Once upon a Summer Day fs-1

by Dennis McKiernan

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He pulled on his boots and stood and lightly stamped to settle his feet within.

  “But I don’t know ought of how to make a harness,” said Flic, “if that’s how it was done.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Borel, sliding his silk shirt over his head. “I do.”

  “Well, whatever the harness, you have to deceive the Pooka just to get it on. And it has to be one that will make him submit, and I think you must make him submit immediately, else he will ride you to death.”

  “The simplest submission harness is a jaw rope, and one of those should cause the Pooka to yield,” said Borel, buckling on his leather jacket. “I think I can slip it in and over in less than a wink, can I get him to open his mouth.”

  “Jaw rope?”

  “Oui. In the lower part of the jaw of a horse there is a gap between the nipping front teeth and the grinders aft-it’s where the bit rides-and if I can slip a simple noose into that breach and ’round his lower jaw, I’ll have him.”

  “But this is a Pooka, my lord, a Dark Fey, even a Demon, and certainly a shapeshifter. It might not have a gap where an ordinary horse would. Or it might shift shape into that of the Bogleman, and simply bite through the rope.”

  “Hmm…” said Borel, now dressed. He sat back down on the bed. “Perhaps you’d better tell me how this king of the Keltoi caused his Pooka to submit.”

  “I don’t know that, my lord.”

  “Well then, why the three tail hairs? What would that have to do with ought?”

  “I can only guess about that.”

  “Then guess away, Flic.”

  “All right, my lord. Let me ask you this: have you heard of the power of three?”

  “I think so,” said Borel. “It has to do with heart and body and soul, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, some think it means those three, while others think it means mind and body and spirit, and still others think it means three sorcieres working together, while some reject that and choose three different things altogether. But no matter which, my understanding is if you have three things from someone or something-oh, not of their belongings but rather of their physical self, such as are these hairs part of the Pooka-then you can create a thing-an amulet, an image, a doll-a thing that will then make a connection with that someone or something. Whether this created thing is used for good or ill is up to the one who made it, or rather the one who possesses it.

  “That is what I was told and it’s all I know concerning the power of three. But as to just how a trio of his tail hairs woven into our Gnome-made line can gain mastery o’er this Pooka, I cannot say, though it means the resulting rope will have a power-of-three bond with the creature.”

  “Well, then,” said Borel, “perhaps I don’t need to tie the rope to the creature to be linked to him.-Oh, wait, you say the king of the Keltoi used his as a harness?”

  Flic frowned and said, “Maybe it was a harness; I’m a bit hazy on the details.”

  “Hmm…” said Borel, “then I’ll need to do something similar, for as long as the rope is tied to the Pooka and as long as I can hang on to the rope, I will be linked to him, not only in a physical way but perhaps in a mystical one as well. Mayhap it will mean he cannot throw me.”

  “Perhaps, Prince Borel. On the other hand, maybe the rope with his three hairs in it will prevent the Pooka from shape-shifting. If so, then you will merely have to master the creature as you would a horse.”

  “A wild horse,” said Borel.

  “A cunning and wicked and most deadly horse,” said Flic.

  “Ah, well, a lower-jaw rope then is my best chance,” said Borel, “for such a thing has been used in the past to make even the most savage horse submit.”

  “If you can get him to open his mouth,” said Flic.

  “We’ll think of a way,” said Borel, standing. “I’m hungry. How about you?”

  “Well, I suppose I could do with a bite. Buzzer, too.”

  “Come, let us to break our fast and scheme of ways to master the Pooka.”

  “How does a horseman get a wild horse to open its mouth for a lower-jaw rope to be slipped on?” asked Flic, as he picked at a portion of biscuit and dipped the resulting bit into honey. “-Oh, not that such a trick can be used on a Pooka, for they are not horses but are Dark Fey instead and smarter than most humans. Still, perhaps a trick can be done in a similar manner.”

  Borel said, “At times, one man strong enough, or several men working together, can grab an unruly horse about the head and force it down and slip the rope in place.”

