Once Upon a Winter's Night (5 page)

Full daylight came where the Bear now trod, the day nigh the noontide, and still there was twilight afar, seeming diminished no less than before.

Glancing up at the sun above, the Bear plodded a bit farther, to come under the widespread limbs of a great oak, and there it was he stopped. He looked over his shoulder at Camille.

“What is it, O Bear, that you desire? Should I dismount?”

“
Whuff.
”

Turning full sideways, Camille sprang to the ground. She stretched her legs and walked about, for she was not used to riding. She came to the edge of a brook, and the bourne sang its rippling song as it tumbled o’er pebbles and rocks. Kneeling at stream edge, she drank long and deeply of the chill water, and rose up to her knees to find the Bear standing nigh. She wiped her lips on the back of her hand, then said, “Oh, Bear, that was perhaps the most delicious draught ever. Is all of Faery like such?”

The Bear grunted noncommittally, and then, moving downstream of Camille, he stepped to the brook and lowered his great muzzle and took a deep drink himself.

Camille stood and brushed off her knees, then straightened and filled her lungs fully with the cool, crystalline air. “Bear, what name has this place? Oh, I don’t mean Faery itself, but this glorious woodland around.”

The Bear raised his head from the bourne, water streaming down from his muzzle. He glanced about and grunted, and then lowered his head again.

“Well, then, let me see. Since your master is Lord of the Summerwood, then this cannot be his demesne, for here ’tis spring, not summer. This must be the Springwood instead.”

The Bear again raised his head, and cocked it to one side as he looked at her, and then he gave a soft
whuff.

“Does that mean
yes,
that I have guessed aright?”

Again the Bear
whuff
ed.

Camille clapped her hands together and laughed. “Oh, Bear, you are not much of a conversationalist, yet when you speak, I listen. But hear me now: my breakfast was sparse, and all of this travel and your constant chitter-chatter has made me quite hungry; you wouldn’t happen to have some food in those bundles you carry, now would you?”

The Bear rumbled deep in his chest, and then turned and padded to the great oak, where he dipped his head low, almost as if in obeisance. Perplexed, Camille looked on as the Bear raised his head and canted it to one side as if listening to unvoiced words from the oak. But Camille could hear nought but the sibilant rustle of new-green leaves overhead. The Bear then turned and began circling the tree, snuffling along the ground. He stopped and scooped one powerful forepaw down into the soft loam.

He turned to Camille.

“
Whuff.
”

Camille stepped to where the Bear stood, and she looked into the foot-deep gouge, where, within, she espied a dark double-fist-sized growth of some sort.

“You wish me to dig that out, O Bear?”

The Bear
whuff
ed softly and looked into the hole as well.

Camille knelt and pushed away soft loam, and she reached with two hands and grasped the growth and pulled it up. Dark, it was, almost black and somewhat spongy, and it had an earthy aroma. Frowning, she said, “This feels somewhat like a mushroom, but I think it is not. Let us take it to the stream and wash it off, and then we shall see.”

Moments later, with water yet dripping, Camille broke off a small piece, and just as the globular growth was dark on the outside, it was dark on the inside as well. Camille looked at the broken-off piece suspiciously. “Are you certain, O Bear, that this is safe to eat?”

“
Whuff.
”

Camille took a small nibble and gasped, “Oh, my. How delicious.” She took another small bite, her eyes watering in joy.

Her face suddenly blossomed with enlightenment. “Oh, Bear, I think Fra Galanni spoke of these. This is a truffle, right?”

“
Whuff.
”

She broke the truffle in two, and gave the larger portion to the Bear.

“Fra Galanni named this the food of the gods, and now I see that he spoke true. He told me that a truffle’s ‘character’ is somewhat like that of garlic laid over a penetrating earthiness, combined with a pungent sensation like a whiff of strong wine. Of course, I never knew what he was talking about, for, though I had eaten wild garlic, I had never had a strong, pungent wine, or wine of any kind, or aught I could say had an earthy taste, whatever that might mean. Yet now I suppose I know what he meant—these flavors in combination—though for the individual things he cited, but for garlic, I still have no idea of their essence.”

