Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a dreadful time

And still through looming walls of twilight she flew, Faery borders, one after another, so many she lost count as the sun slid up the sky and across and down. Yet Hradian pressed on, her flight draining her of energy, for it took much out of her to maintain the spell. And besides, she had flown very far the past three days-all the way to and from Valeray’s demesne, and now, with but a short rest, onward to the Black Wall.

But at last, as the sinking sun touched the distant horizon, Hradian began to circle down, for in the distance ahead and looming up into the sky an ebon barrier stood; it seemed a black beyond black, so dark it was. Yet even though it was within easy flight, she had not the vigor to broach it this eve, for flying into the Great Darkness required almost as much arcane power as did her flight to come unto this place. Instead she spiralled down toward a small town below, where she would spend the night, resting and regaining her strength.

Down coiled Hradian and down, to finally come alight upon a knoll, the village a short walk beyond. She cast a glamour upon herself, and a young man with a stave in hand and pack on his back headed downslope through the dusk and toward the only hostel in the hamlet.

After an overnight stay at Summerwood Manor, early the following morn Blaise and Regar and Flic and Fleurette and Buzzer took breakfast in one of the white gazebos sprinkled across the broad estate. The two men downed eggs and rashers and toast and butter and jams and good strong hot tea, while the Sprites and the bee alternated between honey and preserves, though both Flic and Fleurette also ate tiny bits of toast dipped in the sweets. The day was cloudless, the sky blue, and alongside the gazebo a clear and slow-flowing stream meandered, passing under the branches of a large willow overhanging the lucid water. A small cluster of black swans awkwardly waddled down the bank and entered the drift, where it seemed elegance overtook them as they coursed away downcurrent on an errand of their own.

As he watched the graceful dark birds, “The messenger falcons flew at dawn,” said Blaise. “Mayhap soon we’ll know whether others met up with one or more of the Fates.”

“If so,” said Fleurette, “we can expect more redes to confound us.”

“Non,” said Regar, “for you and Flic and Buzzer and I will be away by then.”

“Then you’re leaving for the halls of the Fairy King ere any falcons arrive?” asked Blaise.

Regar turned and looked past the manse and toward the stables beyond, where four horses were being readied for travel.

“Oui, for as Flic said yester, our mission cannot wait.”

“Even so,” said Flic, “I could tarry here for part of the day and learn the contents of whatever missives might come from one of the other demesnes.”

Fleurette shook her head. “Oh, Flic, you know Buzzer will not fly a course unless you are along. Besides, neither Regar nor I can speak Bee, and should we need to change direction, well, we’d be at a loss. Still, I could wait for messages to arrive and catch up with you later.”

As Flic’s face fell at the thought of leaving Fleurette behind, Regar said, “Non, Wee Flower, I think we should all go, for who knows whether or no falcons will ever come? There is this as well: with you starting out to find us a half day or more behind, you could easily stray from whatever line Buzzer takes, and even a small error can lead to a wide miss; non, Fleurette, I would not have you flitting about seeking us in a woodland, especially one where the witch’s crows are at large.”

“But most are massed at the starwise border,” said Fleurette.

Regar shook his head. “Even so, we know not what lies before us. Mayhap there are more along the way we will travel.” Fleurette glanced at the silver epee at Flic’s side and said,

“I could carry a thorn. Too, given the nature of our kindred Sprites, mayhap by now no crows remain anywhere within the four forests.”

“That we do not know,” said Flic, peering toward distant trees and the clear skies above. Then he added, “Regar is correct. We should all go together.” A silence fell among them, and they continued to break their fast. And soon the horses were led across the sward toward the gazebo. One was fitted with a small rack, several modest bags of provisions affixed thereon. Of the other three horses, two were completely unladen, while one was fully equipped with tack, saddlebags included.

Followed by Buzzer, Flic flew up and landed on one of the bags and said to the hostler, “I say, have you enough honey packed away in these? Buzzer will require quite a bit, you know; we don’t want to have to stop along the way to gather nectar because we’ve run out.”

“Three full jars, wee sieur.” The stableman held his hands in such a way to indicate the size.

“Perhaps it is enough,” said Flic, frowning, for as yet he did not know just how far hence the halls of the Fairy King lay.

He looked at Buzzer and then flew back to the gazebo. “Prince Regar, are we ready to leave?”

Regar downed the last of his tea and stood. “As soon as you point the way.”

“Follow me,” said Flic, and he flew to a large flat of flagstone on the path bordering a flowerbed nearby, Buzzer and Fleurette following awing, Blaise and Regar afoot. As soon as the Sprites and bee alighted, Flic said, “Now let me see, nigh the entrance to the halls of the King Under the Hill, there are white phlox and purple thistle and tiny bluebells. Oh, and yellow poppies, but only in spring.” He frowned. “I wonder what season it is there?”

“It was summer in Valeray’s demesne,” said Fleurette, “and I believe his realm properly follows the march of the sun.”

“Oh, then,” said Flic, “tiger lilies instead, but only near streams.”

Flic sank to his knees and it appeared he was speaking to the bee, yet what he said, only Fleurette seemed to have a glimmering. Buzzer began a peculiar wiggling and buzzing dance, Flic paying rapt attention. Back and forth in a straight line the bee wriggled, pausing now and again to thrum her wings. And then Buzzer began dancing in a different direction, and again and again she buzzed and wriggled and paused. Once more and again and several times thereafter she changed the course of the dance, each on a separate tack. Finally, she stopped, and Flic shook his head and growled.

“What is it?” asked Blaise.

Flic sighed. “Buzzer knows of a number of places with all four things, some closer than others, but most of them quite far. Now let me think, is there anything more? — Oh, of course, the large dolmen and the light that streams out. But wait, that only happens at night, when Buzzer is quite asleep.” He pondered a bit more, and then said, “Aha! I have it. It’s where we spent a fortnight waiting for Prince Borel to emerge; Buzzer knows him as Slowfoot Who Does Not Fly.”

Again Flic conversed with the bee, and Buzzer took up the dance once more, now wriggling and buzzing and pausing, this time in a single direction.

“Good,” said Flic, looking up at Regar. “She has it. Yon is our way.” Flic pointed, aiming more or less in the direction the bee had danced: a bit to sun of duskwise, or as some would name it, more or less west-southwest. “There are a few marges of twilight to cross. Still, it is much shorter than the twisty path that Prince Borel and I took to get there, for we went many other places ere aiming for the halls of the King Under the Hill.” Regar smiled and said, “Well then, let us hie.” He turned to Blaise and the two men embraced and pounded one another on the back, and Regar said, “I will do my best to rally my Fairy King grandsire to bring his armies to join in the battle against Orbane, should the wizard get free.”