beech, and the like. To Camille’s eye, these groves of fruit and nuts seemed to have been well cared for, for the limbs were trimmed and shapely, but pruned by whom, she knew not, for no cottages nor byres nor other such signs of crofters did she see.
Nigh the noontide of that day, as they topped a hill and emerged into the open, in the low vale before them Camille saw a meadow of ripened grain. The Bear plodded downslope and into the field, to pass among oats and then rye, while alongside and hidden among the teeming stalks, someone or something scampered, and once again Camille heard the trill of elfin laughter, but she caught no glimpse of who or what had made the sound.
When they emerged from the meadow to start up the far slope, then did she see sitting on the hillside with his back to a tree the figure of a man-or it looked to be a man-dressed in coarse-spun garb, as would a crofter be, and a great reaping scythe rested across his knees. As they approached, he stood, the scythe in one hand, the blade grounded; Camille gasped in apprehension, for the man was huge, seven or eight foot tall, and for a moment she thought the Troll had returned. But a Troll he was not as was clear when he doffed his hat, revealing a shock of reddish hair. And as the Bear padded by, the man, the crofter, the reaper of grain, bowed low in respectful silence. “Bonjour,” called Camille, uncertain as to what else to say or do, but by no sign did the huge being respond to her call, and he remained bent in an attitude of obeisance. The Bear grunted in seeming acknowledgment of the individual’s deferential bow, and the crofter then straightened and watched as the Bear and his rider passed without stopping, continuing on up the slope. And when they topped the rise at the far end of the vale to start down into the valley beyond, Camille looked back to see the man-if a man he truly was-once again sitting with his back to the tree and the scythe across his knees.
That evening, Camille stripped and bathed, this time in a chill, deep pool of a wide, slow-running stream, the Bear standing ward and looking everywhere but straight at her.
On the third day within the brightly hued wood, they passed along deep river gorges and high chalk bluffs and through thickets and mossy glens, the land rising and falling as they went. And whenever they topped crests or went along cliffs where Camille could look afar, in every direction but where they were she saw the bright woodland fade into distant twilight, just as the forest had shaded into silver-grey gloam in the Springwood and perhaps in the Winterwood as well, though where they had passed through that cold realm, only dismal darkness had ruled and twilight would not have been seen. But this was neither the Winterwood nor the Springwood, but the Autumnwood instead, and always in unexpected places did they come upon groves of fruits and nuts and fields of flax and barley and millet and other grains. And this day as well they crossed plots of loam bearing beans and peas, leeks and onions, pumpkins and squash, and carrots and parsnips, as well as vines of hops and grapes, none of which seemed to be growing wild.
And as they fared through the bountiful forest, with its generous stands and glens and glades and fields, so, too, did other denizens slip through the woodland as well, some running along limbs, others scuttling across the ground, some flying above-birds and animals and wee folk alike, or so Camille did ween. Of huge crofters, Camille had sighted none since yester; nevertheless, she believed that they were about, but chose to remain unseen; mayhap they were shy.
And thus did the grizzled Bear and golden-haired Camille travel and live off the land, eating berries from vines, and grain from the grasses, and vegetables from the loam, as well as fruit from trees. For in the Autumnwood ’twas harvesttime-eternal Camille did think. Still, she wondered whether the fruit and other such ever replaced itself, and if so, then how did it manage the feat, for without winter to rest and spring to renew and summer to ripen, how could harvest continue without all eventually becoming barren?
Ah, but this is Faery, where mystical things are said to occur. I will have to remember to ask Prince Alain about such, assuming that Alain is a bit like his brother Borel, and not some monster instead.-Oh my, I should have asked Borel what Alain was like. Ah, but he and his pack were after that terrible Troll and had no time for my girlish chatter. Oh, but I do hope Borel and his Wolves are safe.
