“As I said, I shall remember. But you, Rondalo, must remember too that I shall take off my cloak and whirl it ’round my head if all seems to be going well. If at night, I shall swing my small lantern back and forth.” Camille glanced up toward the dark hole. “From here, you should be able to see either.”
Camille then took down her waterskin and bedroll and rucksack, the stave affixed in loops she had thought to sew thereon. She settled the sling straps over her shoulder and pulled loose the walking staff, the two hundred and sixty-sixth blossom awither. Finally, a tremor in her voice, she looked at Rondalo and said, “I now go.”
Rondalo stepped forward and he kissed her on the cheek. “I shall wait here a sevenday, and if you return not”-his eyes turned hard as flint-“I will fetch my sire’s sword and the Drake will not survive.”
Leaving Rondalo and the horses behind in the fastness of snow-clad peaks, Camille crossed fields of ice and barren rock and snow, rubble and scree and schist half-buried in the winter white, Scruff shifting about to keep his balance as Camille scrambled across the boulder-laden ’scape. On she went, the trek difficult, and she paused now and again to take a drink and offer water to Scruff as well.
It was nigh the noontide when she came to the barren, dark ruddy slopes. She paused briefly to feed Scruff a scatter of millet seeds and to take a meal of her own. Then on she went up the bleak sides, her staff aiding in the climb as she angled cross-slope for the ledge above the vertical rise, the ledge the Dragon’s doorstone.
As she gained in height, she looked back into the fastness she had left behind, yet she saw no sign of Rondalo among the jumble of rock. Still, she knew that he was there somewhere, lost in the background, her gaze unable to find either him or the horses.
On upward she went, the sun sliding down the sky, and though a shoulder of the slope stood in the way she knew she must be getting close. Of a sudden Scruff grabbed a lock of her hair and leapt down into the high vest pocket, the tiny sparrow chattering frantically and tugging on the tress.
With her heart thudding in her chest, “Ah, then, I was right. Peril indeed is nigh, eh, Scruff.”
Still the bird chattered, and still did Camille climb, yet when she rounded the turn to abruptly come to the broad ledge, Scruff fell silent.
Camille stepped thereon, and midmost yawned a black hole.
And it was vast.
Timorously, Camille moved toward the gape.
“WHO COMES?” boomed a great voice, echoing hollowly.
“Oh!” Camille blenched and cried out at the thunder of sound, her heart leaping into her throat.
“IS THAT YOU I TASTE, RONDALO, FAINT THOUGH IT IS? COME TO YOUR DEATH? COME TO MEET YOUR FATE?”
Again Camille flinched, yet she managed to say, “ ’Tis I, Camille, and though I did journey with Rondalo, instead I have come for your aid, O Raseri, your help to find my Alain.”
As Camille peered into the darkness, trying to see, the voice drew closer and boomed, “ALAIN? PRINCE OF THE SUMMERWOOD?”
“Oh, yes, and I am so glad you know of him, know of my beloved. He is lost, and I-”
“Camille, my love,” came a gentle response, and stepping forth from the darkness “Alain, Alain, oh my love.” Sobbing, Camille rushed forward, and he took her in his arms.
“Shhh, shhh,” he said. “I would not have you cry.”
“Oh, Alain, my sweet Alain, I have found you at last and I have been searching for so very long, and-”
Camille felt an insistent yanking on a lock of her hair, and she could hear Scruff chattering madly. And she looked down at her pocket where the tiny bird jerked and pulled at her tress.
And from the corner of Camille’s eye…
… from the corner of her eye…
… from the corner she saw…
… a great scaly foot with claws like sabers resting against the stone.
With a gasp, Camille drew back, and there before her ’twas not Alain, but instead “RRRRAAAWWW!”
The Dragon’s roar was deafening, and he was monstrous, looming upward some twenty feet or more, his gleaming, sinuous body stretching back into the blackness of his lair. Like the stone of the mountain itself, he was a dark ruddy color, splashes of ebon blackness glittering here and there. Vast leathery wings were folded along his sides. And as he slithered forward, emerging from his den, Camille stepped backward in terror, the vertical precipice of the ledge coming near.
“YOU, RONDALO’S CAT’S-PAW, COME TO GULL ME WHILE HE PLANS SOME HEINOUS ATTACK. TREACHEROUS MAIDEN, YOU WILL NOT LIVE TO SEE ME DESTROY HIM.”
