HARVEST

by R.S. Mason

Something seemed off about the village of Aurora as we approached, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. The fields of pumpkin and corn were the same as any other in the eastern foothills, and when I voiced my concerns to Solene, she only laughed at me. “Are you afraid of bumpkins, Elinor? Shall we turn back?” Her horse, a grey gelding called Lucien, nickered uneasily and she patted his neck absently. Perhaps he was feeling it, too.

We’d been traveling for a week now, through the fitful rain and clinging mists that dominated the autumn east of the mountains. I’d never ridden a horse before, and now I’d spent most of the week in the saddle behind Solene, clinging to her for dear life. It should have been easy to dismiss my growing unease as simply the result of a long and unpleasant journey, but here I was, ready to turn around and call our journey a failure.

I probably would have given up, but this was Solene’s task, not mine, and I’d promised I’d help. She’d received a cryptic note from her friend Julien, and all we’d been able to piece together from it was this: he needed help with something, and it had to be in Aurora. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I told her. “Just nerves.”

“You are a terrible liar,” she said, dismounting gracefully. “Go and see if there are any bumpkins in the farmhouse while I tend to Lucien. Perhaps his simple country ways will put you at ease.” She helped me dismount and kissed me on the cheek. “I tease, but I promise you, I will let nothing happen on my watch.”

I smiled at that and made my way to the farmhouse, a surprisingly rough-hewn log cabin—most of these villages had been around long enough that their homes were more permanent. The door was made of a reddish wood, and had a satisfying resonance when I knocked.

A few moments later the door opened. Before I could offer any sort of greeting I was staring down the barrel of a flintlock rifle. A middle-aged man with a drawn face and sharp eyes that showed no glimmer of compassion emerged. “Go on, hands up, inside.” I hesitated, wondering if calling for Solene would be the end of me. Then he gestured with the rifle and I decided obedience was the best decision.

He patted me down once I was inside, relieved me of my pistol, and sat me down in the corner. He let me keep my sword and apparently didn’t notice the dagger up my left sleeve, but he was across the room and still had a rifle trained on me. I might have been able to make the window, but he looked twitchy, and my life was a lot to gamble on a “might.” Instead I put on my most disarming smile and said, “Is this how you always greet visitors?”

“There are no visitors in Aurora,” he said, his voice steely with conviction.

“Then what am I?”

“That remains to be seen.” He offered a thin, cruel smile. “But it’s not for me to decide. You’ll need to talk to the Princess.”

“The Princess?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He bound me to the chair so tight I could feel the ropes cutting off the circulation to my hands and feet. “You stay put, now,” he ordered, and left. The farmhouse was the only building in sight, so even if he hurried I probably had at least twenty minutes to slip my bonds—assuming, of course, Solene didn’t show up first. So I closed my eyes and tried to wriggle free.

I’d just managed to free my left hand, and was working to cut the ropes on my right, when the door crashed open, and Solene stormed in, sword in hand, carbine at her hip, ready to kill anyone who threatened her beloved: the very picture of a dashing heroine. Her face brightened when she saw I was alive, well, and very nearly unbound. I finished cutting the ropes and returned my dagger to its hidden sheath.

“The bumpkin was clever,” she said. After he had left, she said, he hid himself amongst the corn and watched the door for twenty minutes or so. No doubt he suspected I hadn’t traveled here alone. “But he left now.” She folded her arms. “I had hoped you would wait for me to cut you free. My gallant rescue is ruined.”

“You can’t always save the day.”

“Watch me.” Her eyes flitted about the room. The farmer had left my pistol on the end table; she took it and handed it back to me. “He will be back with numbers, you think?”

“Not if he thinks I’m still alone.”

“Then we prepare a welcome for them.”

I shook my head. “No. There’s something wrong here, Solene. That farmer wasn’t just worried about strangers.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Your bad feeling?”

“Trust me. We need to get into town, find your friend, and get out of here.”

We crept out of the house and through the corn fields towards town—or at least, in the direction the farmer had gone. “Who is this friend of yours, anyway?” I asked her. “Why is he in this place?”

“We were comrades,” she said, carefully. “He deserted when we heard about the ruins in Markham. The regiment thought he was just a treasure-seeker—after all, there is more gold in it than in the Carabiniers, no?” She sighed. “I was the last to speak to him. There was something about him that seemed—”

“Off?”

“Yes. I thought he had been drinking. When I last heard from him, he has made a small fortune already, so I do not worry too much. Then I get his letter.” She smiled. “Of course, Julien is a prankster. He is probably playing a joke on us.”

“If you say so.”

We continued in silence. The corn served as excellent concealment, but it was hard to know if we were traveling in the right direction—if there even was a right direction to travel in. The more we walked the less I liked it, but I had never known Solene to shrink from danger.

Without warning, she stopped walking and held out a hand to stop me, as well. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Get down.”

