Haste to the Wedding

© 2015 by Walter Reimer


This is a sequel to Blunt Objects, which is a sequel to Mont Rose, which is itself a sequel to Rajjan Tor.

The stories are set in  tegerio's Realm of Faerie universe, as shown in his Zandar's Saga here on FA, and The Ballad of Adler Young, Canto I, and Canto II.

Also check out  eocostello's Realm of Faerie stories!

Art by  xombiehamster


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Part 30.


Small groups of Yeomanry had already been dispatched north and south to pass the word to Tel Ostori and to the Four Sisters. Two squadrons of Lancers were retracing the raiders’ track from the west, in hopes of catching any more raiders. Those who had been taken prisoner were being placed under guard in a wagon until they could be taken back to Tel Ostori and questioned.

It was a given that they would suffer the same eventual fate as their three compatriots, now mouldering on the scaffold at Gibbet’s Cross.

Ayyub squinted up at the sun, now at its zenith, as Beauty finished eating. He’d cadged more waterskins and canteens from the squaddies, even trading away choice bits of his equipment, like his spyglass, in exchange for a small sack of waybread. Panniers already held a small bag of fodder for his ant, and Eadgar had agreed to look after the rest of his kit.

The bull clapped him on the shoulder. “You sure you can make it in time?”

Elves don’t lie. “No,” Ayyub admitted, the fennec’s ears dipping, “but I’ll try as hard as I can – and as fast as Beauty can run.” He turned away and saddled the ant, who gronked and chirped a bit at the added weight of the water. “Easy girl. It’ll get lighter as we go,” he said as he tightened the girths. When he turned back, the rest of the troop were gathered around him.

There was very little to say. Some shook paws with him, a few embraced him and all gave him the Benedictio. Finally, his head throbbing, he climbed up into the saddle. “I’ll see you all later.”

“Count on it,” Eadgar said. “Fuma go with you. Now, get out of here.”

Ayyub grinned. “Right.” He urged Beauty forward and after clearing the wagon laager the ant set an easy, but ground-eating, pace.

The sun was halfway below the horizon when Ayyub tugged on the reins. Speed or not, haste or not, he had his ant to consider. If Beauty fetched up lame, or died, he’d never get to the Temple.

As he dismounted and took a collapsible bucket from a pannier, he yawned widely, then shook his head and filled the bucket from one of the canteens. “Short rations, I’m afraid,” he said as Beauty slurped at the water, chirruping sounds coming from her spiracles. When she was done drinking, he fed her a pawful of fodder and a small lump of sugar, then stashed the bucket away and remounted. “Go, girl,” and he tapped his goad against her rear.

It was nearly midnight when he and Beauty reached Gibbet’s Cross and reined Beauty in again. While she was busily munching her fodder he carefully examined her legs and clawed feet. She held still while the fennec tod checked her, then gronked questioningly as Ayyub unstoppered a canteen and drank thirstily.

“No, girl,” he replied as she butted her head against his elbow. “You had your share, this bit’s mine,” and after replacing the stopper he checked the panniers. He and Beauty had gone through about a third of the food and water he’d packed, and he made some quick calculations in his head.

So far they’d been making good time, and Beauty deserved to rest for a bit. He, on the other paw, couldn’t risk oversleeping. There was enough food and water to get them to Rajjan Tor, and from there to the Temple where Isabeau would be waiting.

He hobbled Beauty and rubbed the chitin between her eyes. “Take a rest, Beauty,” he whispered. “We’ve got some more riding to do.”

“Gronk.”

Ayyub chuckled and as the ant’s antennae drooped he moved a short distance away and sat on a rock, wrapping his robe about himself and looking up at the stars while the Moon slowly peeked above the eastern horizon. He admitted to himself that he was tired, having been awake ever since Samuel had roused him.

Fuma, I’m tired. He relaxed and let his eyes close . . .

And promptly slid off the rock and onto the stone-strewn ground.

“Oof.”

He sighed and stumbled to his feet before blinking up at the Moon. It was now above the horizon, and he could feel his entire being yearning to go back to sleep.

Shaking his head, Ayyub took the hobbles off Beauty’s feet and swung himself into the saddle. “Let’s go, girl.”

“Gronk.”