Raseri drew in a deep breath, and Camille knew she would not survive the fire to come. Futilely, in a two-handed grip she thrust out the stave, as if it would ward the flames, and she shut her eyes and turned her head aside, death even then on its way.
A great blast of fire spewed forth, but it touched not Camille. She opened one eye to see the last of it gushing into the sky.
And then Raseri looked down at her and at the staff in her hands. “Lady Sorciere sent you here?”
Of a sudden, Scruff scrambled out from the pocket and to Camille’s shoulder.
“Yes, my lord Dragon,” said Camille, her voice tight and quavering with residual tension and dread, as well as with disbelief that she was yet alive, Camille herself feeling as if she would collapse at any moment, and she abruptly sat down on the stone. She put her head between her knees and said, her voice a bit muffled, “Indeed I was sent by the Lady of the Mere.-Oh, not specifically here, yet she did start me on my way. ’Twas Chemine, the Lady of the River who sent me to you, for only-”
“Chemine?” The Firedrake’s glittering, golden serpent eyes flew wide in surprise. “That cannot be. She would not do such, for I slew her mate on her wedding night, or so it is I recall.”
“Nevertheless, she is the one who sent me, with her son Rondalo as my guide, for you are the First of the Firsts, and perhaps only you can aid.”
Raseri peered down into the valley, and his forked tongue flicked out, and he hissed, “Are you certain this is not some trick? I see Rondalo now riding in haste this way.”
“Oh, no,” cried Camille, leaping to her feet, “he will break his sword-oath.”
“Scruff,” called Camille, holding open the vest pocket; the wee sparrow hopped in. Then swiftly she cast off her rucksack and bedroll and waterskin and then removed her cloak. She stood on the lip of the ledge and whirled the garment by its collar ’round and ’round o’erhead.
Finally Raseri said, “He’s stopped.”
Camille continued to whirl the cloak.
“He’s turned back.”
Arm weary, Camille lowered her cloak and saw in the distance, among the great boulders strewn along the valley floor, Rondalo riding away.
As Camille donned her cloak once more and Scruff scrambled back to his usual perch, Raseri said, “Well, now, if one of my sworn enemies has sent you to me for aid, and the other sworn enemy acted as your guide, then there is a tale here for the telling, and I would hear it all.”
Darkness had fallen, and Scruff was now asleep in the high vest pocket, and by the growing argent light of the waning gibbous moon half-risen, her tale now come to an end, Camille looked up at Raseri.
The Dragon sighed. “No, Camille, I know not where lies a place east of the sun and west of the moon.” Even as Camille started to weep, Raseri added, “Yet do not despair, for although I am indeed the First of the Firsts, there might be in Faery some who are even older than I.”
“Older? How can that be?”
“ ’Tis said they have been in the world since the very beginning of time.”
“Where can I find these eld ones?”
“I am not at all certain, but there is a river you may follow, and they might be found nigh. Yet it is perilous in the extreme to go along those banks and worse still to fall into its flow.”
Camille glanced at sleeping Scruff. “Peril from what? Monsters? Serpents from the seas in those waters?”
“Worse,” replied Raseri. “It is the River of Time, that which the Fey avoid; none whatsoever go nigh, for it is said that should one travel along the River of Time, then mortal he will become.”
“A river of time?”
“Aye, for all time flows in a stream out from Faery, to spread over the earthly demesne.” Raseri looked down at Camille, then gestured outward. “Where else would time issue forth but from out of this mystical place?”
“But I thought time touches not Faery.”
“In the main, ’tis true, for in Faery, time is confined to the river, perilous in the extreme; but in the mortal lands it spreads out over the whole of the world and becomes diffuse, attenuated, and is somewhat less dangerous. In Faery, all Fey avoid the river, going ’round rather than across, for we want not to suffer time’s ravages should we travel along its banks or fall into its flow. But in the world of mortals, the Fey on occasion do swim within time, for there it is weakened. Still, should we spend overlong in the world of men, we might turn mortal ourselves. Have you not heard the tales of Fey falling for the love of a mortal man or woman, and becoming mortal themselves? That’s because they overextend their stay in the earthly realm. To retain their immortality, Elves and other such oft vanish from the mortal lands and return to Faery, else mortal they would become. And though the River of Time does run through Faery, none I know travel thereon.”