She dropped to her belly on the dirt and affixed a bayonet to her carbine. I lay down next to her and loaded my pistol, trying to ignore the damp, cold earth. Someone was approaching.

“. . . an intruder, your Highness!” That was the voice of the farmer. It had taken on a pleading tone.

“Today is the harvest festival, Mr. Giles. Do you think I would allow anything to interfere with the festival?”

“No, your Highness.”

They walked into view. A woman with wild, unkempt hair and a tattered purple gown was flanked on either side by men in equally tattered blue livery, carrying pikes. She wore a crown of tarnished silver and carried a rod of gnarled oak, and held herself with an imperious mien. “Then trust me. This will be the finest harvest we have had in years. Go and see to our guests of honor.”

“Yes, your Highness.”

The farmer bowed and scurried off. The royal entourage moved past, and Solene and I exchanged a glance. “I don’t like the sound of this,” I said.

“No.” She stood up and brushed mud from her jacket. “Shall we investigate?”

“After you.”

We crept after them at a good distance. Now that we were free of the corn fields, their destination was easy enough to see: a large bonfire burned at the heart of town, its bright flames burning through the thin fog. A number of crude log houses clustered around the square. The voice of the Princess rose above the fog and we ducked behind one of them.

“My beloved subjects! We gather once more to honor the great spirits that guard our Principality against the long dark of winter. Once again we offer up our thanks and the first fruit of our harvest to them, and celebrate the bounty they provide.”

I peered around the corner. The Princess was seated atop what looked like a throne made out of pumpkins. Five truly enormous pumpkins had been laid out in front of the fire, and the villagers were stuffing them with vegetables and filling them with broth.

“Bring forth the guests of honor!”

Five people were brought forth from the gathered crowd—one for each pumpkin. Each of them was bound and gagged, and most struggled against their captors, but to no avail. Soldiers in their tattered blue uniforms held them securely in front of their pumpkins, grave expressions on their faces.

“To our guests, know that we do not take joy in your sacrifice. But the spirits called you here, and they cannot be denied, or all that you see before you would be lost to the darkness. You have been chosen to prevent an unimaginable tragedy.” She gestured at the crudely built houses of the square. “You have been chosen to save this great Principality you see before you.”

“Are you hearing this?” I whispered.

Solene nodded. “How many?”

“Four guards, the Princess, and at least twenty or thirty people in the mob.”

“How far?”

“I think I can hit the guards if they hold still.” I peered back out there. “The prisoners are bound, but their legs are free. They might be able to make a break for it.”

The guards had marched one of the prisoners up onto a wooden platform by the fire. Some of the villagers had lifted one of the pumpkins and were about to put it on the fire. “It’s now or never,” I said. “On three?”

She nodded. “I’ll take the one on the right.” We counted in unison, burst round the corner, and fired. The guards on the captive prisoner staggered, and the rest turned to face the noise. Solene shouted, “Run!” and the prisoners took advantage of the confusion to scatter.

And now we had two guards and an angry mob closing on our position.

We both turned and ran. Once we’d outpaced the guards a fair bit, we slowed down just enough that they could keep up, and ducked into the corn fields to spring an ambush. Sure enough, they ran through the corn unsuspecting. I pierced one through the heart with my sword, and Solene stabbed the other in the throat with her bayonet.

She knelt next to the dying man and wiped the blade off on his coat. “These men are not soldiers,” she said, as if this surprised her. She removed the bayonet from her carbine and returned it to its sheath. “Come. We must see if we can help any of their captives.”

I stared down at the bodies of the men we’d killed and shuddered. “Can we—”

“Time enough for that later, my love.” She put her arm around my shoulder. “Come.”

I let her lead me away. By now the village was awash in angry villagers, searching aimlessly for their escaped captives. It looked like at least three had been recaptured, but the ceremony appeared to have been postponed for now. The Princess had abandoned her pumpkin throne, and the giant pumpkins were left unattended. The fire still burned hot, though, and there were still many more of them than there were of us.

We found a few of the escaped prisoners lying down in the corn fields. I knelt and cut their bonds while Solene craned her neck to see if anyone was coming. The prisoners—a man and a woman—whispered their thanks to us both as they rose to their feet. Then the man stopped. “Solene? Solene de Challant?”

Solene turned and stared. “Julien, you crazy bastard.”

They shared a curt embrace. “Did I . . . did I send for you?” he said.

“You sent a letter. We will talk later.” She gestured. “Elinor, this is Julien Giroux. Julien, Elinor Blackwood.”

We shook hands. The woman looked confused, then angry. “I’m glad you’ve had this touching reunion, but can you please get me the hell out of here?”

I smiled, despite everything, while Solene said, “My horse is tied just outside town,” she said. “Can you fight?”

The woman nodded.

“Good. We will arm you. Julien, are you up to a challenge?”

“Anything.”

“Good. The four of us will free the others.”