  “My lord, here we are dealing with a-a Demon,” said Flic around his mouthful of honey-soaked crumb, “its strength beyond measure, and I think such a trick will not avail here.”

  Borel rolled a rasher of bacon up in a piece of bread and shoved it into his mouth and chewed awhile. Finally, he said, “At other times a carrot or a piece of sweet apple or other such will get an unruly horse to open his mouth, and so food is used to trick the creature.”

  “My lord, I think a Pooka too wily to be fooled by mere food,” said Flic, picking off another crumb of biscuit. He looked at the bee and said, “What if I have Buzzer sting him, say on the lip? — Oh, no, that won’t work, for it will be at night.-But wait, when I get my epee, I can jab him there.”

  “I think that would just cause him to toss his head and then trample me,” said Borel. “But there must be a way to fool him.”

  “Once more, I say, he is a Demon and clever,” said Flic. “Though I am quite dull-witted, my lord, surely you are smarter than he is.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Borel, “for you are no more dull-witted than I, and-” Of a sudden Borel’s eyes lit up. “Dull-witted! Oh, Flic, you have hit upon it!”

  “I have?”

  “You do say he can talk and therefore understand speech?”

  At Flic’s nod, Borel said, “And he is very clever, for he deceives men into thinking they are out for a pleasant ride when it is anything but. Well then, here is the nub of it: if he would have me ride, in me he will have met the most dull-witted creature in the whole of Faery.” Borel grinned and added, “Flic, my wee friend, thank you for the idea.”

  Flic shrugged and said, “You’re welcome, my lord, no matter what the idea is.”

  After breaking their fast, with Flic and Buzzer riding atop Borel’s tricorn the trio set off for the smithery. As they fared along the way, Borel said, “To get this plan of mine to work, we will first have to find the Pooka.”

  “Oh, that’s no problem,” said Flic. “I know where it lives.” Borel stopped. “You do?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, me. What with my meeting Fleurette and falling deeply in love and finding the three hairs and all, perhaps I’m the one who is pixilated.”

  “But you say you know where it lives?”

  “Oui. You see, after working the three hairs loose from the splintery fence post, I followed the Pooka on its rampage, but as dawn neared, and as the night came to a close, it made for the river and entered it right in the midst of what are surely the White Rapids.”

  “And…?”

  “And nothing, my lord. You see, the Pooka is a water creature, and it either lives in a body of water-the ocean, a lake, a river-or it hides away inside a mountain, probably in an underground pool. Our Pooka lives under the rapids during the day, and comes out at nightfall. We will merely need to get there before darkness.”

  “Easily done,” said Borel, moving ahead again. “I just hope my scheme is as simple to accomplish as it is for us to reach the torrent.”

  When they came to the forge, the smith had just finished honing Borel’s new blade. With a final swipe and then a wipe of a cloth, he sheathed the weapon-a keen, double-edged bronze long-knife with a needle-sharp point-and handed it to the prince.

  As Borel drew the blade from the scabbard, the man said, “ ’Ware, Sieur, for ’tis finely whetted to a razo
r’s edge. You’ll have no trouble shaving with it.” Then he grinned and added, “Or with gutting Trolls, I’ll warrant.”

  Borel smiled and held the long-knife up in the light and said, “Well, Smith, I hope not to meet a Troll to gut, yet I thank you for the warning.”

  He slid the blade back into the sheath; the fit was perfect.

  “Nicely done,” said the prince. He handed over the agreed-upon fee, the coins from those gifted by the Gnomes, and belted the scabbard and strapped it to his right thigh.

  Next they went to the milliner’s, where the scarfpin sword waited, along with a tiny green belt fitted with a wee buckle made of silver wire, and affixed to the belt was a tightly wound coil of silver wire the length of the blade to act as a minuscule sheath. As Flic and Borel examined the tiny weapon, the Widow Marie said, “Since you will be using this against foe-or so I did assume-I filed it so that it has a three-sided, fluted blade, just as would a genuine epee.”

  “Epees have three-sided blades?” said Flic.

