Once Upon a Summer Day, page 36
And as the celebration went on, there were contests of archery and quoits and croquet. There were games of blindfold tag. And many celebrants went to the hedge maze and tried to find the center. Some were lost for quite a while, and some couples came out with their clothes a bit rumpled or otherwise in disarray. And the sun slid down the sky and set, and dusk darkened the land. Lanterns were lit and placed upon tables and hung among the trees, and the gala went on. But in the twilight there came a horn cry from afar, from down the valley rather than across.
The horn rang again, and Lanval sent men running to the far gate, and shortly thereafter a rider towing two remounts came galloping up that lane and toward the manor. And he reined up among the festivities. In the light of the lanterns and the rising full moon someone cried, “ ’Tis a slight youth, and he wears a blue tabard with a silver sunburst!”
Chelle, standing upon the archery range, overheard and said to Borel, “My love, it is the sigil of my sire!” and she ran toward the now-dismounted rider.
And as she came in among the crowd ranged about the youth she overheard him saying “. . . dispatched throughout Faery looking for the Lady Michelle, the missing daughter of Duke Roulan. Has anyone here seen a beautiful maiden with golden hair and—”
The crowd laughed and parted, and Chelle stepped through.
“My lady, oh, my lady,” said the youth, dropping to one knee. “You are alive and well, and I have found you.”
“But, Phillíp, I was never lost,” said Chelle. “Yet you, how come you to be here? Last I saw, you were mucking out stables. Were you not caught in Rhensibé’s—” Suddenly, Chelle’s eyes widened in hope. “Can it be that—? Oh, Phillíp, what of my père and mère? Are they—?”
Phillíp stood and said, “They are well. We are all well. When we awoke from the sleep, the Fairies told us that someone named Rhensibé was dead, and with her passing the spindle had stopped spinning, and the spell was broken. But we were in a dreadful desert, and thorns surrounded all. Yet the Fairies working together managed to allay the thorns and restore the vale to its proper place. But you were missing, my lady, and some thought the worst. Yet your sire sent us out to—”
Phillíp’s words were cut short as Chelle screamed in delight and grabbed him and hugged him fiercely. And then she whirled to find Borel standing at hand, and she grabbed him and hugged him fiercely as well.
“Lady Michelle,” said Phillíp, “your père and mère are terribly worried, and Lady Roulan paces the floor and weeps many nights. But now that you are found, I will ride at speed and—”
“We must go there, Borel,” said Chelle, “for I would not have my parents think I am lost or a captive or dead.”
Céleste handed Phillíp a goblet of red wine, and the youth gulped it down and said, “We did not even know that we had been in an enchanted sleep, but when the Fairies returned us to Roulan Vale, nearby steaders said—as mortals would reckon it—some twelve years had passed since we had disappeared in a great, whirling black wind.”
“We know,” said Céleste. “Oh, not that you had been restored, but rather that it had been some twelve years since the wind carried the vale away.—Here, have another glass of wine.”
“Well things are a proper mess in Riverbend,” said the youth to Céleste’s receptive ear. “People thought dead, their homes and lands occupied by others, businesses taken over, wealth given to heirs, and the like. I mean, the duke’s got a tangle to unsnarl, and a proper one at that.” Phillíp gulped down the wine.
Borel said, “Ma chérie, we will ride out and soon, for I would ask your sire for your hand, and he must needs give you away at our wedding, wherever we hold it.”
“Winterwood Manor,” said Chelle. She looked at the moon on the rise and said, “And in the light of a full moon, for it has been our touchstone.”
Chelle turned to Phillíp, “You will rest a day or two, and then, with fresh horses, I would have you ride in haste back to Roulan Vale, and tell my sire we are on the way.”
“Oui, my lady,” said Phillíp, and then he put his hand to his head. “Woo, but I am dizzy.”
“Lack of food, no doubt,” said Céleste. “Come, let us get some good beef and bread into you.”
As Céleste led Phillíp away, Chelle and Borel kissed deeply, and that night they danced in the light of the full moon for many long hours before finally going to bed.
Four days later, after Borel and Chelle and the full of Borel’s cavalcade made ready to ride away to Lord Roulan’s manse, with hugs and kisses they said good-bye to Alain and Camille and Liaze and Céleste. Then they stepped to Valeray and Saissa, and Borel said, “Father, Michelle and I are to be married, and I am notifying you not only as a king, but as a father as well. And we would like your blessing, and yours, too, Mother.”
“Post the banns,” said Valeray, grinning widely.
And Saissa embraced and kissed Chelle and said, “I could not ask for a better daughter. And thank you, my dear, for stringing the bow you should not have been able to string; and for drawing the arrow to the full of your pull, a pull you should not have been able to draw; and for loosing the shaft upon an unwoundable thing and wounding it severely . . . and for saving the life of my son.”
“But it was Buzzer who—”
“Pish, tush, Michelle, for had you not done those things the Démon would not have dropped its terrible black sword and would have used it to slay Borel the moment he got to his feet.” Again Saissa hugged and kissed Chelle, and then gave her over to Valeray.
And Valeray embraced her and said, “I welcome you to the family, Sleeping Beauty, you who were ensorcelled by a magic spindle and trapped within a vast tangle of thorns and awakened by a kiss from a prince. I think such a tale will become a legend someday, and I can only hope whoever tells it gets it right.”
