“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.
“Never you mind, Bear, I’ll go on from here, and see who lives there, then press on to wherever Papa and Maman have moved.” Camille donned her cloak and tied a modest drawstring purse to her belt, a few coins therein-some gold, some silver, some bronze. She loosened a pair of bundles from the rig.
She hugged the Bear about the neck, and said, “In a sevenday, I’ll meet you at this very place and you can carry me back to my beloved prince. You will remember, eh?”
“ Whuff. ”
She gave the Bear another hug, then shouldered her bundles and set out across the field, and the Bear watched her go.
Toward the mansion she went, and tall weeds and grasses swished ’round her boots and leather pants, thistles and burrs and bristly leaves clung to her cloak, and dust and weed pollen rose up ’round her in clouds. Oh, my, but the land lies fallow, overgrown; Papa would be so disappointed at the new owners.
On she strode through the oncoming nightfall, the music getting louder, and now she could hear voices and laughter, and she could see the window sashes were raised wide to let in the summer breeze, while yellow lantern- and candlelight streamed outward. When she reached the manse, she turned and looked for the Bear, but she saw him not in the gathering darkness. Gone into Faery, I suspect.
Faced with waiting rows of coachmen, she paused long enough to cast her hood over her head, then took up her bundles and rounded the end of the mansion. Past idle drivers and horses and carriages she went, some of the conveyances quite elegant, a few of these with footmen as well. On toward the portico she strode, and as she came to the front landing, “Ho, lad,” called out one of the drivers. “If they toss you a bone, save a knuckle for me.” Others laughed at his jest, but Camille paid no heed and stepped onto the porch, where the door stood open as well.
“Here now, boy, and just where do you think you’re going?” demanded the doorman, stepping into her path. “Off with you, and be quick about it. We want no beggars, no bindlestiffs here.”
“But sieur, I would ask: who dwells herein?”
The doorman puffed up his chest and raised his chin; clearly he was pleased at being called sieur by this ignorant boy. He brushed the gloved fingers of his right hand down across the brass buttons of his uniform and, above the sound of music and laughter and gaiety drifting through the open windows and door, he said, “Not that it’s any of your business, mind, but Lord Henri and Lady Aigrette rule here. Now begone, lad.” But then he gave a wink and added, “Though y’ might slip around th’ back and ask Cook for a bite. Dust yourself off afore then, and don’t let the old lady catch y’, eh?”
Even as Camille’s eyes widened in surprise that her mere and pere owned this fine mansion, “With whom are you speaking, Claude?” came a haughty voice, and a tall and quite bald, black-clad majordomo stepped into view and looked down at Camille and sniffed in disdain.
“Just this beggar-lad, sieur. I told him to be off.”
The majordomo pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and flicked it at Camille. “You heard him, boy. Begone, and swiftly, else I’ll set the dogs on you.”
Even as she opened her mouth to reply, “Camille!” came a glad cry, and Giles rushed out and threw his arms about her, and she dropped her bundles and clutched him tightly.
“What are you doing, Master Giles?” demanded the majordomo, horror in his voice. “ ’Tis a beggar-boy! A vagabond! You know not what diseases, what vermin he might carry.” And he reached out to pull Giles away.
“Oh, Pons, this is no beggar-boy,” cried Giles in glee, casting off the majordomo’s hand, “this is my sister!”