  “Oh, yes, little master,” said Marie. “It gives them strength while at the same time allows lightness. A good weapon with which to go out into the world and meet dangerous foe. You see, to face perils you either need a cutting blade or one with a very sharp point. And I think you too wee to wield an edge that cuts-such as a rapier-for that takes a bit of strength, and since you seemed to favor a bee sting-a jabbing weapon-an epee is best for you.”

  “A good choice, Madame,” said Borel. “Better than a limber foil, and I see that you have well wrapped the grip against slippage, and fashioned a small pommel as well.”

  “I also shaped it for the Sprite’s grip,” said the widow, “and I fixed the bell in place with silver-wire collars and a bit of crucible-melted silver as solder.”

  “Well done, Madame,” said Borel, inclining his head.

  “And the belt…?” said Flic, smiling at the daughter Renee.

  Renee refused to look directly at the Sprite, and instead cast a sidelong glance at him as she said, “Sieur Sprite, please note the silver-coil sheath has a keeper to secure the epee in place so that it won’t fall out as you, um, flit about. A simple flick of the thumb will set the epee free.”

  “Superb, Demoiselle Renee,” said Borel.

  Renee blushed before Borel’s penetrating, ice-blue gaze, but she said nought.

  “Well, try it on, my lad,” said Borel.

  Flic, a wicked grin on his face, said, “Demoiselle Renee, would you care to fasten my belt ’round me?”

  “Non!” said the daughter as the widow choked back a laugh.

  “Ah, me,” said the Sprite, and he took up the belt and buckled it about his waist. The fit was exact, though there were additional holes for expansion. Borel handed him the silver-bladed epee, and Flic flourished it about, and then slid it into its silver-coil scabbard. He frowned a moment, but then discovered how to slip the keeper in place.

  “There, how do I look?” said Flic, strutting back and forth.

  “Ah, tres bon! ” said the widow, glancing at Borel and winking. “The very picture of a gay blade.”

  And even Renee looked, for she could not resist seeing just how well her handiwork suited the Sprite. Flic turned toward her and struck a full frontal pose, and Renee threw up her hands in exasperation, and Flic struck another stance. At this posture, Renee burst out in titters.

  “What, ma cherie? Do you find me amusing?” said Flic.

  Renee only giggled all the harder, though she did turn away.

  Flic stepped toward Buzzer and said, “Well, Madame Buzzer, now we both have stings.”

  Borel then said to the milliner, “My lady, we need a needle that will fit these.” He drew forth the three Pooka hairs. “We must weave these three into this rope.” Now he drew out a length of the Gnome-made line from another pocket.

  Marie said, “Ah, in my daughter’s hands it will take but a trice.”

  “Madame Marie, I think this is something Flic must do,” said Borel.

  “But I could use instructions,” said Flic. “Perhaps Demoiselle Renee could guide the work while I actually perform it.”

  A small smile graced the corner of Marie’s mouth, and she said, “Most certainly, for she has a finer hand than I. Renee, s’il-te-plait.”

  “But, Mother, he is still naked!” protested Renee.

  “No I’m not,” retorted Flic. “I’m wearing a belt.”

  “Though to me it was rather like my epee, we used a silver needle,” said Flic, “once Marie discovered what it was to be used for. She said silver has wondrous properties for dealing with things of ill intent, and a Pooka is certainly that.”

  “And how did you and Renee get along,” said Borel, grinning. “Did she, um, get a rise out of you?”

  Flic smiled, but shook his head. “Oh, no. She’s a rather nice girl, once you get to know her. I think we became friends as she showed me how to slip the needle and the Pooka-hair ‘thread’ through the plait of the Gnome rope. When I told her we were depending on the power of three, she had me weave the three hairs in three separate spirals up and about the line, exactly three turns each, and always making certain to keep them an equal distance apart from one another, even though they twisted ’round the rope. It practically made me dizzy, but she said patterns are important, and if it made me dizzy, then think what it would do to the Pooka. We chatted about this and that while she guided and I worked.-Say, did you know that her father Renaud was in Lord Roulan’s manor when the black wind came?”

  “Ah, then,” said Borel, “perhaps the Widow Marie isn’t a widow after all.”