Chelle laughed and kissed Valeray on the cheek, and then she and Borel mounted their steeds, and both slipped cocked hats on their heads; Flic and Fleurette came to land, one upon each. Buzzer flew up and ’round and took a sighting on the sun and shot off on a line. And with an entire rade following, and with a pack of Wolves ranging fore and aflank and aft, Prince Borel and Lady Michelle set out for the vale where grow pink-flowering shamrock and blushing white roses and thorn-laden blackberry vines.
Epilogue
Afterthoughts
And thus ends this part of the tale that began but three moons and seven-and-one days past, when Prince Borel of the Winterwood fell asleep and dreamt a dream—a special dream, a shared dream—upon a summer day.
In this dream he met a beautiful demoiselle with a shadowy band across her eyes. Of course, when he finally found her, there was no spellbound darkness masking, for he was seeing her in reality and not in a dream.
Perhaps the others caught in the thrall also dreamed; they were, after all, ensnared in the very same magie. Yet if they did, it appears they did not jointly dream with anyone outside the bounds of Roulan Vale there in the Endless Sands.
Only Chelle seems to have managed that, and then only with her truelove Borel. You might find that strange, but it is the way of enchanted sleep.
Neither awake nor in a dark dream
Are perilous blades just as they seem.
Afterword
If the original fairy tale, “Sleeping Beauty,” did not come from the French, I do hope that those folk in the country of its origin will forgive me for seasoning the story with a French flavor, for, in addition to being a magical adventure, this tale is a romance at heart, and French is to my mind perhaps the most romantic language of all.
Second, for those of you who would like to see the échecs problem wherein Prince Borel defeated the King Under the Hill when all looked lost, the following is chess Grandmaster Tal Shaked’s solution to that thorny knot:
You may think it strange that the King Under the Hill ended up with all but two of his spearmen (pawns) collected on one side of the board, but with their diagonal capturing ability it is not beyond reason . . . after all, both Borel and the Fey Lord seemed to be playing somewhat recklessly.
And the Fairy King said, “Although the material is fairly balanced, I have the advantage, and it is certain that I will win, for you cannot stop at least one of my black spearmen from reaching the final row and transforming into a black queen.”
Borel studied the board. He had a king and a spearman and one tower left, whereas the High Lord had a king at one edge of the board with six spearmen at hand, all of them threatening Borel’s king and his spearman.
At last, Borel said, “Tower to white king’s tower’s three. Check.”
The High Lord said, “My prince, are you certain you want to make that move?”
“Indeed,” said Borel.
At this point, one might think that Borel had made a terrible move, for his most powerful piece in play was certainly his tower (rook castle), and here it seemed he was sacrificing it needlessly to a lowly spearman.
Oh, well . . .
“Very well,” said the Fairy King. “Spearman takes tower. Check. And now you have nought but a king and a single spearman left, whereas I yet have all my pieces. Surely you must concede.”
“Nay, my lord,” said Borel, “I do not concede. White king to white king’s hierophant’s three.”
“Hmm . . .” said the Fairy King. “Black spearman to black king’s chevalier’s five. Check.”
Borel nodded and said, “I avoid the check thus: white king to white king’s hierophant’s four, taking a blocking black spearman.”
Now the Fairy King studied the board long. “I have but one move,” he said. “Black spearman to black king’s chevalier’s six.”
Borel laughed and said, “And my lone remaining white spearman takes that black spearman. Check.”
The Fairy King said, “Ah, Borel, I must make a move and yet cannot, for I am completely thwarted; my black king, he cannot move to the open space nor capture your single spearman, for to do either would bring him adjacent to your white king, and, of course, that cannot be. Ah, me, I must concede.” And he lay his black king on its side.
And thus did Borel win the game of échecs.
On another note: throughout this tale, I have relied upon the phases of the moon. I used the earth’s own moon cycles to do so, and I hope they correspond to those in that magical place. But perhaps I am quite mistaken in my assumptions . . . who knows? For, once you cross the twilight borders and enter Faery, strange and wonderful are the ways therein.
ONCE UPON A SUMMER DAY / 379
Lastly, I enjoyed “restoring” this fairy tale to its proper length, adding back those things I think should have been retained, but which I believe were omitted bit by bit down through the ages. I hope you enjoyed reading it.
Dennis L. McKiernan
Tucson, Arizona, 2005
About the Author
Born April 4, 1932, I have spent a great deal of my life looking through twilights and dawns seeking—what? Ah yes, I remember—seeking signs of wonder, searching for pixies and fairies and other such, looking in tree hollows and under snow-laden bushes and behind waterfalls and across wooded, moonlit dells. I did not outgrow that curiosity, that search for the edge of Faery, when I outgrew childhood—not when I was in the U.S. Air Force during the Korean War, nor in college, nor in graduate school, nor in the thirty-one years I spent in research and development at Bell Telephone Laboratories as an engineer and manager on ballistic missile defense systems and then telephone systems and in think-tank activities. In fact I am still at it, still searching for glimmers and glimpses of wonder in the twilights and the dawns. I am abetted in this curious behavior by Martha Lee, my helpmate, lover, and, as of this writing, my wife of over forty-six years.
Dennis L. McKiernan, Once Upon a Summer Day
