Once upon a Summer Day fs-1

by Dennis McKiernan

  Again Borel bowed and said, “My lady.”

  Both the King Under the Hill and his queen tilted their heads in acknowledgement, and the High Lord signalled for silence, and the music stopped, as did the dancers. When quiet fell, he smiled and said, “Won’t you join us in banquet and ball? Let me get you a glass of wine.”

  As the king turned to signal a page, Borel said, “I must decline, my lord, for I am on an urgent mission, and I beg a boon.”

  The High Lord frowned. “A mission? A boon? Then tell me, what mission, what boon brings the Prince of the Winterwood unto my demesne?”

  “My lord, I would find the Endless Sands.”

  “Ah, then, and you think I would know where these Endless Sands lie?”

  “I have it on good authority that you do,” said Borel.

  The king frowned again and looked first at his queen and then among the dancers. Yet none volunteered that he or she had given the prince any guidance. “And who might that be?” he asked Borel.

  “A Pooka,” replied the prince.

  “A Pooka? And just how did you get a Pooka to tell you that?”

  “I rode him to submission,” said Borel.

  A gasp went up among the gathered Fey, for, even though they were Fairies all, none there had the courage to do the same.

  “Ah, then, you must be quite a sportsman,” said the Fairy King.

  “Not really, for he almost did me in,” said Borel.

  “Yet in the end you triumphed?” asked the queen, her voice melodious and entrancing.

  “Barely,” replied Borel, grinning ruefully.

  She turned to the king and said, “You must help this brave prince, my lord.”

  “But he has asked for a boon, and you know what that entails.”

  The queen nodded. She turned to Borel and said, “You must best my husband at a game ere he can aid you. Yet heed: he will try his utmost to get the better of you, for otherwise ’tis but a sham.”

  “A game?” said Borel.

  “Yes,” said the king. “A contest. And should you lose, you must dine with me and my queen. Do you agree?”

  But if I dine with them, then I might suffer a fate similar to that of others who have paused to make merry with the Fairies, and a millennium might pass, and Chelle will be lost forever. And that is the terrible penalty if I lose.

  Yet with her words Verdandi indicated I must play, and if I win..

  “Lord, might I name the stakes if I win?”

  “Indeed,” said the King of the Fairies.

  “Then this is what I would have: that you not only tell me where lie the Endless Sands, but you also loan me your very own favorite horse to get there.”

  “My favorite horse?”

  “Oui.”

  The Fairy King looked at his queen and then said, “Very well, I agree.”

  “As do I,” said Borel. “What is the game?”

  “I offer you five,” said the king, “for since I name the weapons, you will choose the play.”

  Borel canted his head in assent.

  “These are the five,” said the Fairy King. “Taroc, echecs, quoits, archery, dames.”

  Ah, just as Verdandi had said: “The king will offer five different games,

  Play the one you played with your dame.

  Remember true and remember well

  The guiding words of your love Michelle.”

  Two of these games I played with Chelle: archery and echecs. Which to choose? Oh, but wait, ‘Remember true and remember well/ The guiding words of your love Michelle.’ Did she give me guiding words? Borel frowned in thought. I remember none whatsoever. Guiding words… guiding words… What guiding words?

  Borel unslung his bow and drew an arrow, and as he looked at the shaft, the Fairy King smiled and said, “It is archery, then?” He turned to signal an Elfin page.

  “I-” Borel started to say, but of a sudden he seemed to hear Chelle’s voice: “My, do you have Fairy arrows, Borel? ’Tis not fair if so… They are magique, my love, and only miss should a greater spell come along to deflect them.”

  Borel looked up and said, “Non, my lord,” and he placed the arrow back into his quiver and reslung his bow. “ ’Tis echecs I choose.”

  “As you will, Prince Borel,” said the Fairy King, and he signalled for an echiquier to be brought forth.

  A table and two chairs were set in the very center of the chamber, and Fairies gathered ’round as the Fairy Queen held out two enclosed hands to Borel. “You are the guest within these halls, Prince Borel, and so you have first choice.”