In the eve, when they had camped and Camille’s kindled fire brightly burned, in the darktide beyond the reach of the flickering light she could see eyes glittering and now and again catch a glimpse of movement: foxes and lynx and other night hunters, some, it seemed, with riders astride; too, there were moving glimmers among the trees, somewhat like the dancing lights of the Springwood, though here in the Autumnwood, the gleams seemed to proceed as if in solemn ceremony instead of in carefree joy. As the night wore on, now and again something large with a heavy tread would pass by in the dark unseen, and at these times Camille looked to the Bear, but he appeared unperturbed, and though her heart did beat with excitement, it did not gallop in fear.
Late on the fourth day within the Autumnwood, they came to another looming wall of twilight, and when they passed through the marge they came into the warmth of summer, and there the Bear did change color again, becoming a deep, dark brown.
Then did Camille’s heart race in apprehension when they crossed into this realm, for this was the Summerwood, the demesne of Prince Alain Someone whom I have yet to meet-man or monster or beast or Troll or something else altogether, I know not-yet someone I am pledged to wed.
And deeper into the Summerwood trod the dark brown Bear, a golden-haired slip of a girl on his back.
8
Summerwood
Reveling in the warmth of the Summerwood, Camille shed her cloak and vest, for although evening was drawing nigh, her green-silk jerkin sufficed. Through the duskingtide pressed the Bear, and stars began to dimly shine, growing brighter as he and Camille left the twilight border behind and as night drew down on the land. And a slowly cooling waft of air coiled among verdant trees and bore the fragrances of summer: of grasses and green leaves and mossy loam and oozing sap on the bark of wild cherry trees, of wildflower blossoms and reeds in water and the aromatic foliage of mint. All these and more did Camille distinguish drifting on the air, while crickets sang in the surround, and far-off frogs breek ed, and some thing or things scuttered alongside in the dark.
In the distance ahead, Camille espied the glimmer of a fire, and just as had been in the Springwood, here, too, did a camp await their arrival, this one with a quintet of quail roasting above the flames. Camille ate two of the birds, the Bear the rest, she carefully nipping the meat from the fragile frames, he snapping up his trio and crunching them down, bones and all.
The next dawning, Camille found awaiting a breakfast of scones and tea. And she reveled in this meal, for embedded throughout the biscuitlike pastries were tart, sun-dried fruit nuggets, contrasting with and yet enhancing the honey-sweetened taste of the tea. As she sipped her drink and ate, Camille could hear the Bear off among the nearby trees, snuffling and rolling over deadwood and pouncing on that which he found ’neath.
Grubs, mayhap, or beetles. Camille shuddered, and continued with her own fare.
Finishe
d with breakfast, Camille fetched forth one of her chew-sticks and began cleaning her teeth. Yet now and again she paused and listened, for occasionally she thought she heard a small, piping voice somewhere nigh the Bear, and grunts from the Bear in response; but when she hearkened, the voice spoke not, and when she looked, she saw nought to account for whoever or whatever might be in converse with the Bear.
At last the Bear came padding back, and Camille broke camp as day washed into the sky.
On went the Bear with Camille throughout the Summerwood, the cool, green forest shaded by rustling leaves above, with shafts of golden sunlight streaming down through the gaps between. They crossed warm and bright fields and sunlit glades laden with wild summer flowers, where the air was filled with the drone of bees and the flutter of butterflies, all flitting from blossom to blossom to burrow in or to elegantly sit and sip. Occasionally a lone bee arrowed off into the forest, bearing its precious nectar and pollen treasures to cache in honey-burdened trees, leaving behind the butterflies to continue their vivid dance. And to Camille’s wondering eyes, now and again, among the stir of airborne creatures, she thought she espied tiny, winged beings clad in gossamer green and darting thither and yon, perhaps teasing the butterflies-Sprites? Pixies? Hummingbirds instead? Camille could not be certain, for none flew nigh the treading Bear with the wide-eyed girl on his back.