Camille sat silent for a moment, then she fished in her rucksack. “I must signal Rondalo that all is yet well.”
She unscrewed the brass sealing cap from the wick and lit the small brass and glass lantern; then she paced out to the rim of the ledge and stood awhile, slowly swinging the light back and forth. Finally, she stepped back to Raseri’s side and blew out the lantern and capped the wick once more. As she set the lamp aside to cool ere returning it to her rucksack she said, “Though it would seem quite perilous for Fey to go nigh, the River of Time will not affect me more than it ordinarily would, for I am mortal already. Even so, you say those who might aid can thereat be found?”
“Aye. ’Tis rumored that three sisters live along its banks and, if true, they are the eldest of the eld. Too, it is also said that all things are revealed in due time, and mayhap along the banks of Time’s River you will discover just where lies a place east of the sun and west of the moon.”
Camille glanced at her stave and said, “Raseri, I would go.”
“Then, lady, because of all you have said, I will take you to the place whence the river springs, and mayhap you’ll find that which you seek. Yet beware, for, if all things are revealed in due measure, what you may discover woven in the tapestry of time could in the end be salvation or doom for you or your Alain or both. His fate as well as yours may already be sealed.”
“What you say might be true,” replied Camille, “nevertheless, I would go.”
“So be it then,” said Raseri. “Take rest now, and we shall take flight at first light.”
“Take flight?”
“Aye. You did not expect to walk, did you? Nay, I shall bear you thither, you and your wee sparrow.”
“But I-”
“But me no buts, my lady, for it is a long way, and you have not the time.”
At the dawning, even though Scruff complained that he was hungry, as she had done every day, Camille treated the sparrow’s wing with a tiny dab of salve. She looked up to see Raseri watching. “He was wounded by a thorn and cannot fly,” said Camille, by way of explanation.
“Mayhap where we are bound,” rumbled Raseri, “your tiny bird will improve, for ’tis said time heals all wounds.”
“Oh, do you think? I do so hope, for I would see him take to wing.”
As Camille fetched some millet seed for Scruff and sprinkled it on the stone, Raseri turned his head and flicked out his forked tongue, tasting the frigid morning air. And he said, “Rondalo yet waits afar.”
Camille glanced down the vale, yet it was too dark for her to make out aught. She drew out a biscuit from her rucksack and took a bite, and in a moment said, “Tell me, Raseri, how came you to do battle with Rondalo’s pere Audane?”
Even though he was a Dragon, Raseri managed a shrug. “All I know is that on Audane’s wedding night, he and I fought fiercely. As to why, I cannot say. Whether or no he wounded me, that, too, is not in my ken, and how I finally slew him, I know not. Only that I did. My first true memory is of being here in this fastness. I was alone in Faery for some while, but then, nine or ten moons later, I was aware that Chemine had come to Faery bearing Audane’s sword and giving birth to Rondalo. Beyond that, I know little.”
Camille shook her head in puzzlement. “Tell me then, are all Firsts as are you: knowing nought of what went before you each came unto Faery?”
“So it seems,” said Raseri, peering toward the oncoming light.
Camille fell silent and took another bite. Around the mouthful, she said, “Have you heard of the Keltoi?”
“Indeed. Most in Faery know of the legend. Wandering bards all; those whose tales caught the ear of the gods, and they in turn made Faery manifest.”
Camille swallowed and took a drink of water. “Well then, Raseri, answer me this:
“What if it is true that, as they wandered across the face of the world, the Keltoi did tell their tales, and the gods did listen, and they so enjoyed what they heard they made Faery manifest so that they could be entertained by the stories that followed? Mayhap long past, ’round a campfire a gifted Keltoi began a tale, the first one the gods listened to, and it went something like this:
“Once upon a time there was a terrible Drake named Raseri, a Drake who breathed flame. And in a hard-fought duel with an Elf named Audane, Raseri slew the Elf. Yet it was Audane’s wedding night, and he had lain with his bride ere the battle, and some ten moons after the terrible death, Audane’s grieving widow, a Water Fairy named Chemine, birthed a son. And Chemine gave over unto the wee lad Audane’s silvery sword, the one with the arcane runes hammered down the length of its blade, and she said, ‘One day, my Rondalo, you will battle with vile Raseri, foul murderer of your sire.’ ”
Camille fell silent, and Raseri cocked his head and said, “Mayhap ’tis true that such did happen. Even so, where does that lead?”
