Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Spring morn

Springwood

Unlike today, once upon a time Faery wasn’t difficult to reach. All one had to do was walk through the boundary-a wall of twilight-between here and there.

That particular twilight wall is rather difficult to find these days, yet now and again someone stumbles across and-lo! — enters that wondrous place of marvel and adventure and magic and peril, of mythical and mystical creatures, of uncommon beings. . along with ordinary folk-if anyone who lives in Faery can be said to be ordinary. Too, items of magic are found therein-grimoires, amulets, swords, rings, cloaks, helms, and the like, most of them quite rare. Even the lands within are numinous, for Faery itself is composed of many mystical realms, rather like an enormous but strange jigsaw puzzle, the individual domains all separated from one another by great tenebrous walls of twilight that rise up high into the Faery sky well beyond seeing. And like a mystifying riddle, some of the realms touch upon many others, while some touch upon but few. The twilight walls can be quite tricky to negotiate, for a small error in where one crosses might take a person to a domain perhaps altogether different from where one might have intended to go. Hence, care must be taken when stepping through

these dusky margins; else one might end up somewhere hazardous, even deadly, though one could just as easily find oneself in quite splendid surroundings. Many who dwell in Faery ofttimes stay put rather than chance these shadowlight walls, while others-adventurers, explorers, or the driven-cross from domain to domain.

Some travel well-known paths; others fare along unfamiliar routes to cross between realms. There is this as well: directions in Faery do not seem to be constant; there may be no true east, south, west, and north, though occasionally those compass points are spoken of by newcomers therein; yet when going from one realm to another, bearings seem to shift. Instead it may be more accurate to say that east, south, west, and north, respectively, align with sunup, sunwise, sundown, and starwise. . though at times they are also known as dawnwise, sunwise, duskwise, and starwise. Whether or not this jigsaw puzzle makes an overall coherent picture is questionable, for each of the pieces, each of the domains, seems quite unique; after all, ’tis Faery, an endless place, with uncounted realms all separated from one another by strange walls of shadowlight, and with Faery itself separated from the common world by looming twilight as well.

Among the many remarkable domains within this mystical place are the Forests of the Seasons. One of these four woodlands is a place of eternal springtime, where everlasting meltwater trickles across the ’scape, where some trees are abud while others are new-leafed, where early blossoms are abloom though some flowers yet sleep, where birds call for mates and beetles crawl through decaying leaves, and mushrooms push up through soft loam, and where other such signs of a world coming awake manifest themselves in the gentle, cool breezes and delicate rains.

On one side of this mystical, springlike realm lies the mortal world, or at least one path through the twilight leads there. On the other side, though, and beyond an shy; other great wall of half-light there stands a land of eternal winter, where snow ever lies on the ground, and ice clads the sleeping trees and covers the still meres or encroaches in thin sheets upon the edges of swift-running streams, and the stars at night glimmer in crystalline skies when blizzards do not blow.

Beyond that chill realm and through yet another shadowlight border there is a domain where autumn lies upon the land; here it is that crops afield remain ever for the reaping, and vines are overburdened with their largesse, and trees bear an abundance ripe for the plucking, and the ground holds rootstock and tubers for the taking. Yet no matter how often a harvest is gathered, when one isn’t looking the bounty somehow replaces itself.

Farther still and past that magical realm and separated from it by a great wall of twilight is another equally enigmatic province, a domain graced by eternal summer; it is a region of forests and fields, of vales and clearings, of streams and rivers and other such ’scapes, where soft summer breezes flow across the weald, though occasionally towering thunderstorms fill the afternoon skies and rain sweeps o’er all.

How such places can be-endless spring, winter, autumn, and summer-is quite mysterious; nevertheless it is so, for these four provinces are the Springwood and Winterwood and Autumnwood and Summerwood, a mere quartet of the many magical domains in the twilit world of Faery.

And as to these four regions, a prince or a princess rules each-Celeste, Borel, Liaze, and Alain-siblings all: the sisters Celeste and Liaze respectively reign o’er the Spring- and the Autumnwood; likewise, their brothers, Borel and Alain rule the Winter- and the Summerwood.

They love one another, these siblings, and seldom do tribulations come their way. Oh, there was of recent that trouble with Liaze and the travail on an obsidian mountain, but she had persevered in spite of the perils. Too, ere then, there was that strangeness with Borel and his dagger-filled dreams, yet he had managed to successfully deal with that hazardous episode. And earlier still, there was the mysterious disappearance of Lord Valeray and Lady Saissa, and the dreadful two curses leveled upon Prince Alain, but Camille had come along to resolve those trials.

But after Liaze’s recent harrowing ordeal, it appeared trouble was at last held at bay, though the Fates would have it that there yet loomed a portent of darker days to come. But at that time joy lay upon the land, for, in the Summerwood, Camille and Alain were wedded, and Borel and Michelle had started back from their journey to Roulan Vale, where they had visited with Chelle’s sire and dam and had received their blessings; soon Borel and his truelove would reach the Winterwood, and a king would be notified and the banns would be posted and preparations for another wedding would get under way. And Liaze, with Luc at her side, was on a leisurely journey back to the Autumnwood, though she had not yet arrived; but when she and Luc reached the manse, yet another wedding would take place.

And so, at that time all was well in these Forests of the Seasons, or so it seemed.

But then. .

. . Once upon a spring morn. .

Leather-clad Celeste, a bow across her lap, a quiver of green-fletched arrows at her hip, a silver horn at her side, rested in a fork among the huge branches of a great oak tree, its everlasting new leaves rustling in the cool morning breeze sighing across the Springwood. Celeste called this massive tree her Companion of Quietness, for here she came whenever she felt a nagging unease, one that seemed to dwell for days in her heart. In times such as these, Celeste would ride to this old friend and climb up within its arms and let it whisper to her of the richness of the soil and the luxury of the snowmelt and the warmth of the sun, and her unrest would abate somewhat if not disappear entirely. But on this day, though the oak gently murmured of the awakening of spring, Celeste yet felt a foreboding, for Liaze had set out nearly six moons past in the hope of finding her truelove, and still no falcons had flown from the Autumnwood bearing news of her return. And so, lost in her concern, Celeste fretted over her auburn-haired sister, and prayed to Mithras that she was well.

Even as she brooded, the Springwood princess became aware of a distant baying and the cry of a far-off horn. Celeste frowned, for she had not sanctioned a hunt that day, and yet it seemed one came this way.