***


Boiling water was poured from the kettle into the teapot, and a leaf-filled infuser was dipped into it to steep. Fatima turned away from the tea and busied herself with getting a late breakfast – or early lunch – together.

Her ears twitched at a sound and she turned. “Hello, sleepyhead,” and she gave Isabeau a hug and a brief peck on the cheek. “I hope you slept well. You have a long night ahead of you,” and she snickered, “if I know the menfolk in this family.”

Isabeau smiled. She and the other women in both families had been up until nearly midnight, making final adjustments to the dress she would be wearing later that day. She waved Fatima to a seat and slathered two pieces of flatbread with soft cheese, adding some grapes and dates to the plates before placing them in front of the older vixen. She sat down opposite her and said, “I’m still having some trouble believing it.”

“Hah. None of us are lying to you, Isabeau – Elves don’t lie, anyway – and you’ll be a lovely bride.”

“I hope so.” She got up, checked on the tea, and poured two cups. Sipping at hers, she gave Fatima a cup and asked, “Do you think the groom will make it?” She forced a light tone into her voice. “I’d hate to have to start without him.”

Fatima chuckled. “I doubt you’d have anything we haven’t seen, or done, before. But!” She raised a paw before the younger woman could add anything. “Much as the Lady might like seeing you pleasure yourself on Her altar, I think you’ll have your husband to keep you company.”

Isabeau sighed. “I pray you’re right, Fatima.” She added more tea to her cup, and sat down to eat. After a few minutes she asked, “What if he doesn’t appear?”

“Then we wait.”

Isabeau started to ask another question, but thought better of it and put it out of her mind.

Whatever happened, it would be the Lady’s Will.


***


He had passed the gallopers headed north, but thanks to his nap at the crossroads they had managed to get to Tel Ostori before him. The townsfolk, therefore, knew that a single ant-rider was coming.

The archers on the walls held their fire, for which he was grateful.

He was more grateful for the chance to refill a few waterskins and get more food from the troops that had remained at the caravanserai before riding Beauty out of the town through the north gate. However, he wasn’t grateful for the delays as any number of squaddies, NCOs and a few officers insisted that he had to tell them what had gone on, and who had gotten hurt.

By the time he managed to get out of the town, it was mid-morning. Ayyub squinted at the sky, and noted that Beauty was doing the same. Her antennae swiveled back to face him, and he reached out to stroke them.

Sweet Fuma’s Bouncy Tits, he was tired. Exhaustion hung on his limbs like stone weights, his eyes felt gritty and his head throbbed.

“Now, my best girl, let’s see how fast you can get us there.”

Beauty squealed as he smacked her rear with his bow, and took off at a run, gronking in protest.


***


Eleanor and Hannah , along with Alys and Ayyub’s aunts, were waiting at the Temple doors as Fatima reined in the hired ant-cart. “Here she is,” the older vixen said cheerfully. As Isabeau was helped down she added with a wink, “Better give her a tot of spring wine. She’s a bundle of nerves right now.”

“Fatima!” Isabeau exclaimed.

“Elves don’t lie. Have a small drink to steady yourself, my dear, and start getting ready.”


***


A lone rider in stained and dusty clothes raced toward the Border Gate, the ant nearly slipping and falling as it shied away from the glassy scar before the walls. The rider spurred the ant faster, into Rajjan Tor and through the crowded streets, sending pedestrians scattering out of the ant’s way.

A few passers-by got up, dusting themselves off, and wondered aloud whether the ant’s rider was either drunk or asleep.


***


The sun was going down, and the Hour of the Scampering had passed.
“Still no sign of him,” Jake said, coming back into the Temple after checking for maybe the twentieth time. His older sister Lucy hushed him, looking down the length of the sanctuary toward the altar, where Isabeau was talking with Fathers Ambrose and Jacobus.

The altar had been meticulously cleaned and was draped with a soft, quilted cotton cover. A small table off to one side bore wine and food, while a table at the opposite end bore the chest containing the elements of the Holy Recreation that would complete the wedding service.

The two priests were dressed in wedding vestments of dark blue and white, with silver and gold brocade worked at cuffs and collar. The wolf was holding Isabeau’s paws in his, talking quietly and reassuringly as Ambrose turned to the families. Fatima sat in the front row, paws fiddling with the top of the ant-goad she used as a cane.

Ears perked at a sound.


