Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Summer Day

“Well, it took you two long enough,” said Flic.

“Long enough for what?” said Borel, walking into the room. He stepped to the sideboard and filled a plate of his own.

“Long enough to, um, plight your troth,” said Flic.

Borel sat next to Chelle. “If she will have me, we are betrothed,” he said. He turned to Chelle. “Will you marry me, my love?”

Chelle’s eyes sparkled and she answered, but what she said neither Borel nor Flic understood, her mouth stuffed with food as it was. And both Borel and Flic looked at one another, and they shrugged and turned up their hands.

“I think she said ‘No,’ ” said Borel, a twinkle in his eye.

“I believe you’re right, my lord,” said Flic, grinning.

Chelle frantically shook her head and groaned a wordless protest, and both the prince and the Sprite broke out in laughter.

Finally, Chelle swallowed and this time clearly said, “Oh, yes, my love, I will marry you.” And she threw her arms about Borel and kissed him soundly.

Nine more days and nights they stayed in the chalet in Nione, and every day they celebrated their betrothal, and in the nights as well.

The evening they told King Arle, he made a public proclamation, and the entire town celebrated. And Arle toasted their good health and said, “Well, now, my friends, you have notified a king. Hence all you must do is post the banns, and, after the waiting time is over, find you a hierophant.”

“In my own demesne will we post the banns,” said Borel, “and in Duke Roulan’s demesne as well, once we get him free, for I would have the wedding be one wherein he gives away the bride.”

“Pah!” snorted Flic, but he was smiling. “You humans with your rituals.”

On the fourteenth day in Nione, Borel and Chelle and Flic and Buzzer made ready to depart, and Arle came unto them and he presented Borel with a bronze sword, its edge keen, its hilt capped with a white chalcedony gemstone, and a grey leather belt and scabbard with it. He then presented Chelle with a moonstone pendant. And to both he said, “These two stones are governed by the moon, and they will remind you of the perilous times and of your lasting love.”

Borel embraced the king, and Chelle hugged Arle and kissed him, and murmured her thanks.

Arle turned to Flic and held up a jar of honey and said, “This is for you and Buzzer. I am told it comes from the white moonflower and is honey rare indeed.”

Flic bowed and said, “Thank you, my lord, and I thank you on behalf of Buzzer as well. She and I will both be pleased with such a gift.”

On Flic’s behalf, Borel took the jar and slipped it into one of the packhorse bags with the food.

Then King Arle presented Flic with a wee tiny pendant as well and said, “This stone is known as a moondrop; it is said to be moonlight itself made manifest; well do you deserve it, my little friend, whose heart is perhaps the biggest of all. Wear it to remind you of the perils you faced and the victories won.”

Flic drew his silver epee and saluted the king. “Thank you, my lord. I will wear it with pride. Yet I remind you, the adventure is not finished until we free Roulan and all those entrapped by Rhensibe.”

Arle looked at Flic and then Borel and finally Chelle and said, “Oh, I have not forgotten that quest, my friends. As soon as you return with the magicien or sorciere to deal with that foul witch, I and my men will ride with you.”

“We thank you, my lord,” said Borel, and again he and the king embraced, and again Chelle hugged and kissed Arle, and then they mounted up and watched as Buzzer flew ’round and took a sighting on the sun and then shot off toward the demesne on the generally sunward bound of the Winterwood, an adjacent realm where grew yellow daffodils and blue morning glories and red clover, all three of which Flic and Chelle identified after Borel had described them.

And so, with a packhorse in tow, out from Nione they rode, and some townsfolk stood along the street to wave them good-bye. Up the far hill they fared-Borel and Chelle ahorse, Flic on the tricorn-all of them following a beeline for a distant border. And as they topped the rise, behind them there sounded a long and resonant horn cry: it was King Arle’s au revoir.

Borel and Chelle turned and waved good-bye, Flic waving as well, and Chelle cried out, “Au revoir, King Arle, for we will meet again.”

And then they turned and rode over the hill and down the far side and away.

Out from Nione they rode, over hills and through forests for the entire day, Borel and Chelle talking and Flic achatter, Buzzer flying somewhat ahead, though the bee often returned to make certain they were following her line. Now and again they came to a river they had to ford, and at these flows Flic would fly upstream or down- to scout out a suitable crossing. Flic also flew whenever they came to a drop or a rise the horses could not traverse, and the Sprite would find a fitting place for the steeds to make their way onward.

And the sun rose into the sky and across and down, and when evening came, they camped in a woodland green.

The next day they crossed a twilight border, and came into a lowland of reeds and many lakes. And though Buzzer could fly a straight line over water and vegetation alike, it took the riders three days altogether to wend a passage through. And as they finally emerged from a twilight border and into a land of rock and grass and thickets, Borel looked back and said, “All it would take is one good long rain to submerge that entire realm.”

“That might be so, my lord,” said Flic, “nevertheless ’tis the way Buzzer knows.”

Chelle laughed and said, “Let us hope she doesn’t come to a place of bottomless mud, a place she could easily fly over but we could not cross at all.”

“If it comes to that,” said Flic, “we will simply go into a different realm and see if she can find her way from there.”

“How many demesnes of Faery has she been in?” asked Chelle.

“I think ’tis a number beyond count,” said Flic. “But each realm must have flowers, else it simply isn’t within her ken.”

“Like the Endless Sands,” said Borel.

“Yes,” said Flic, “like the Endless Sands.”

“I saw no flowers in the place we just came from,” said Chelle.

“The reeds, my lady,” said Flic, “they flower in their season.”

“Ah,” said Chelle, and on they rode.

A twoday later, early morn found them wending their way up through a high mountain pass, and ahead at the crest of the col stood a man, as if waiting. And he held a great black sword unsheathed.

“A toll-taker, do you think?” said Chelle.

“Perhaps,” said Borel. Even so, he loosened the keepers on his long-knife and sword and spurred forward to ride ahead of Chelle.

On toward the man they went, and now they could see that he was lean and tall and hairless, and he wore only a dhoti, and there was a ghastly white pallor to his skin. His fingers were long and bony, as were his legs and arms, and yet he sported a small rounded belly, as if it were swollen from lack of food.

“My lord,” hissed Flic. “There is something about this creature, or so my Fey vision tells me. I think he is not a man at all, but a thing of a different sort. Just what, I cannot say.”

Grimly Borel rode on, and he reined to a stop some paces short of the being.

“I have been waiting for you,” said the man-the thing-his voice hollow, his words strangely accented, and he smiled a wicked smile, and his teeth were nought but fangs.

“Waiting for us?” said Borel. “How so?”

“Not you, O Man,” said the creature. “You may ride on past, for it is the woman I am here to slay.” Then the being looked past Borel to Chelle. “Rhensibe summoned me; she wanted you to know she had done so. And she told me to say unto you that the moment you are slain, so shall die all those enspelled in your father’s manse. Know this as well, Woman: you cannot escape me, for I am of Enfer itself, and I am bound to Rhensibe until you are dead.”