Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Summer Day

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.

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.