  Borel drew the white, and therefore had first move.

  “White king’s spearman two paces forward,” said Borel, moving the piece.

  “Black king’s spearman two paces forward as well,” said the Fairy King, smiling in anticipation.

  And the game began, with Fairies crowding about and murmuring after every move, sometimes Ooh ing, sometimes Ahh ing, sometimes gasping at a bold move by either player.

  Borel and the Fairy King both seemed engaged in reckless play, yet it was anything but. Swiftly were moves made and countered, with pieces captured, chevaliers falling, and towers brought to crashing ruin. Hierophants fell in diagonal flight. Kings fled, and queens were slain in spite of the valiant efforts of the spearmen. A great slaughter took place on that grid-marked board, but at last the Fairy King said, “Although the material is fairly balanced, I have the advantage, and it is certain that I will win, for you cannot stop at least one of my black spearmen from reaching the final row and transforming into a black queen.”

  Borel studied the board. He had a king and a spearman and one tower left, whereas the High Lord had a king at one edge of the board with six spearmen at hand, all of them threatening Borel’s king and his spearman.

  At last, Borel said, “Tower to white king’s tower’s three. Check.”

  The High Lord said, “My prince, are you certain you want to make that move?”

  “Indeed,” said Borel.

  “Very well,” said the Fairy King. “Spearman takes tower. Check. And now you have nought but a king and a single spearman left, whereas I yet have all my pieces. Surely you must concede.”

  “Nay, my lord,” said Borel, “I do not concede. White king to white king’s hierophant’s three.”

  “Hmm…” said the Fairy King. “Black spearman to black king’s chevalier’s five. Check.”

  Borel nodded and said, “I avoid the check thus: white king to white king’s hierophant’s four, taking a blocking black spearman.”

  Now the Fairy King studied the board long. “I have but one move,” he said. “Black spearman to black king’s chevalier’s six.”

  Borel laughed and said, “And my lone remaining white spearman takes that black spearman. Check.”

  The Fairy King said, “Ah, Borel, I must make a move and yet cannot, for I am completely thwarted; my black king cannot move to the open space nor capture your single spearman, for to do either would bring him adjacent to your white king, and, of course, that cannot be. Ah, me, I must concede.” And he lay his black king on its side.

  The gathered Fairies gasped, for seldom did the High Lord lose.

  The King Under the Hill reached across the table and shook Borel’s hand and said, “Well played, my prince. Well played.”

  As the gathered Fairies applauded, Borel stood and bowed. And then he said, “And now, my lord, your favorite horse and directions to the Endless Sands.”

  “Won’t you have some wine, Prince Borel?” asked the Fairy King. “To celebrate your victory, of course.”

  Borel shook his head. “Non, my lord, for I cannot delay.” “Very well, then,” said the king. “Clear the floor,” he called.

  Fairies bore away the table and chairs and the echecs game, and all stepped to the sides of the great ballroom, and, at an elaborate wave of the Fairy King’s hand, thirty-two horses came galloping in. Black horses there were, and white ones as well, and there were sixteen of each, the
same as the number of echecs pieces, and the same colors as well. And they were caparisoned in stunning bridles and saddles and other accoutrements: there were tassels adangle and swaying; and brass and bronze and golden bells and jingles rang as the horses moved about; and all had stirrups of the same metals, and bits and rings as well. Splendid were the saddles with their decorated saddle-bows and cantles. Reins and bridles were studded and bejewelled and aglitter. And their shoes were of silver and gold and bronze.

  “My favorite is amid these,” said the Fairy King. “All you must do is find him.”

  And the animals milled about with arched necks and high tails as Borel walked among them.

  “Have you more than one favorite?” called Borel.

  “Non,” replied the Fairy King.

  “And it is within this herd?”

  “Oui,” said the High Lord.

  Verdandi’s words echoed within Borel’s mind: “… ask for the High Lord’s favorite horse, else you will not see the sands ere the full moon rises, yet beware, for the King Under the Hill is quite tricky, and you must recall what you know.”

