Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Summer Day

Vines lashed at him, and he held Chelle close to protect her, and he ran with speed to get her free from harm.

Through the swiftly closing gap he fled, Flic and Buzzer leading the way, and just as he thought he would be trapped forever, he burst out into the vale beyond.

Within a few more strides he sank to his knees, and, bleeding and totally exhausted, he laid Chelle to the grass.

“My lord, she does not seem to be breathing,” said Flic.

“Oh, my love, you cannot die,” moaned Borel. “Please, my love, please.”

And he pressed his lips against hers and breathed air into her lungs, and then listened for it to escape.

And as he started to press his lips to hers again, Chelle put her arms about him and murmured, “Borel, Borel, my beloved,” and she kissed him fervently.

Then she opened her incredibly blue eyes, eyes that Borel had not seen ere this moment, but for the time when she was yet a child.

Of a sudden she said, “Oh. Oh. ’Tis no dream.” And, completely embarrassed, she reddened.

But Borel kissed her once more, and for a moment she seemed to be utterly confused, but then she threw herself into the kiss, her passion a burning fire.

Flic smiled and looked away at the moon, just then standing full on the horizon.

With the sun now set, twilight crept ’cross the Endless Sands, and even as Buzzer, preparing to sleep, took station upon the tricorn, Borel said, “My Lady Michelle, the kiss, forgive me for being so bold.”

Chelle reddened and said, “Nay, my lord, ’tis I who must beg forgiveness.”

Borel grinned and said, “Then shall we forgive one another? Or instead shall we continue to repeat the offense in the many days to come?”

Chelle laughed, and in spite of his weariness, Borel stood and offered his hand and raised Chelle to her feet.

As she stood, “My lord, you are wounded!”

“Nought but scratches,” said Borel, even as he winced when Chelle reached out to touch a gash in his leathers.

“We must bandage you,” said Chelle.

“When we are on the other side of the twilight border,” said Borel, gesturing.

She looked about, her eyes widening in shock. “Where are we?”

“The Endless Sands, Lady Chelle,” said Flic.

“Oh, my, a Sprite!” said Chelle, seeing the wee Fey for the first time.

With a flourish, Flic bowed and said, “At your service, Demoiselle. I am Flic, wielder of Argent and companion of Buzzer. I am, as well, Prince Borel’s tagalong.”

“Without Flic and Buzzer, I never would have found you,” said Borel.

Chelle frowned. “And Buzzer is…?”

Carefully, Borel removed his hat and pointed at the now-sleeping bee and said, “Our guide.”

“I remember a dream,” said Chelle, smiling. “But it was in among thorn trees where I saw a Sprite and a bee.”

Borel nodded. “These are the same you saw there, and that was quite far from here.”

Again Chelle looked ’round. “And these are the Endless Sands?”

Borel replaced his hat and said, “Indeed, Chelle.”

“How did I get here, and what is that great green mound? It looks like a vast tangle of thorns.”

Borel sighed. “There is much to tell, my lady, but this I will say: the greenery about is your sire’s estate, and within that tangle lies your manor.”

Chelle shook her head. “This cannot be Roulan Vale, not here in the Endless Sands.”

“Mademoiselle,” said Flic, “we believe the estate was borne here by a great black wind.”

“A black wind?” said Chelle. “I remember no black wind.”

“Perhaps you were already in an enchanted sleep,” said Borel, “a sleep we believe was cast by the sorciere Rhensibe.”

“Rhensibe?” gasped Chelle, then her eyes narrowed. “That wicked Fairy. Yes, I remember. She threw the spell during the celebration of my majority.” Chelle glanced at the moon. “But it was nigh noon today, not in the twilight.”

“Chelle,” said Borel, taking her hands in his, “ ’twas not this day the spell was cast, but in a time now gone.”

“A time now gone? When?”

“As mortals would reckon, eleven years and eleven moons past,” said Flic.

Chelle’s hand flew to her mouth. “Eleven years…?” Her words fell to a whisper even as Borel embraced her.

“And eleven moons,” said Flic.

She looked up into Borel’s face unbelieving. “ ’Tis true,” he softly said.

She rested her head against his breast for a moment, and then she said, “My pere and mere, are they well?”

“Chelle,” said Borel, “they, too, were enspelled by the enchanted sleep, as were all your guests and the staff.”

“Where are they?”

“Trapped within that tangle of thorns in your pere’s manor, held by the same magie that ensorcelled you.”

“We must set them free,” said Chelle, pulling away and starting toward the mound.

“Non, non, my love,” cried Borel, quickly catching her and drawing her back. “The thorns are enchanted and they will strike down any who come nigh.”

“But you got in,” said Chelle, tugging against his grip.

“Oui, yet the sword I used was special, and it is gone, destroyed in turn by the very same vines it destroyed. And the path it made through that tangle is now grown shut.”

Chelle stopped resisting and cried, “Oh, Borel, we must get through and break the spell.”

“Oui. But the spinning wheel yet turns the spindle, and we need find a way to counteract its magie.”

“Spinning wheel?” said Flic.

“Do you remember the squeaking and the music?” asked Borel.

“Oui,” replied the Sprite.

Borel said, “There is a magique spinning wheel turning an enchanted spindle, and the spindle casts the spell. That is what we must overcome.”

“How did you do so?” asked Flic.

“Buzzer kept me from falling asleep-”

“Buzzer?” said Flic.

“Oui. She stung me repeatedly, and the pain barely fended away the charm.”

“Aha!” said Flic. “Perhaps that’s what Lady Urd whispered to Buzzer-instructions to keep you awake, and Buzzer did so by the only means at her command.”

“That might be so, Flic, yet at the moment we are helpless. We have no way to get in, and even had we the means to break through the thorn barrier, we would need a way to counteract the wheel.”

“Perhaps we can simply put wax in our ears,” said Flic. “That way we won’t hear the-”

A prolonged, shrill, enraged scream shattered the air, yet whence it came, they could not say.

“Rhensibe,” gritted Borel, turning to Chelle. “She has discovered you are free.”

Chelle gasped and said, “We must flee before she can cast a snare.”

“My lord, look! Something dark and dreadful!” cried Flic, and he pointed at the moon.

Silhouetted against the silver orb, like hideous dark cloaks flapping in the wind, an eldritch black swarm came flying across the sky.

“Where can we run?” said Chelle, looking about even as she pulled a long ribbon from her hair and hiked up her dress and tied it ’round her waist.

“Back through the twilight border,” said Borel, stringing his bow.

“Then let us away,” said Chelle.

And so, out from the green vale they sped and into the Endless Sands, Chelle following Borel, for he knew the way, Flic flying above, Argent in hand.

And the footing was uncertain in the loose sand, yet still they made good headway toward the sheer cliffs.

Behind them, the flapping shadowy swarm reached the great entanglement of thorns and circled ’round and ’round the turret hidden within.

And still Borel and Chelle and Flic made for the high cliffs and the footpath up to the twilight wall above, for they would flee through the narrow portal in the bound.