With a snap and a gulp, the Bear’s portion was gone, but Camille savored hers to the last, the Bear looking on somewhat avidly as she ate it in small bites. She cocked an eye at him. “If you want more, O Bear, I suggest you dig up another.”

The Bear groaned and looked back at the tree, but made no move to comply. After a moment, he went downstream to a pool, and shortly had a fish to eat. Even so, now and again, he glanced up as if asking, “Are you going to finish all of that?”

 

They rested awhile, but then the Bear stood and
whuff
ed.

“Oh, is it time to go on? But it is so peaceful here.”

The Bear rumbled low in his chest.

“All right, all right, O Bear, but first—” She stepped into the bracken to relieve herself, the Bear standing guard and looking everywhere but toward her. Camille then trod to the stream and washed her hands, and, after taking another deep drink, she once again mounted up.

Onward through the wondrous springtime woods they went, the midnight-black Bear and his slender rider Camille, and everywhere he bore her were marvels to delight the senses—birds singing, iridescent insects winging, the scent of loam and flowers and other growing things drifting on the air, the mild wafts caressing the skin. And Camille reveled in all.

“O Bear,” she said, laughing gaily, “to think how I did dread coming into this place, for many are the tales of monsters and of peril dire, and yet I deem herein are no monsters, no peril; I think ’tis but a rumor fostered by the Fey Folk to hold us Humans at bay, else we would o’errun the—”

But the Bear roared at these words, as if protesting their untruth. And crying in fright, birds fled into the sky, and only the soft hum of an insect or two and a trickle of water broke the stillness left behind.

“Oh, my,” whispered Camille, her heart racing at the thunderous outburst. “Mayhap I am wrong after all.”

She rode in silence for a while. But then—“Is it that there is peril herein after all?”

“
Whuff.
”

“Monsters?”

“
Whuff.
”

At these answers, Camille’s eyes widened in apprehension, and she looked about the splendid forest, seeking . . . seeking . . . she knew not what.

Onward they went, Camille somewhat on edge, for a nagging disquiet clutched at her heart. And now and again movement flickered in the corners of her eyes, yet when she jerked about to look, it seemed nothing was there.
Birds perhaps, or small, running things. Oh, Bear, why did you have to bring me such ill news?

The sun continued to slip down the sky, and but for the fact that she rode through Faery on the back of a great black Bear within an enchanted forest, the day seemed normal to Camille, though far in the distance all ’round, twilight graced the land.

The sun set and dusk came, and, in the nearness to the fore, Camille could see a small flicker of fire. Toward this glow the Bear trod. As they moved among the trees, Camille thought she detected the patter of small feet running lightly alongside.
A bit of an animal hieing nigh, I suppose. Wait, it seems there’s more than one. And—What was that? A giggle? Was that a giggle?
Camille listened intently and peered into the evening shadows. Yet she saw only darkness, and the sound was not repeated, and the footsteps pattered away.

They came to a wee glade in which a small campfire burned within a ring of stones. Spitted above the flames, a brace of rabbits cooked, fat dripping down asizzle. No one was there to greet them; no one seemed about. Nearby, a spring gurgled from the earth and ran down a slope to a lucid mere, cattail reeds ringing ’round.

In the tiny campsite, the Bear stopped and looked over his shoulder at Camille and
whuff
ed. Camille dismounted. Now the Bear nuzzled the harness; she unbuckled the straps, and at another sign from the Bear, undid one of the bundles: it was a bedroll.

“We are to spend the night here?”

“
Whuff.
”

“But there must be someone who kindled the fire and spitted the rabbits to cook; are we to camp with him . . . or with them, if there’s more than one?”

The Bear made no reply.

Camille stamped her foot. “Oh, would you had more than a simple
whuff
to say, or more than that deafening roar.”

Again the Bear made no comment, but instead looked back and forth between Camille and the rabbits over the fire.

“Oh, no, Bear, that’s someone else’s meal.” Yet Camille’s mouth watered at the aroma and sight of the well-cooked meat.

Camille looked out into the forest ’round, and she called aloud, “Allo, the woods! Is the owner of the camp nigh?”

No one answered.