  Well, the High Lord is indeed tricky, for I must choose one from among the thirty-two. Yet what do I know of Fairy horses? Nothing, I think. Nothing whatsoever.

  Borel stepped among the steeds, pushing some aside to look at others.

  “Recall what you know,” had said Lady Lot, but what is it I know?

  And then Charite’s words came unto him: “Tell him about the Fey ladies on the horses with silver bells.”

  That’s it! Maurice was speaking of the day Chelle came into her majority, the day she was cursed. Maurice and Charite were sitting outside and watching the procession up to the duke’s manor, when the Fairies rode by on their Fairy horses.

  Borel then began looking among the animals, and at last he came to a white horse adorned with silver bells. Borel continued searching, yet he found no other. Finally he strode to the only mount caparisoned with bells of silver and called out, “This is the steed I choose.”

  “You have chosen wisely, my friend,” said the Fairy King, and with a wave of his hand the other horses vanished, for they were nought but illusions all. And they left behind the single white steed bedecked with the silver bells, for it was the true Fairy horse.

  “This is Asphodel,” said the Fey Lord. “Asphodel, meet Prince Borel, a mighty rider, and you will bear him where he wills.”

  The white horse looked at Borel and tossed his head, and Borel bowed in return.

  Borel then turned to the king and said, “And where are the Endless Sands, my lord?”

  “Just say to Asphodel where you would go and he will bear you there,” replied the Fairy King.

  “Then I must away,” said Borel, preparing to mount.

  “But wait, my prince,” said the High Lord. “It is dark. Will you not stay the night?”

  Again Verdandi’s words echoed in Borel’s mind: “… beware, for the King Under the Hill is quite tricky.”

  “Nay, my lord,” replied Borel, “for my mission is urgent, and I cannot wait.”

  “Then fare you well, Prince Borel,” said the Fairy Queen, “and we wish you all good success.”

  Borel mounted the white horse and rode out from the great hall and to the spiral ramp and up. And, lo! it was twilight when he emerged from under the capstone and into the air above. And a waxing, nearly full, gibbous moon rode above the horizon.

  “My lord, my lord,” cried Flic frantically, “there are but two days left ere the moon rises full.”

  “Two days? How can this be? ’Twas the dark of the moon but candlemarks agone,” cried Borel, leaping down and taking up his rucksack and long-knife sheath and hat. He retrieved the honey jar as well, its contents nearly gone.

  “Time runs at a different pace in the halls of the Fairy King,” said Flic. “You entered a full fortnight past!”

  With his gear strapped on, and Buzzer asleep on the hat, Borel leapt back on the horse and said, “Come, Flic, we must ride.”

  Flic took station on Borel’s tricorn and held on to Buzzer, and he said, “My lord, we had better hope this horse flies like the wind, else all is lost.”

  Borel took the reins in hand and whispered into the ear of the Fairy horse, “To the Endless Sands, Asphodel, and hurry.”

  And with a jingle of silver bells, the steed leapt swiftly away.

  44

  Doom

  And like the wind the Fairy horse did run, as away from the dolmen he sped. In a flash, it seemed, Asphodel was past the twilight border and into the stony green highlands, the ones Borel and Flic and Buzzer had come through but a fortnight ago-or, depending upon who might be asked, perhaps that very same eve.

  O’er the hills and tors ran the steed, silver bells sounding the way, and straight into the woodlands he sped, slowing down not one whit, for the Fairy horse was like a zephyr weaving among the trees. Across rivers and streams he passed, silver-shod hooves leaving nought but ripples ringing outward in Asphodel’s wake.

  Now Borel could hear the surf booming against the leagues-long cliffs, and when the racing mount came to the sheer drop, over the rim he leapt.

  Down they plummeted, down through the air, down toward the waves below, and Borel’s knuckles grew white upon the reins he gripped. Yet gentle as a feather did the steed land, and o’er the combers he ran, Asphodel’s heels kicking up white foam behind.

  “By all the gods above,” shouted Borel, “but what a wondrous steed!”

