That night, with the horses cropping sweet grass, Liaze slept in her only dry blanket on a bed of boughs beside a warm fire burning, with sodden cloak and clothing and the remaining blankets strung from ropes and drying in its radiance. Nearby a gentle brook flowed, its purl singing in the silvery light of a gibbous moon waxing against the stars above.
20
Liaze awakened to the sound of distant shrieks. Feminine they seemed, as of demoiselles at play, or in peril. Liaze leapt to her feet and swiftly donned her undersilks and threw on her leathers. She pulled on her boots and strapped her long-knife to her thigh, and then strung her bow and slung a quiver of arrows across her back. She glanced at Luc’s sword in its sheath, but shook her head, for she was not skilled in that blade. Briefly she thought of saddling Nightshade, but instead she nocked an arrow and set off afoot through the woodland, following the stream in the direction of the ongoing screams.
Scanning the surround as she went, but seeing nought of peril, Liaze slipped among the boles for a furlong or so, the shrieks growing louder with every step. And as she came within sight of the furor, the brook she followed joined a wide and deep flow, and where the tributary fed into the larger watercourse a broad pool slowly swirled ’neath ascending rock ledges against the far shore. And on the highest outcropping stood a slim, naked demoiselle, another one climbing up to reach her; and in the river nigh the foot of the drop swam several others. And with a shrill cry, the one on the ledge leapt outward, and, clutching her knees to her chest, she plunged down amidst the shrieking damsels below, a great gout of water exploding upward.
Liaze heaved a sigh of relief. They are at play. And she stepped out from the trees and onto the wide, grassy bank.
As the princess emerged from concealment, the climbing demoiselle’s eyes widened in fright, and she screamed in dread and pointed across at Liaze, then dove for the pool, and transformed!
Even as the damsel clove the lucid water, and as the others spun ’round to see Liaze and flipped over and dove for the depths, the princess gasped in surprise: Mithras! Did my eyes deceive me, or did she become part fish?
Only swirls on the surface of the clear-running river answered her-a language she could not read.
Why did they flee?
Liaze frowned and looked down at herself, then laughed. Ah, they think I am a warrior, coming armed as I did. And she slipped the arrow into her quiver and slung her bow across her back. Then she stood on the shore and waited.
Long moments passed and long moments more, and finally a dark head briefly broke the surface and looked her way… then disappeared. Several heartbeats later another head bobbed up… and then down. Finally, one came to the surface and stayed long enough for Liaze to show open and empty hands.
The demoiselle’s brow furrowed in puzzlement, and then she called out: “Femme?”
“Oui!” answered Liaze, and she sat down in the grass along the bank. Mayhap they will think me less a threat this way.
Briefly, the damsel submerged, and then reappeared with the others. Timidly they approached, and, as they did so, in the clear flow Liaze could see that each of these females had a diaphanous dorsal fin running down the length of her back and held erect by spines, and instead of legs each had a broad tail stroking; it was as if these people were half fish and half women. Yet one and then another of these beings transformed into two-legged demoiselles as they came to the shallows.
And the one who had called out stood and stepped to the bank and spoke in the old tongue: “Qui etes vous?”
And Liaze smiled up at the dark-haired, small-breasted damsel and answered in kind: “Liaze, Princesse de la Foret d’Automne…”
“Liaze, Princess of the Autumnwood. And you are…?”
“Eausine,” answered the demoiselle. Then she added: “Are you one of the hunters who now and then come to spear our fish with their bows and swift arrows?”
“We went to warn them,” said the second one as she came to shore, she with hair as golden as the heart of a water lily.
“Ah,” said Liaze. “I see. You went to warn the fish. And no, I have not come to take them from you.” Then the princess looked from one demoiselle to another, each of them slender and comely, with green eyes large and aslant, tilted up at the outer corners and set in narrow faces. They had long, flowing hair, and now and then movement revealed shell-like ears. Exotic were these damsels, as were those yet in the water, their graceful tails slowly fanning the flow. “But tell me,” Liaze asked, “ what are you?”
All looked at one another in puzzlement, for they didn’t understand.
“I mean,” added Liaze, “you look like demoiselles, but you can become half fish.”
“Ah,” said the yellow-haired one, sinking to the grass beside Liaze. “Nixies. We are Nixies.”
“Oh, my,” said Liaze. “I have heard of your Kind, but never before encountered any.”
Yet standing, Eausine glanced at Liaze’s bow and arrows and said, “We, on the other hand, have dealt with your Kind before. Are you certain you are not a hunter?”
“Oh, I am a hunter, all right,” said Liaze, and collectively the Nixies gasped. “B-but of a different sort,” the princess hurriedly assured them.
“There is only one kind of hunter,” said the dark-haired demoiselle, at least for now the nominal leader of the Nixies. “The kind who seeks to kill.”
“Oh, I would not kill the one I hunt, for he is my true love,” replied Liaze.
True love? True love? A murmur ran among the Nixies.
“What is this true love?” one in the water asked.
How can they know not true love? Liaze sighed and said, “A true love is a person you would wish to have forever at your side. One who is a companion, a lover, a friend. Someone who gives you joy, makes you laugh, and who consoles you when you cry. Someone you need and someone who needs you. Someone with whom you can face the trials of life and share its delights as well. Someone who was meant to be.. ”
Liaze’s words fell into hesitance, for the demoiselles yet looked at her with puzzlement in their eyes.
“… a mate,” finished Liaze, feeling as if she had ended lamely.
But the Nixies giggled, and one said, “Ah, mating we understand.” And they broke into giggles once more.
“And who is this mate of yours?” asked Eausine.
“A man, a knight: his name is Luc,” said Liaze.
“Luc? Luc? You know Luc?” cried one.
“You have mated with him?” gasped another.
“Would that it were I,” said a third.
“What?” cried Liaze. “You know of Luc?”
“Oh, yes,” said Eausine, plopping to the ground beside Liaze and then gesturing about. “He camped right here.”
“My Luc? Metal shirt? Black horse? Silver horn?”
The dark-haired damsel nodded. “We swam in the moonlight with him,” said one of the Nixies yet in the water, now transforming to come ashore.
Liaze said, “Did he…? I mean, did you… did any of you, um, er…?” But then she thrust out her hands and shook her head, saying, “-No, no! I don’t want to know.”
Eausine looked at her in puzzlement.
Oh, Liaze, it’s not as if you were without experience when you first made love to Luc. Nevertheless…
Of a sudden, Eausine’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, no, we did not mate with him, though it’s not as if we did not try. It was clear he was ready”-Nixies giggled-“but he was too shy.” Eausine pointed at the golden-haired Nixie. “Jasine was the first to see him cross the river on his great black horse.”