We walked as quickly as we were able, which was less quickly than I would have liked. The prisoners had evidently not been treated well since their captivity, and Julien and the woman—she gave her name as Constance—were not nearly as strong as they professed. Solene grew silent, and I began to wonder if it wasn’t a better idea to flee while we had the chance.

I ordered a halt once Solene indicated we were within shouting range. “I’ll scout ahead. If the coast is clear, I’ll whistle. Questions?”

Constance looked dubious and Julien looked about to collapse. Solene simply smiled. I loosened my sword in its scabbard and crept through the woods.

Lucien was exactly where Solene had described, tied to a sturdy-looking old pine tree with an axe wound in the bark. And he was currently being attended by the Princess, who was gingerly stroking his mane and feeding him apples. A sabre hung at her belt. “You can come out of hiding,” said the Princess, without looking at me. “You’re quite safe.”

I hesitated, but curiosity, if nothing else, demanded that I step forward. When I did, the Princess turned to face me. She was a tall, athletic woman with a crooked smile, and when my eyes met hers I knew in an instant that she was quite, quite mad. “My name,” she said, “is Princess Tristana. Who are you?”

“I’m Elinor.”

“Such a pretty name.” She shook her head. “I want you to understand that I admire you, Elinor. You and your friend both: you saw an atrocity, and you instinctively acted to stop it. Instinctively! The world needs more people like you, Elinor.”

I put my hand on my sword. This sort of speech did not sound like the preamble to something pleasant.

The Princess drew her sabre—a rusty old cavalry sabre, though it must have been quite nice, once. For a moment it seemed to transform her into a proud warrior, but the image faded almost immediately. She barely knew how to hold a sword, much less fight with one. “I’d like to knight you, Elinor. Won’t you kneel?”

I hesitated, but dropped to one knee. I sensed no threat from the woman.

She touched me on the shoulder with her blade, and for a moment, I saw everything. The ramshackle log houses were replaced by elegant white marble, with a gleaming palace at the heart of town. Neatly groomed farmland stretched on as far as the eye could see, and even now the Princess was attended by dashing soldiers in sharp blue uniforms. The Princess herself glowed like the moon, her violet satin dress dotted with shimmering stars.

The image faded in a moment. “Rise, Elinor of Aurora, Knight of the Realm,” she said. I rose, and she smiled sadly at me. “You see it, don’t you? You see the darkness encroaching, see why I must do these terrible things? The spirits must be sated, Elinor. You understand that, surely?” She raised her voice now, so that I was sure that Solene and the other could hear it. “I am Tristana, Princess of the Heavens! I will not be defeated by the shadow!”

As if on cue, several soldiers in tattered blue stepped out of the trees, Julien and Constance once again bound between them. “There was a woman, your Highness, but she escaped.”

“Leave her. She will be no further threat to us.” The Princess turned to me. “And now, my faithful knight, will you join me for the ceremony? It has been so lonely in the Principality.”

The way the guards brandished their pikes made me suspect I had little choice in the matter. So I walked with Tristana back to town. When we reached the square, I was relieved of my sword and my pistol—“Weapons are not permitted at the harvest festival,” she said—and given a seat of honor next to Tristana’s pumpkin throne.

She repeated the speech she had made earlier, and the guards led the first victim—Constance this time—to the platform. The sacrificial pumpkin was already on the fire, the broth boiling. Tristana rose from her throne and strode regally to her victim’s side, her face grim. “As you go to your death,” intoned the Princess, “know that your sacrifice will never be forgotten. The Principality of Aurora will remember you, today and always. Honored guest, will you tell us your name?”

“Constance Bellamy, of the--”

“And is there anything you wish to say before you offer the ultimate sacrifice so that our Principality may flourish?”

I drew my dagger from its hidden sheath and flung it at Tristana. It lodged itself in her chest, and she clutched at it, her eyes wide with shock. “Constance! Push her in!” I shouted, and, bound though she was, Constance took advantage of the moment’s confusion to fling her weight against Tristana, who teetered and fell into the boiling broth. She let forth an anguished scream, then fell silent.

Constance managed to leap from the platform and land away from the fire, but the mob looked about ready to tear us both apart.

Then, with a shout and a thunder of hooves, Solene arrived on Lucien, sabre in hand. “Elinor! To me!”

With her help I vaulted into the saddle behind her, and we charged forward through the crowd, trampling or cutting down those who didn’t manage to leap out of the way. They scattered for just long enough for Solene to cut Julien’s bonds and give him her sabre. Then the mob began to regroup and she urged Lucien to a gallop, and we fled the village.

We stopped to rest on a hill that overlooked the village. “I thought I’d lost you back there,” I said.

“You told me I can’t always save the day,” said Solene. “You were right.”

“I usually am.”

“You always are,” she corrected, and smiled. “It is why I keep you around.”

I lay my head on her shoulder and we stared back towards the village. The fire had spread to the little log houses, and when I closed my eyes I could no longer picture the beautiful world in Tristana’s mind. Perhaps the people of Aurora were finally free.