Once upon a Spring morn

the bound and ’round and then back in, or so the chart says.” Roel sighed and said, “Then the best we can do is continue riding a half point to the sunup of sunwise, and hope we find it quickly.”

They reached the edge of the forest at sunset, and there they made camp, Roel yet wishing he had thought to have brought along a plucky but nervous dog.

That night Roel was awakened by Celeste placing a finger to his lips, and he sat up to see a procession of lights low to the ground and wending among the trees, silver bells atinkle on the air.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“Who is it? is more the question,” murmured Celeste.

“Most likely the wee folk heading for a fairy ring. ’Tis nigh springtime in this realm, and they would dance the chill away and welcome warmth among the trees.”

“But the woods are fully leafed,” said Roel. “Is not springtime already come?”

“ ’Tis Faery, love, where the seasons of the mortal world do not always fully apply. There are realms with green trees and blossoms abloom though winter lies across the land, just as there are domains in winter dress though summertime reigns.”

“Only in Faery,” muttered Roel.

Slowly the march wended onward, and when it could no longer be seen or heard, Roel glanced at the stars above and said, “I ween ’tis mid of night and my watch is upon us. Sleep, Celeste, and I will stand ward.”

“I would rather sit at your side.”

“Non, cherie, as much as I love your companionship, you must rest, for dawn will come soon enough.” And so Celeste lay down and soon fell aslumber. Roel listened to her breath deepen, and then he threw another stick on the low-burning fire. He stepped to the horses, standing adoze, and checked the tethers and the animals. Satisfied, he returned to camp and sat down, his back to a tree, and faced into the forest.

How long he sat thus he did not know, but he suddenly realized something was afoot among the boles directly ahead, for he heard faint turning of ground litter, and something low and dark moved stealthily.

Roel took up his sword and waited.

In the blackness of the forest and nigh to the ground a pair of red eyes glowed, and then another pair shone in the dark, creeping nearer. Roel, his heart hammering, reached across to Celeste and gently put a finger to her lips. Silently she came awake, and by the light of ruddy coals, she looked to Roel. “Shh. .,” he murmured.

“Something this way comes.”

Celeste drew her long-knife, and lay alert, and still the red eyes crept closer, now five pairs altogether.

“Hai!” cried Roel, and leapt to his feet and kicked up the fire.

Startled and shying in the sudden light, a mother fox and her four kits turned tail and fled.

Roel laughed and said, “Ah, me, but the crofter’s words of warning of a terrible forest filled with strange goings-on and mystifications have put me on edge.”

“Foxes,” said Celeste, giggling, her own heart yet arace. “You should have trapped one, love; ’twould make a fine nervous dog.”

“Celeste, there is but one edgy dog here, and it be named Roel.”

Dawn came at last, and Roel awakened Celeste. Neither had slept well, and both were somewhat glum and untalkative as they fed rations of oats to the steeds. But a meal and a hot cup of tea quickly returned them to good spirits, and they laughed at their reaction to the visit of the foxes in the predawn marks.

Shortly they were on their way again, and Roel asked,

“How far to the twilight bound?”

“We should reach it just after the noontide, but then we must find the arc of trees, and I know not how long that will take.”

And so on they pressed into the forest, EF on their chart.

Through long enshadowed galleries they rode, leafy boughs arching overhead, with dapples of sunlight breaking through in stretches, the radiance adance with the shifting of branches in the breeze. And across bright meadows they fared, butterflies scattering away from legs and hooves. Nigh a cascade falling from a high stone bluff they passed, the water thundering into a pool below, and therein swam something they could not quite see, though the size of a woman or man it was. “Mayhap an Undine,” said Celeste, and then went on to explain just what that was.

Roel frowned. “A female water spirit who can earn a soul by marrying a mortal and bearing his child?”

“Oui,” said Celeste. “At least that is the myth. In my opinion, though, ’tis but wishful thinking on the part of hierophants and acolytes who would have mankind be the only beings with souls, hence favored by the gods above all other creatures. Yet I believe souls are a part of all living things.”

“All?”

“Oui. And some nonliving things as well.”

“Such as. .?”

“Mountains, rivers, the ocean.”

“The ocean?”

“Oui. Vast and deep is its soul.”

“Celeste, are you speaking of spirits and not souls?” Celeste frowned. “Is there a difference?”

“Mayhap; mayhap not. Perhaps they are two sides of the same coin.”

“Souls, spirits-whether the same or different, I believe all things possess them.” Roel smiled. “Even Undines?”

“Especially Undines,” said Celeste, grinning, “hence I’ll not have you volunteer to marry one so that she can obtain a soul.”

Roel laughed and then suddenly sobered. “Oh, Celeste, what of those whose shadows have been taken?

What of their souls?”

“My love, I believe your sister yet has a soul, though most of it is separate from her.”

Roel nodded and said, “And for those children born of a person whose shadow has been taken, Sage Geron says they are soulless.”

“Perhaps so; perhaps not. Perhaps each one has a soul that is but a fragment of what it should rightly be. And unless the gods intervene, I know not what can be done for them.”

Roel’s eyes turned to flint. “Celeste, we simply must rescue my sister ere she can bear a child, for I would not have any get of hers to be so stricken.” Celeste nodded and they rode onward in silence, their moods somber.

They fared across a mossy field, and a myriad of white birds flew up and away, flinging apart and then coalescing and swirling away on the wind, each no larger than a lark.

Tree runners scampered on branches above and scolded the passage of these intruders in their domain.

And down among the roots and underbrush, small beings fled unseen.

And as the noontide drew on, Roel said, “Hsst!

Ahead, Celeste. Listen.”

And they heard someone cursing and muttering, and among the trees, and in a small clearing they espied a stick-thin hag dressed in rags and standing amid a great scatter of dead branches strewn upon the ground. In her knobby fingers she held two pieces of cord close to her faded yellow eyes, and she cursed as she tried to knot the twine together. Beyond the crone stood a small stone cottage with a roof of sod and grass growing thereon. A tendril of smoke rose from a bent chimney.

“Take care,” whispered Celeste, loosening the keeper on her long-knife.

“Fear not,” replied Roel.

They rode a bit closer, wending among the trees, and when they came to the edge of the clearing, “Ho, madam!” called Roel.

“Oh!” shrieked the hag, and she fell to her knees and held her hands out in a plea. “Don’t murder me! Don’t rob me! I have nothing of worth. I’m just a poor and widowed old goody.” She sniveled and sobbed, mucus dripping from her hooked nose.

“We offer you no harm,” said Roel.

“But you have that big sword at your side,” said the crone as she glanced at the sun and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“It will remain sheathed unless danger presents,” assured Roel.