***


The sounds coming from Beauty’s spiracles had a panting, wheezing note to them as she raced toward the Temple. Ayyub had stopped striking her abdomen with his goad and was now using the flat of his sword. She careened into the road leading to the Temple and Ayyub went flying out of his saddle and landing hard on the ground.

An ant-trough had been set up for the ants being used by the various groups of family and friends who had gathered. Beauty staggered up to it, shoved aside one dray-ant and clacked her jaws menacingly at another before plunging her head into the water. There was a sigh from her spiracles that ruffled the dusty gauze saddle skirt, and occasional bubbles rose from where she was soaking her head.

Ayyub lay sprawled in the road for a moment before heaving himself to his feet, paw still grasping his sword, and half-stumbled up to the doors of the Temple. He essentially threw his weight against it.

The door opened and he fell into the anteroom. His sword clattered to the stone floor.

The last thing he heard before darkness took him was his grandmother saying, “About damned time, boy.”

A bit of water dripped into his eyes, and a pinch of pepper hit his nose and made him sneeze. He blinked and opened his eyes. “Wha – “

A vision of loveliness looked down at him. Isabeau was wearing a gown of reddish gold reminiscent of a sunset, and her head was crowned with a circlet of wildflowers. She was holding his head in her lap.

He smiled. “Hello.”

She giggled as everyone else laughed. “Hello yourself, you silly darling,” Isabeau said. “You’re late, you know.”

“Couldn’t . . . help that.”

She bent down and kissed the tip of his nose. “I know.” The pepper then made itself known on her lips and tongue, and she said, “Bleah,” which caused more laughter.

Father Ambrose said, “Hold still, Ayyub,” and the mouse laid his paws on the fennec’s head as he murmured a cantrip. The effect was like a cup of strong FAFI tea; his head cleared and although he still felt tired strength flowed back into him. “Now, get on your feet, lad. You have something to do.”

Oh, yes.

The wedding.

Ayyub took a breath and sat up, then got to his feet. Jake passed his sword to him and he sheathed it. “Um,” he said as he looked down at himself. His clothes were dusty, streaked with dried mud and spattered with dried blood, and he fairly reeked of ant and his own unwashed musk.

Father Ambrose raised his paws, only to hesitate as Isabeau tugged at his sleeve. “Not too much tidying up, Father,” she whispered, and gave Ayyub a smile as she went back to the altar.

Before long, a small pile of dust and sand was gathered around his booted feet, and he smelled at least a bit better. “There,” the mouse said. “Come on, Ayyub macFarukh, and meet your fate.”

“Father, if you would?” Ayyub bowed, and the mouse wrapped an arm around the tod’s neck and vigorously scrubbed between his ears. The blessing bestowed, the fennec rested a paw on the hilt of his sword and followed the priest forward. His father Farukh fell in behind him.

He stopped and stood to Isabeau’s left, Farukh joining Cedric.

Father Jacobus raised his paws. “We gather together, in this holy place, to fulfill a holy purpose. Let us pray.” Heads bowed briefly, then the audience sat up and the service began.

“Nos unum coram Fuma nescia nostri, hunc virum et hanc mulierem matrimonio arbitri. Dea corde cordis concordie sanxit, ut vita in gloria exaltare in orbem protulit. Inter iustos et solitudo sola maledictionem aeternam et postulat ut Fumam crescite et multiplicamini, et faciet liberos,” the wolf intoned in High Elvish. “We gather together, in the sight of Fuma, to witness the marriage of this man and this woman. The Goddess has sanctified the union of heart to heart, so that life may be brought forth into the world to magnify Her glory. Among the Fair Folk, solitude is the only truly abiding curse, so Fuma demands that we be fruitful, and multiply, and bear children.”

Father Ambrose stood beside the wolf. “Magna amet in hoc nequaquam comprehendere neminem: Gaudium comitatus, dilectionis dulcedine vini maturitatem, voluptas cum per sanguinis filii.” He smiled broadly. “There is great magic in this, far more than any person may comprehend: The joy of companionship, the sweetness of love maturing like wine, the pleasure of seeing blood go on through children.” There was a pause.

“Est desiderium patrum, quod illa duo esse coniuncta?” Jacobus asked, the wolf directing his question toward the fathers. “Is it the earnest desire of the fathers, that these two be joined together?”

