“That horse must be enchanted,” said Thierry.
“Just well trained,” said Vincent, and he looked at his pere.
Matthieu shrugged and said, “Enchanted or well trained, he seems to know the way.” And the family stood and watched as Liaze rode up and over the next hill and then was lost to sight.
“Come, there is work to do,” said Matthieu, and he and his sons headed for the barn, while mother and daughter turned and went inside, where Madeleine’s eyes widened in surprise, for in the mid of their plank-board table lay a gold piece.
For two more days did Liaze ride in this sparsely populated land, and on the eve of the third day she came to the sunwise twilight bound, where she reined Nightshade to a halt, and set about making camp.
On the morrow I will enter the Forest of the Oaks, but on this night I will sleep in peace.
22
In the dim light of the following dawn, Liaze fed the horses rations of oats that had come from Matthieu’s croft. As the animals munched, the princess sliced off an end of the loaf of bread Madeleine had gifted her with, and opened the jar of honey and liberally slathered the piece with the sweetness and then ate. When that was gone, she besmeared another slice of bread, and enjoyed the taste of it as well. She washed all down with clear water, and then broke off a large corner of honeycomb and popped it in her mouth and gently chewed as she broke camp.
She laded her packhorses and saddled Nightshade and Pied Agile. She tethered the mare and geldings to the stallion, and mounted the black.
Nightshade started to move forward, but Liaze pulled the reins and stopped him. And as he looked back at her, she took the pliable wad from her mouth and divided it in two, and then plugged her ears with the softened beeswax.
She loosened her long-knife in its scabbard and then said to Nightshade, her voice somewhat muffled to herself, “Now, my lad, lead on.” And she heeled the stallion in the flanks, and into the twilight marge they fared, even as the sun broke free of the horizon.
Through the shadowy wall they went, to emerge in a hoary old forest, the trees mostly oaks, though here and there stood elms and maples and green conifers. A low fog curled among the boles, and the forest itself appeared to spring from the mist, as if there were no ground beneath. But Nightshade, under his own guidance, trotted ahead, the stallion seemingly undaunted by the unseen footing, the mare and geldings trailing after. Onward they fared as the sun rode up into the sky, and by midmorn the fog was gone.
As she rode Liaze scanned the surround, for she could hear nought but her own breathing, for that came from within and not without. And she was disturbed by her deafness, and for the first time in her life she realized just how important hearing was, for she heard no birds, no chitterings of insects nor chatterings of tree runners, no rustle of leaves, no scurryings, no snap of twigs, no fall of foot or hoof, nor burble of water when they stopped at streams. I thought the constant wind was bad as I crossed Caillou’s realm, but this eternal silence is worse. Why, something could be galloping toward us, or creeping stealthily, and I would hear it not.
“Keep a sharp ear,” she said to the animals, “for you are the first line of defense.”
And so, lacking hearing, she kept a sharp eye out, frequently gazing ’round, and now and again she saw animals and birds and crawling things, but she heard them not. Still, even though the silence was oppressive, she heard no pipes playing, and of that she was glad. Her sense of smell, however, seemed to intensify, for the scents of the grass and leaves, of the earth, and of the horses heightened. But it was her sight she most depended upon, and so she scanned this way and that, her gaze ever roving.
Thrice throughout the day she did see lone maidens, demoiselles much like the Nixies in look-exotic beauties-though these did not appear to transform into anything other than what they seemed. One was sitting among the broad limbs of a large oak and combing her russet hair. Another one, quite distant, seemed to be digging at the roots of an oak. And one just ahead and slightly off the line along which Nightshade fared looked at Liaze coming toward her, and then the demoiselle stepped directly into the solid trunk of her tree.
Liaze gasped in wonderment, yet it was as she had suspected: the maiden had been a Dryad, a Wood Nymph.
That night Liaze camped by a stream, her bow strung, arrows at hand, her long-knife at her side. And she burned no fires, for she would have no light to summon Satyrs or flames to upset the Dryads.
And she did not at all sleep well, waking often to peer about in the light of the full moon.
The next day was much like the previous, and the farther she rode, the more irritated Liaze became with the lack of hearing. But then she saw a storm-slain tree lying on the ground, and she recalled the old conundrum: should a tree fall in a forest with no one to hear, would it make a sound? Long she and her siblings had argued the question, first taking one side, and then perversely taking the other. She smiled in the memory, knowing that should a tree fall this day, it would make no sound as far as she was concerned. She would have to remember to tell her siblings this. But then a stricken look overcame her features. Oh, my, was a Wood Nymph also slain when her tree died?
On Nightshade trotted, a league and then two, mare and geldings coming after, and as they entered a wide glade, in the near distance in the center of the clearing Liaze espied a gathering on the banks of a small mere, with a large weeping willow o’erhanging, and a small grove of oaks nearby. Nightshade paid no heed, and as he fared nigh, Liaze could see demoiselles lolling on the sward at hand, and midst them stood a beautiful youth, a willow-root pipe at his lips, his fingers dancing upon holes along its length. In Liaze’s self-imposed silence, she realized he was playing, but she could hear nothing of the tune. And then she could see the youth had the ears and hindquarters and tail of a deer.
Faun! Liaze scanned to fore and aft and aflank, yet she saw only the forest. If the Nixies were right, surely Satyrs will come.
Liaze haled on Nightshade’s reins, halting the stallion. And she reached for her bow, as if to take it up. Should I? No! ’Tis the Faun’s nature to Instead, Liaze gave a sharp whistle, but the Nymphs paid no heed, for they were entranced. Yet the Faun looked up and saw Liaze, and he took the pipe from his lips and smiled a glorious smile, and gestured for her to join his circle. But then his eyes widened in fright and his deerlike ears flared up, and he looked beyond Liaze.
She swung her gaze in that direction, and over a crest among the trees came five or six hairy and horned Satyrs running, their goatish legs driving cloven hooves, and, for all Liaze could hear, they ran in total silence. The Nymphs scattered, some to disappear into the trunks of oaks, others fleeing into rocks, and two diving into the mere.
“Hup, hup, hup!” called Liaze, alerting the string of horses; and their heads came up and their ears pricked forward. Then, “Hiyah!” she cried, and kicked Nightshade in the flanks, and the stallion sprang forward, the princess continuing to shout and goad him onward, the black galloping away from the pool, the mare and geldings running in his wake.
The Satyrs changed the angle of their run, rage on their faces, their mouths wide as if shouting, and they dashed toward fleeing Liaze. She whipped her strung bow out from the saddle scabbard and nocked an arrow and let fly, striking one of the Satyrs in the leg. He fell to the ground bleating loudly-though Liaze heard him not-and the ones with him sheered off, and Nightshade and the line of horses raced on into the forest, leaving the creatures behind.