  And across the waters they sped, and below the ruins of the tower high above where the white lady had died, and they saw no sign of her, but of course no storm raged. Yet even had a tempest whelmed upon sea and land, the white lady would not be there, for by Borel’s hand she had been put to rest at last, or so had said Lady Lot. And on beyond the ruins they angled, and soon they were upon the open waters of the wide ocean, with land no longer in sight.

  A ship they passed and then another, men adeck shouting and pointing, and the vessels changed course.

  “We run like the Pooka does o’er the waves,” cried Flic, shrieking to be heard above the wind of their flight.

  Long did they course upon the vast sea and through numerous twilight borders, passing from roiling waters to smooth, from cold oceans to warm, from stormy seas to calm. And as they ran, the gibbous moon sailed serenely above, paying no heed to the miraculous scene below. And somewhere during this passage, Flic fell quite asleep.

  Nigh mid of night and beyond another tenebrous border, a headland appeared in the distance. Up the slopes the Fairy horse sped, and to the fore mighty mountains did loom afar, and when the steed came unto them, up sheer massifs and o’er vast chasms and among jagged crags he leapt.

  Over the range they passed and through another twilight marge to race across a vast bog, the steed running so lightly he left not a track therein. Finally Asphodel emerged through another bound and came to a fiery land, with the ground arumble and mountains spewing flame.

  Past that land, across a great plain they ran, while the moon continued to slide down the sky. Another border they breached, and another and another, and Borel had lost all count, as over snow they raced and lakes and ponds and ice and through the streets of towns and cities and within jungles and across lands desolate of life.

  The moon set, but the sun was not yet risen, and another candlemark they ran.

  At last, even as the dawn graced the skies, they emerged from a woodland and crossed a grassy field to come to a twilight border, and here the white horse bedecked with silver bells halted.

  And Asphodel was not breathing hard.

  “We have reached the Endless Sands?” asked Borel.

  With a nicker, the Fairy horse tossed his head, his silver bells ringing faintly.

  Flic, awakened by the sudden stop, took to wing and passed through the border and back. “Sands as far as the eye can see,” he called.

  Asphodel snorted as if to say, You doubted?

  “Do you see
Roulan’s estate?” called Borel.

  “Non,” said Flic. “As I say, nothing but sand. ’Tis a desert without end.”

  “Noble steed, can you take us to Roulan’s estate in the Endless Sands?”

  The Fairy horse blew and shook his head, silver jingling.

  “Can you take us to the turret where Lady Michelle is held?”

  Once more Asphodel shook his head, silver bells again ringing.

  “Is it because you know not where she lies?”

  A whuffle, and a toss of the head was the steed’s answer.

  Flic hovered before the Fairy horse. “Is it because magie is involved that you do not know?”

  Another whuffle and a toss of head.

  Flic looked at Borel and said, “It seems we are on our own.”

  “I agree,” said Borel, even as Buzzer took to wing and flew to hover beside the Sprite.

  Borel dismounted and stepped to the fore and turned and bowed and said, “I thank you, Asphodel, marvelous steed.”

  Again the mount tossed his head, and as the rim of the sun lipped the horizon, the Fairy horse faded away, and neither Borel nor Flic could see ought of him. And hoof-beats receded and silver bells grew faint as Asphodel swiftly galloped off, back the way he had come.

  When the bells could no longer be heard, Borel whispered, “Fare you well, noble steed.” Then he turned to Flic and said, “I would see these sands,” and he stepped into the twilight border, and the Sprite and the bee followed.

  As they broke fast on the woodland side of the marge, Flic said, “What be our strategy, my lord? How do we go about finding what we are meant to find in yon Endless Sands? I mean, Lady Skuld would not have sent us here if there were nought to discover, nor would Lady Verdandi have told us how to reach this place before the full moon rises if there were nought to see, to do. So, what be our strategy?”

  Borel took a deep breath. “Now that I’ve flown upon the back of a Pooka o’er Faery, and upon an Eagle in a dream, I think the best way to search for something among the sands is to fly up high and simply look about. And since you can fly…”

  “I see,” said Flic, licking honey from a finger. “I scout from above.”