Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Summer Day

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.”

“Oui,” said Borel, chewing a biscuit. “And there is this as well: because the boundaries of Faery are quite tricky, I would have us enter the Endless Sands, have you fly as high as is safe and look and come back down. If you’ve seen nought, then we’ll return to this side, to move on solid ground instead of slogging through loose sand as we make our way somewhat down the marge and enter again, and repeat the process.”

“But, my lord, a small move along this side of the border can shift us greatly along the other side… and vice versa I add.”

Borel nodded. “Rightly so, Flic, yet if that be the case I can only hope that a small move on this side is a greater move on the other.”

“How will we know?” asked Flic.

Swallowing a bite of jerky, Borel said, “We’ll leave a marker lying in the sand here, and then come back to this side, move along the border a bit, and then go in and see. If all is well, we’ll continue doing so. And by leaving markers at each crossing, we’ll know if we’ve gone too far and need to double back.”

“What kind of markers, my lord? I have nothing whatsoever to leave except Argent and his scabbard and belt, and I will certainly not abandon them. I mean, after all, my epee might be needed ere we are done. And there is this, too: if it is you who leaves something behind in the sand, and if the search is long, then you will be as naked as I ere we are finished.”

Borel took a bite of jerky and chewed a moment, then said, “Right you are. What would you suggest instead?”

“I think I will be able to see a marking in the sand itself. And with your huge feet, my lord, you should be able to shuffle about and leave tracks deep enough for me to espy.”

Borel laughed, then sobered. “Though the sand is quite loose and some likely to spill back in, still there is no wind, and so a mark might last long enough for us to search. Hence, with my very huge feet I’ll scrape out a deep number in the sand at each crossing- un, deux, trois, and so on-so that we’ll know if somehow the twilight borders have managed to circle us ’round.”

“Circle us ’round?”

“Yes, Flic. You see, I think if we have so-called Endless Sands, then perhaps somewhere within will be margins such that when one steps through he comes to the opposite side of the sands and so they merely seem endless rather than truly being so.”

“I do not understand,” said Flic, taking up another finger of honey and licking it clean.

“Think of it this way, Flic: say you are in a room filled with sand, but there are two dark arches on opposite sides of the room. And when you step out through one arch, you come in through the other, thus entering the very same roomful of sand. Time after time you walk across the room and go out the far arch, only to enter the near one, and thereby enter the same room of sand. Now I ask you, wouldn’t the sand seem endless?”

“Oui, my lord.”

“Yet had you left a special marker in the sand-an object, a particular track, or the like-you would pass it again and again, and thereby know the sand is not truly endless, but only seems so.”

Flic clapped his hands. “How clever you are, my lord.”

Borel frowned. “Had I been clever, then perhaps I would know what Lady Lot meant when she said I had already missed one chance to find the sands.”

“Ah, those Fates: what do they know?”

“Everything,” said Borel. “At least everything in its due time.”

“Pish,” said Flic, snorting. “I mean, look, you answered their riddles right off.”

“Ah, Flic, they posed me riddles the answers to which I already knew,” said Borel. “And what’s more, they knew that I knew, or knew I would cipher it out. I think they are simply bound by some unwritten law or higher power or unbreakable edict to require a service, pose a riddle, and then render aid with another riddle.”

“Well, my lord, that’s easy for you to say. As for me, I would have failed to answer the one about me falling behind and then passing the Sprite in second place. I mean, not that I would ever fall behind”-Flic growled-“and certainly not twice as the Fates would have it.”

Borel smiled and said, “That may be, Flic, but again I say, the riddles were simple. The true test was in bearing them across the water.”

They ate in silence for a while, but then Flic said, “Oh, my goodness.”

“What?” asked Borel.

“Just this, my prince: if somehow someone were dropped into the room of sand where there were but two dark arches, and if there were no other way out, then he would be trapped forever.”