Down into a river-fed gorge they went, the lucid water sparkling, green sward and willowy thickets adorning its banks. From somewhere ahead Camille could hear a cascade, and soon the Bear trod alongside falls pouring down amid a spray of rainbows into a wide, sunlit pool. And on the opposite shore otters played, a handful or so, sliding down the steep bank and into the glitter of water to disappear under, only to emerge and turn about and race ashore and scamper up to slide down again.
“Oh, Bear, do stop. This water looks warm, and I’ve had nought to bathe in but chill.”
Grunting, the Bear looked at the sun standing nigh the zenith, and halted.
Moments later, Camille glided through the clement, crystalline water toward the play of otters. As she neared, she could hear the chime of laughter, and lo! the moment the otters splashed into the river, Waterfolk they became, with their tiny frames and long fishtail feet and along each side a translucent fin running from wrist to ankle. Their eyes were large and they looked at Camille and then playfully darted between her legs and ’round her back and up between her breasts. One paused before her, and then Camille could see that he was a male… they all were males.
Squealing, Camille fled back toward the shore on which lay her clothes, as Waterfolk swam over and under and about her thrashing legs and flailing arms and ’round her waist and across her bosom, brushing against her most private places and giggling.
Gaining the shore at last, Camille scrambled up the bank and to her clothes, flinging them on in spite of her wetness, while Waterfolk laughed joyously, and swam back to the opposite shore to shift their forms and resume their otter play.
“Bear! Where are you, Bear?” she called, looking about for her absent guardian, furious at the laughter behind.
A grunt came from higher up the embankment, and she saw the Bear sitting amid a patch of brambles eating dewberries, his muzzle stained purplish from the fare. Struggling with her boots, “You could have warned me,” cried Camille, cross with embarrassment.
“ Whuff. ”
With a foot half in, half out of her last boot, Camille stopped and glared at the Bear. “Does that mean you could have warned me?”
The Bear grunted and pulled over another thorny vine and began to rip off the dark berries.
“Oh, you!” Camille stamped her foot into the boot, and, fully dressed at last, she glanced across at the Waterfolk otters and then began to giggle.
That evening, another camp awaited the Bear and the girl, with a brace of marmots roasting above the flames, and large leaves laden with dewberries sitting off to one side. Camille ate a leaf or two of the sweet blackberries, as well as a hind leg and a fore, the Bear eating all the rest.
Unlike the Autumnwood, with its mild days and chill nights, in the Summerwood Camille needed neither cloak nor vest by day, and only a thin blanket at night, and that but near the break of light. Yet just after the dawntide of the third day in the wood, from a grey sky above a very light rain began to fall, more of a fine mist blowing than a drenching pour, and Camille wrapped her cloak about to ward away the mizzle. By the noontide, though, the sun broke through, and ghostly vapor seeped up from the earth and coiled among the trees, like streaming wraiths seeking to escape the sun.
Even as the insubstantial vapor swirled about, they topped a hill, and there the Bear paused and grunted. “What is it, Bear? Why do you-?” Camille’s words chopped short, and her heart suddenly sprang to her throat, for down below and shrouded in ethereal mist twining ’round, stood a great mansion midst widespread grounds. And Camille knew it could be nought but the manor of the Lord of Summerwood, the manor of her husband-to-be.
9
Mansion
As the Bear started downslope toward the huge manor, Camille tried to still her racing heart by studying the great house and the immediate grounds, that which she could make out through the rising vapor curling ’round.
Vast was the mansion itself, four or five storeys in height, though here and there it rose above even that, and broad and deep with many wings, and even courtyards within. Chimneys it had in abundance, yet Camille wondered why here in the warmth of the Summerwood fireplaces were needed at all-other than those required for cooking and perhaps those needed to heat bathwater. The far-flung grounds about the great chateau were surrounded by a lengthy and high stone wall, with gates standing at the midpoints, at the moment all closed. Inside the wall, in spite of the mist, Camille could make out groves of trees and gardens with pathways through, a small lake, and Is that a hedge maze?
She had read of such in Fra Galanni’s library, but she had never thought to see one.