  Flic frowned. “Your meaning?”

  “Just this: since Chelle is yet alive, then there is a chance that others within the manor are alive as well. Of course, that presupposes the vale was carried up and away by the wind, rather than being turned to stone.”

  “Ah, even so,” said Flic, “if there is a chance the others survived… Perhaps I should fly back and tell-”

  “Oh, Flic, I think it better to not get anyone’s hopes up in case I am wrong.”

  “Very well, my lord,” said Flic.

  They sat a moment without speaking, and then Flic said, “What about the constable? What did he say when you told him of the Pooka?”

  “He was shocked, to say the least. He wanted to get an armed party together and run down the beast.”

  “Did you tell him that anyone who killed a Pooka would be cursed forever, and that the entire area would be blighted?”

  “Oui,” said Borel. “I also told him that I had a plan to rid the area of the Pooka, and he was most glad to hear it.”

  “Well, my prince, let us hope your plan works, whatever it is.”

  Two candlemarks before sunset, Borel and Buzzer and Flic set off upriver, the Widow Marie and Daughter Renee and Constable Moreau the only ones to see them off.

  As Borel strolled along the trace of road paralleling the bank, Flic said, “Tell me, my lord, you say that you must court a woman and get to know her before you know whether she is really your truelove, right?”

  “Oui,” said Borel.

  “Well, then, what of love at first sight? Do humans not experience such?”

  “Humans oft fall in love at first sight,” said Borel.

  “What of courtship then, my lord?”

  “Then, Flic, it is very swift,” said Borel.

  “Ha! No different from Fey, eh?”

  Borel laughed, but made no reply.

  After a moment Flic said, “If you insist upon doing it, haven’t you been courting Chelle and she courting you in your dreams?”

  “Although it appears that way, Flic, I think one cannot truly court in a dream unless both sleepers are aware they are dreaming, and even then I wonder. You see, dreams are ephemeral, and though in this case I am aware in the dream that it is such a thing, Chelle is not, and therefore is subject to its whims, both during the dream and afterward. Hence, when she wakes, just as with any dream, courtship or no, she
might not remember it at all. She might also be an entirely different person awake from what she is asleep. As I said before, in dreams inhibitions are greatly muted, and one can profess love for a total stranger and believe it to be true, and yet upon awakening will know such a thing to be entirely false.

  “And so, my friend, I think it is only in our waking life that we might know of true love… and even that is not certain, for true love seems to be rare, as wonderful as it is.”

  Flic snorted and said, “Humans: the hoops you jump through to find a mate. Me, I’d rather be a Sprite. Besides, I’ve found my truelove, though I’ve only known Fleurette for a brief part of a single day.”

  Borel strode on upriver, both he and Flic pondering the oddities of the other’s Kind, each knowing the “one best way” for trueloves to find one another.

  And the farther Borel walked, the louder came the rumble of the raging water ahead, until at last-with the sun setting and twilight drawing across the land-they came to the long, steep slant of the White Rapids, where the river narrowed and roared between sloping stone banks to thunder over rounded boulders and great jagged crags and slabs of rock as it plunged down the perilous incline.

  Above the thunder of water hurtling apace, Flic said, “There, by that big rock-yes, that one there-that’s where the Pooka submerged.”

  Borel strode up the slope and stopped opposite. “Here will I wait, and when night falls, here will I become a fool.”

  “Remember, my prince, whatever else you have in mind, make him submit immediately.”

  “Oui, Flic, I will try.”

  Flic took to wing, Buzzer with him, and the Sprite hovered before Borel and said, “As soon as I get Buzzer settled, though she will be asleep in the night, I will return to watch over you, my lord.”

  Borel shook his head. “Flic, for my plan to work, the Pooka must think I am alone. Any suspicion that I am with others, and he will become chary and thwart what I have in mind.”

  Flic frowned in exasperation but said, “Oh, very well.” He looked about and pointed toward a tall sycamore nigh. “I will remain hidden high in the branches unless you are in great peril, in which case Argent and I will come to aid.”