Frowning, she turned to the Bear. “Do you know whose camp this is?”

“
Whuff.
” And the Bear looked at Camille and the bedroll on the sward, and then sat down.

Camille cocked a skeptical eye. “My camp, O Bear? Our camp?”

“
Whuff.
”

Camille shook her head in disbelief. “And just who set it up? Fairies? Sprites?”

“
Whuff.
”

Camille was taken aback by this answer from the Bear.
Wait, the footsteps. The giggle. But who could command—?
“The prince of the Summerwood, did he arrange such?”

“
Whuff.
”

“And this is
our
meal?”

At another soft
whuff
from the Bear, Camille grinned and said, “Well, then, let us eat. I am starving.”

“
WHUFF!
” agreed the Bear, loudly.

Camille plucked the spit from the fire and gingerly—“
Ow, ow
”—pulled the rabbits from the wooden skewer. She held one out for the Bear, and with a great crackling and crunching, he ate it bones and all. Then he sat and watched longingly as Camille daintily ate of hers.

It was delicious.

But she could only eat one hind leg and a fore, and she gave the rest to the Bear, and snap, crunch, it was gone.

She washed her face and hands in the rill running down, and scrubbed her teeth with a chew-stick, and then took to her bedroll, where she was lulled toward sleep by the ripple of water and the chirruping of small things nearby. But then she remembered the Bear’s implied warning that in Faery were monsters dire and other hazards herein, and this momentarily startled her back awake. But then she recalled Lisette’s words:
As for things of peril, Camille will have the Bear for protection, and a finer guardian none could want.
The last thing she remembered seeing was the great black Bear standing ward.

 

The next morning tendrils of a misty fog wreathed among the trees as Camille stepped down to the spring-fed mere, and though the water was chill, she doffed her clothes and parted the reeds and slipped into the limpid pool, gasping at the bite of the water.

Saving her precious soap for her hair, she scrubbed her skin with sand from the bottom. As she did so, again she heard the patter of tiny feet and the sound of a faint giggle. “Allo! Bonjour! Who is there?” she called, unable to see aught for the reeds. Once more came a giggle, and then the sound of wee feet running away.

Camille sighed.
If the Bear is correct, ’tis small Sprites you hear, ma fille.

Working swiftly, soon she had scrubbed herself clean and had washed her golden tresses. As she clambered out through the reeds and into the chill morning air—
Oh, no. How will I dry myself?
—she found a soft cloth for a towel lying next to her clothing, and looked up to see the black Bear ambling away.

And when she returned to the campfire, she found waiting a mug of hot tea and a meal of cold biscuits. They, too, were delicious.

 

Her hair, though combed, was still wet when once more Camille mounted up, and the Bear headed through the forest again. As they padded onward, she could hear rustlings in the surround. In the morning light, Camille looked left and right, fore and aft, seeking to see what made the swash and swish among the undergrowth.
Perhaps it’s whoever set the fire and spitted the rabbits last night, and who made the tea in the morn, and who may have been watching me bathe.
Camille blushed at this last, yet she continued to search among the bracken and tall grass and the boles of the trees, where wisps of the morning mist yet threaded the greenery here and there. Finally, down within the early shadows, she thought she detected movement, for she caught glimpses of
somethings
or
someones,
small beings, perhaps, passing through the woods, though the sightings were so brief she could not be certain.

The morning light waxed, and the sun shone aglance through the branches of the trees and down, and though it was daylight where trod the Bear, the distant twilight yet clung to the forest afar.

Now Camille was certain she saw small beings keeping pace, for now and again one would pass through a shaft of sunlight, and it seemed they were riding small animals of some sort, lynxes she thought, though she was not certain.

Onward went the Bear and onward she rode, yet scanning the surround; and then she gasped, for in the near distance and passing among the trees and keeping pace on a parallel track was a small white horse or some such, yet out of its head rose a—
Oh, my, it is a
Unicorn!
Just like the one pictured on the tapestry in the sanctuary. “They seek out unsullied maidens,” Fra Galanni had said, but then did not tell me what unsullied meant, though Agnès, votary of Mithras and gardener to Fra Galanni, told me it meant ‘pure.’