“Oh, don’t you see, Raseri, ere that tale mayhap there was no before, no existence whatsoever for Faery, no existence even for you. Mayhap that’s when Faery began. Mayhap that’s when you were born full-grown. Mayhap there was no Audane, yet even if there was, if the legend of the Keltoi and the gods is true, then it is no fault of yours he was slain. Instead ’tis completely the fault of the Keltoi who told that story, the first the gods had heard, and this blood vengeance, this sword-oath Rondalo swore, should instead have been sworn ’gainst the tale teller, or the gods who made it true, for in truth they are the ones in combination who did murder Audane.”
Raseri grunted, but otherwise did not reply, and Camille ate the remainder of her biscuit in silence, her thoughts tumbling one o’er the other.
Finally Raseri said, “If you have the truth of it, Camille, then much needs setting aright.”
“Wh-what?” said Camille, shaken from her musings.
“I said, have you the truth of it, much needs setting aright. Even so, there is this to consider: although the Keltoi, or gods, or in combination, are responsible for much grief and rage, they gave me, they gave all of us, life as well. Without them we would not be. Hence, if the legend is true, we owe them our very existence. Those tales, though fraught with peril and desperation and fury and sorrow such as they are, without them we would not be.”
Camille nodded, somewhat abstractedly, and Raseri tilted his head to one side and said, “You seem preoccupied, Camille. What were your thoughts that I so interrupted?”
Camille glanced at Scruff and then at the Drake, then out to where Rondalo might be, and she shrugged and said, “I was just wondering whose silver tongue or golden pen is telling the tale we find ourselves in.”
Raseri’s boomi
ng laughter echoed among the peaks, but when he looked down at Camille, she wasn’t laughing at all.
“The sun rises, Camille,” said the Drake.
Camille looked to see that the sun was just then edging up through a col between peaks. Camille stood and stepped to the lip of the precipice and once again whirled her cloak ’round and ’round above her head. Then she donned it and took up her bedroll and waterskin and rucksack and slung them onto her shoulder, and as she started to slip the stave into the rucksack loops What’s this?
A hairline crack ran a small way from the bottom of the staff upward toward the withered lower end of the carved stem of the garland.
Did I somehow do this?
“Camille,” said Raseri, nodding toward the rising sun.
Quickly Camille shoved the stave into the loops, then took up the sparrow. She glanced at Raseri’s great, leathery wings, now partly unfolded, and said, “I’d better put you in the pocket, Scruff, else you might be blown away.”
Scruff chp ed a time or two, but then settled in, and Camille asked, “Where shall I, um…”
“You can straddle the base of my neck,” said Raseri, bending low and crooking a foreleg on the side where Camille stood.
Using the leg as a stepping block, Camille clambered up and took seat. A double row of great barbels ran the length of Raseri’s neck. “May I use these for handholds?” asked Camille, grasping the pair before her. They were somewhat soft and a bit flexible, like the barbels ’round the mouths of some kinds of fish.
“Use what?” replied Raseri, craning his neck about.
“Oh, those. Indeed.”
“I would ask two things more, my lord Dragon,” said Camille.
“And they are…?”
“Fly over Rondalo so that he might see I am all right.”
“I shall do so. And the other…?”
“Ignore any of my screams you might hear.”
With booming laughter, Raseri stepped to the lip of the sheer precipice and leapt out into space.
Camille sucked icy air in through clenched teeth as down the Drake plummeted, wind whistling past and blowing back her hood, her hair to stream out golden behind, the rocks below rushing up to meet them. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, for she knew they surely must crash, yet she stubbornly refused to scream. But then- Whoosh! — Raseri’s vast, leathery wings began beating, and he arced through the nadir of his dive and began to climb into the sky. Camille opened her eyes, as up and up he spiralled, and she gasped in wonder, for the view from the height was magnificent. Why, it was almost as if she could see the whole of Faery, though surely not. And she glanced down at Scruff, who was chirping in joy, craning his neck out from her pocket so that he could see. Then Raseri turned and flew back over his firemountain, and Camille saw that it was hollow, and thin tendrils of smoke streamed out from fumerols below.
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