old.
“Devereau, your wineskin,” snapped Roel as he supported the child’s small frame, and he reached with his free hand toward his companion.
Devereau untied the small leather bag from his cantle, and leapt down and uncapped the skin and handed it to Roel. Carefully, Roel dribbled a small amount in between the child’s slightly parted lips. She lightly coughed and then swallowed, and opened a dark eye and whispered “More, please, Sieur.”
“Oui, ma petite goatherd,” said Roel, and he gave her a second sip.
She opened her other eye and said, “More please, Sieur.” As Roel tipped the skin to her lips, she grasped it with both hands and gulped and gulped and gulped.
“Non, child!” protested Roel, but with surprising strength she wrenched the wineskin from his grip and drained it. Then she looked up at Roel and cackled.
And of a sudden she was free from his embrace, and a dark shimmering came over her as she stood.
Roel sprang back and ripped free his blade from its scabbard, even as Devereau snatched up his bow and nocked an arrow and drew.
And before them stood a black-haired, black-eyed toothless crone dressed in a black-limned ebon robe, and from somewhere, nowhere, everywhere came the sound of looms weaving.
Roel called out, “Devereau, hold! Loose not!” and then he sheathed his sword and knelt before the hag and said, “My lady Urd.”
Behind him, Devereau pointed his bow down and away and relaxed his draw, then he, too, fell to his knees in obeisance.
“Heh! Had you fooled, eh?” said Urd, even as she turned toward the goat and made a small gesture, and it vanished.
“Oui, my lady Doom,” said Roel, yet kneeling before her.
“Given the straits we find ourselves in, have you come with a message?”
“Of course, of course,” snapped Urd. “Why else would I be here?”
“Only the Fates would know,” answered Roel, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Urd gaped a gummy grin and said, “Given to bons mots, are we?”
“I rather thought you would like such,” said Roel.
Urd hooted in glee and said, “And I thought no one could fathom even a trifle when it concerns the characters of my sisters and me.”
“My lady Doom, I remember the pleasure you took in small joys when last we met.”
“Hmm. . Got to be careful around the likes of you, my lad, else I might let something unwarranted slip. Can’t be too caught up in tomfooleries, especially not given the events to come.” Urd’s smile vanished, and her face took on an aspect even more careworn than her aged features would suggest.
“Events to come,” said Roel. “That’s why you are here.”
“As always,” said Urd. “By the rules we follow, ’tis only in times of a future need that we might appear, and even then not always.”
“But I thought all was written,” protested Devereau.
Urd shook her head. “Although we have seen, still no event is permanently set until I finally bind it into the Tapestry of Time.”
“How so?” asked the youth.
“My elder sister Skuld sees the future and weaves those scenes into the tapestry; Verdandi sees the present, and changes the weavings to reflect alterations in the events; and I finally bind all incidents into permanency. But heed me, Devereau, Roel, great deeds are needed to change what Skuld and Verdandi weave and what I prepare to affix, but once I do the final binding, nought will recall any event whatsoever so that one might change the final outcome.”
“And what you and your sisters have seen is dreadful?” asked Roel.
“Indeed.”
“Then, my Lady Who Fixes the Past, tell me what I must do.”
“Heh. You know the rules, Roel. First you must answer a riddle, and then I will give you advice.” Roel sighed and said, “Say on, Lady Doom, say on.” Urd took a deep breath, and the clack and thud of shuttles and battens swelled:
The sound of looms abated, and Roel’s heart fell. Devereau started to speak, yet with a gesture Urd silenced him and said,
“This is for Roel alone to answer here in the Springwood.”
“Spring, my lady Doom, bringing with it resurrection and life anew. The ones standing as if long dead are the trees and shrubs and grasses and other such in their winter sleep. And the buried children are seeds in the ground. And when spring comes they quit their slumber, vigor flows, and seeds sprout. And so, my lady Urd, I say the answer to your riddle is the coming of spring and the awakening of life.”
Fretting, he looked up at her, and Urd said, “Exactly so, Roel.
It is spring and rebirth, indeed.”
Devereau shook his head. “And here I thought it had to do with parents grieving over children trapped in a collapsed mine or cave and the ones who came to dig them out.”
“Heh!” crowed Urd. “Fooled you, eh?”
“Oui, Lady Doom.”
“That’ll teach you to stop and think ere speaking, laddie.”
“Lady Urd,” said Roel, “have you a rede now to give us?”
“Impatient, are we?”
“Somewhat, my lady Doom, yet I am at your behest.” Urd nodded and cackled, her toothless smile wide, and once again the clack of shuttles and thud of battens intensified.
And as the sound of weaving fell, Roel frowned but remained silent, yet Devereau said, “But, Lady Doom, I, for one, do not understand. Will you not tell us more?”
“Non, I will not,” replied the black-eyed crone. “But this I can tell you for nought: If you do not solve this rede, Roel, then all as we now know it to be will come to a horrible end.” And after laying that terrible responsibility upon Roel, again the clack and thud intensified, and then vanished as did Lady Urd.
Manors
Just after dusk, Laurent and Edouard spurred up a wide, snow-laden pathway along the face of a high bluff, and as they crested the rise, they came into the lights of a great mansion-Winterwood Manor-the walls of which
