“Be still, Camille. They nearly did you in,” replied Borel.
“But how?”
“They say ghosts steal life from the living, as if trying to recapture their own, and they were primarily clustered about you.”
“What of you, the Bear, the Wolves?”
Borel managed a weak smile. “Oh, I was leeched, yet not as were you, for even though my long-knife did them no harm, I ween ’twas their memories of blades apast kept most away from me.”
“And the Bear, the Wolves? Did the wraiths steal the force of their lives?”
“Nay, Camille. It seems ghosts prefer pure Humans.”
Camille’s eyes closed and she whispered, “But I am not pure.”
“What, Camille?”
Her voice was now faint, fading. “Ask the Unicorn.”
When Camille next came to, she was lying on a bed of evergreen branches. At hand a warm campfire burned, and a brace of rabbits cooked above the flames. Dizzily, she sat up and looked about. The Bear, now black, sat nearby, as well as Borel and the Wolves, some of the latter alert and warding, others quite sound asleep. New green leaves swayed in a slight breeze above, and water ran down the slope and toward the valley below. While upslope and to the rear a wall of twilight loomed.
It was early morn, for the sun was just edging up over the horizon, and they were in the Springwood.
“How are you feeling?” asked Borel.
“Thirsty,” said Camille, struggling to her feet. “And I need to relieve myself.”
She tottered into the woods, and awhile later came out, and Borel had a waterskin and a cup waiting.
As she drank, the Bear came over and snuffled at her, and she gave him a hug. That seemed to satisfy him, and he padded to the opposite side of the fire and, grunting, lay down.
After quenching her thirst, she asked, “How long was I unaware?”
“But for a brief moment yester, a night and a day and another night all told,” replied Borel. He looked back at the Winterwood behind. “I should have known that the curse on that sector would be more than just blighted woodland.”
Camille also looked back at the cold and twisted and shattered forest darkly seen beyond the tenebrous marge. “This curse, can it not be lifted, the region returned to normal?”
Borel shook his head. “We have tried, just as we tried at-” Abruptly he fell silent.
“Just as those mages and witches and warlocks and other such tried whatever they tried at Summerwood Manor?” softly asked Camille.
Borel glanced across the fire and nodded. He then drew a deep breath and said, “Time to eat coney.”
As they took the rabbits from the spit, Camille heard a heavy breathing, and when she looked-“Oh, goodness, my Bear is asleep.”
“ ’Tis no wonder,” said Borel. “He dragged you here without stopping.”
“Did you stop?”
Borel shook his head and bit into a coney leg. Around the mouthful, he said, “I did sleep last night though, when we reached this camp.” He chewed a moment, and then glanced back at the path through the Winterwood. “I’ve a good mind to get me a sword of iron and lay those wraiths to rest once and for all.”
Camille paused in her eating. “But Renaud the smith said that iron was not permitted in Faery. Is it not banned?”
“Not quite,” replied Borel. “A few who sail the seas carry weapons of iron, of steel. It protects them from some of the monsters of the deep. They seldom bring it onshore however, and then but in direst need.”
“What of a magic sword, Borel, an enchanted blade? I’ve heard tales of such weapons as being within the realms of Faery. Would one of those not lay these ghosts by?”
“Oh, Sister mine, enchanted blades are quite rare, and perhaps worth more than the wealth of all of the Forests of the Seasons combined. But you are correct, an enchanted blade would do the deed.”
“Rrhmm!” suddenly chuffed the Bear and raised up his head and glared about, then settled back down to sleep.
Camille set a finger to her lips, and they ate the rest of the meal in silence.
They did not move onward that day, but spent the whole of it resting, recovering, regaining vitality-through the full of the night as well.
The next dawning, Camille awakened quite refreshed, much of the effects of the spectres allayed. During a breakfast of biscuits and tea, she conferred with Borel, and they decided that she and the Bear would go on, while he and his Wolves would return to the Winterwood. “But I and my pack will be here a twelveday hence and await your return, Camille, to escort you along the cursed way, and this time we’ll not stop to rest in a place where phantoms lie.”
As Wolves yipped and yammered and postured and circled and nipped and fawned, gathering for the return, Camille embraced Borel, then climbed upon the Bear, and down the long slope and into the sheer-walled valley she rode. She turned to wave adieu, but Borel and his pack were gone.
Down into the wide, deep gorge went the Bear and Camille, and far to either side rose vertical walls of granite, though here and there in niches and nooks high upon the steeps did trees manage to cling, their vibrant spring greens in sharp contrast to the pale grey of the stone. Far ahead and to the right, many separate waterfalls cascaded over the brim and down, thundering into streams below, which wended across the gorge, the runs to combine and combine again into larger flows, all to join together at last and course into a rift at the base of the rock wall on the far side. And all about Camille and the Bear, new branches and old held vivid green leaves, and spring blossoms bloomed amid the fresh grass growing across the leas.
In late afternoon they came alongside the pool at the base of the high cascade plummeting down the sheer wall at the far end of the vale, there where the switchback path led up the stone and out. As they started up the narrow way, Camille laughed in joy, for Waterfolk, nearly transparent, cavorted in the churn below, male and female alike, and they chased one another as if playing tag, and they raced and grabbed hold of ankles and wrists and waists, some nipping, some giggling, others kissing, while yet others paired off and engaged inOh, my! — Camille blushed and looked away, as on up the path the Bear did go.
Two days later, as the tide of dusk drew over the land, they came to the final twilight bound; the Bear padded on through and into a warm summer’s eve within the mortal world beyond. And Camille gasped, for where her Papa’s cottage once sat now stood a brightly lit mansion, with many carriages drawn up beyond; and lively music drifted across the field to fill the air with song.
15
The Bear, now a rich brown, growled and stopped. Camille slid from his back and looked across the field at the brightly lit mansion and the carriages and teams in harness. “Oh, Bear, it is not at all what we expected, is it?” Camille frowned. “I wonder who lives there and where my family has gone.” She took a deep breath and let it out, and said, “Well, we’ll not learn a thing simply by standing here. Let us go and see.”
As Camille stepped away, “ Rrhmm,” rumbled the Bear, and he did not move.
“What is it, Bear?”
The Bear raised its nose into the air and snuffled.
“Is it the horses? Or, instead, the men?”
The Bear gave a soft whuff.
“Ah, well, as for the horses, I know you do not wish to frighten them. And as for the men, I don’t blame you, for, knowing the ways of mortals, they might take it in their heads to go hunting after you, my Bear, yes?”
“Urrmm.”
Camille frowned, for she did not know how to interpret that answer, one which might mean No, though in this case it might also mean something else altogether, such as Let them try.