Several outbuildings ranged along part of one wall, presumably at the back of the house. What they contained, Camille could not say, though she speculated that perhaps one was a stable and another a carriage house and still another a smithy and Wait. If the Prince had horses, then why did he send a Bear to fetch me? Mayhap because of the dreadful passage through the Winterwood, where the Bear could protect me, and a horse could not. Regardless, I do not know how to ride… except Bearback, so to speak. Camille laughed at her bon mot, but then sobered quickly, for the Bear had come to the floor of the vale and now angled leftward toward one of the gates, and Camille’s heart beat all the faster.
The Bear trod toward the great barrier, with its long brass bars running up and down through heavy brass braces across, the gate itself decorated with a copper bas-relief in the likeness of a great oak tree, verdigris making the leaves and trunk green; it was the same emblem that had been impressed in the wax seal of Prince Alain’s letter, though that on the entrance was in low relief rather than intaglio. As they approached, the oak tree split in twain and the two halves of the gates swung inward and wide, yet Camille could not see aught of who might have opened them.
Onto the grounds of the vast estate they went, the Bear padding along a road of white stone wending within a gallery of oaks, their limbs arching overhead and intertwining to form a green leafy canopy above. As down this way they went, to the left and right through the spaces between the boles of the oaks Camille caught glimpses of the estate, with its gardens galore and white stone paths and long stretches of green sward. “Oh, Bear, how large this holding. Why, Papa’s entire farm could fit in one small corner yon.” On they went and across a stone bridge, with a wide lucid stream meandering under and flowing between high mossy banks; and black swans swam in the water, their long necks proudly arched. And still the road gracefully curved, the oaks standing honor guard, yet of a sudden the Bear emerged from the canopy and into the open beyond, and Camille’s heart leapt upward again, for straight ahead across a broa
d mead stood the great chateau.
“Oh, Bear, I am wholly apprehensive,” quavered Camille, burying her hands into fur and gripping tightly. “Remain my protector, please.”
“ Whuff, ” replied the Bear quietly, and pressed on ahead.
As they went on toward the manor, Camille now saw just how vast a place it truly was. Left and right the building stretched away, and loomed upward as well. Pale grey it was, and made of granite, with a huge, deep portico upheld by fluted columns, the pillars granite, too. Here and there along the front, from second-storey rooms and above, leaded-glass doorways opened onto white-marble balconies, while all across and abounding, leaded-glass windows in white wooden sashes stood in white wooden frames.
Great Mithras, there must be two hundred rooms or more. Much to dust and sweep and clean, endless windows to wash, chambers to air, linens to-Oh, my, but I do hope that I don’t have to Just then Camille heaved a quiet sigh of relief, for she could see that within the great portico the doors to the house stood wide, and flanking and extending outward from the portal stood servants arrayed in two long rows. Steadily trod the Bear, to come up the two steps and onto the wide porch. And servants silently bowed or curtseyed deeply as the Bear trod between, yet Camille knew not how to respond, and so she rode into the manse on the back of the Bear without saying a word.
Past the open, brass-studded, thick doors of oak and down a short corridor she rode, to pass beyond another set of open doors and across a broad landing, then down two steps into a vast front hall: its floor was of white marble, with an inlaid depiction of a great oak centered therein-the leaves of malachite, the bole and limbs a subtle mix of grey and red granite. A full four storeys above, the white plaster ceiling held a leaded-glass skylight depicting the same oak-a reflection of the one below. Two massive staircases-one left, one right-swept from a common landing outward and up, curving to a high balcony all ’round, and higher up still were individual balconies jutting out of the three facing walls, with recessed doors leading into chambers beyond. There were doors and archways ranged to left, right, and fore, both at the great hall floor level and the balcony level above; through the archways, Camille could see corridors leading away. Sconces for candles and lanterns were arrayed along on the walls around, but sunlight pouring in through high, front windows and the leaded-glass skylight above lighted the chamber brightly.
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