“Ante Fuma, est,” both of the older tods replied. “Before Fuma, it is.”

Ambrose bowed to Isabeau. “An cupiditas mulierem quod accipit huic viro traditus? Is it the earnest desire of the woman, that she accepts this man as her husband?”

Isabeau bowed in response, and she straightened she gave Ayyub a coy glance. “Ante Fuma, est,” she replied.

Jacobus then bowed to Ayyub, and the wolf asked, “Est cupiditate homo qui hanc electionem acceptet et feminas facti? Is it the earnest desire of the man, that he accepts the choice of this woman that he become her mate?”

Ayyub blinked. Part of him felt like running, but he replied, “Ante Fuma, est.” He smiled at Isabeau, and her smile and the look in her eyes was all he could wish for.

Bride and groom then bowed, and the priests performed the Benedictio Interphalangeal on them. When they straightened up, the fathers stepped back and rejoined their respective wives. Eleanor was weeping silently, while Hannah was quietly blowing her nose into a kerchief.

Isabeau and Ayyub now turned to face each other as Ambrose intoned, “Mulier virum coronare floribus agri, opus Fumae, argumentum serio elit,” and as Isabeau removed the crown of flowers the mouse added, “Let the woman crown her mate with the flowers of the field, the work of Fuma, in earnest token of her choice.”

She set the floral crown on Ayyub’s head, and the two took each other’s paws as Isabeau said, “By this token I proclaim you as my mate, and accept you as the companion of my heart,” and she sniffled a bit before adding, “and the father of my children.” She leaned in, and kissed his paws.

Ayyub cleared his throat. Come on, he chided himself, We rehearsed this. “By this token,” he said, his voice sounding dry and cracked, “I proclaim you as my mate, and accept you as the companion of my heart, and the mother of my children.” He kissed her paws, lips lingering on them as their eyes met.

They knelt then, facing the altar as the priests put on the consecrated robes, gauntlets, masks and goggles for the Holy Recreation. The Stone was doused in Reagent, and scented flames and smoke curled up to the ceiling with an ear-flattening bang. With the rite concluded, the priests gestured for bride and groom to stand and face the audience.

The two clerics placed their paws on top of Ayyub and Isabeau’s shoulders. “By the power granted us, and in the Holy Sight of the Holy Lady Fuma, we commend and proclaim these two wife and husband.” To polite applause, the priests stepped between the newlyweds and bowed. Ayyub and Isabeau then gave the Benedictio to the priests.

Ayyub was surprised by the fact that the wolf had a line of callus on the back of his head, extending up between his ears in token of the many decades he had served Fuma.

Both priests raised their paws and said in unison, “Praise be to Fuma!”

The audience responded, “Fuma be praised!” and stood respectfully as the priests made their way to the entrance. By tradition, the crowd was to leave the Temple; congratulating the newly-wed couple would wait until the next morning. As they walked, Father Ambrose gestured and the few lamps in the sanctuary dimmed.

Ayyub and Isabeau stood there until the last person had left the sanctuary, and as soon as the doors were closed and locked he sagged. “Ayyub!” Isabeau said. “Are you all right?”

“M’just tired – and thirsty,” and he took her in his arm, kissing her. “I hoped I wasn’t too late.”

She returned the kiss and eased him into a chair before going to the small table and returning with a cup of water. “I thought you might want some wine, but,” and her voice trailed off as he took the cup and sipped at it.

“This tastes better right now than any wine you’d name, love,” he sighed. He looked her up and down. “You look beautiful. Have I said that yet?”

She struck a pose, one paw on her hip. “No, but you can keep saying it.”

“I plan on saying it for the rest of my life.”

“You.” She turned and crouched, back to him. “Could you undo these laces, please?”

He set the cup aside and did as he was told. “Guess I’m more tired than I thought,” he remarked as his fingers fumbled with the knots, but he finally succeeded. Isabeau stepped out of the gown and shed her small-clothes, then dropped to her knees and started to take off his boots.

Soon enough, he was naked as well, and his water cup was empty. She took him by the paws and helped him stand, then they kissed. “I know that it’s tradition,” she ventured, “but are you too tired - ?”

“I haven’t slept in two straight days,” Ayyub replied.

“Then we sleep,” she said firmly, leading him to the altar. “I’m sure the Lady won’t mind too much.”