branches, leapt from their
boughs a hundred feet above and flew—wingless but certain as a
floating hawk—to another tree or to the ground below. Where he
wished, he walked on the air .
The three gray wolves, feeding on bits of meat and turnip by the
witch’s door, looked up and saw him; only one offered a soft sound,
• 66 •
• Tanith Lee •
more like amused congratulation than dismay. Later a passing
night bird veered to give him room, with a startled silvery rattle. A fox on the path below merely pattered on. Later he went drifting,
careless, by three or four rough huts, where a solitary man, cooking his late supper outdoors, stared straight through him with a myopic
gaze. Blind to nothing physical—he was dexterous enough with
his makeshift skillet—the woodlander plainly could not detect
Yannis, who hovered directly overhead. Even when Yannis, who was
afterwards ashamed of himself, swooped down and pulled the man’s
ear, the man only twitched as if some night-bug had bothered him. A
human, it seemed, was the single creature who could not see Yannis
at all.
He roamed all night, or at least until the fattening moon set and
the sky on the other side turned pale. Effortlessly, he found his way back to the witch’s house. A faint shimmering line in the air led him.
He followed it, aware it was attached to him, and of its significance, without at all understanding, until at last he found it ran in under the shed-house door, and up to the body of the man who sat propped
there, so deeply asleep he seemed almost—if very peacefully, in fact, nearly smugly—dead —and slid in at his chest. The cord that binds me, while I live, he thought. And only I, or some very great witch, could see it.
He paused a moment, too, to regard himself from outside. Rather embarrassed, he reassessed his value. Aside from the leg, he was still well-made. And strong. He had—a couthnessto him. And if not handsome, well, he was not an ugly fellow. He would do. He was
worth quite a lot more than Yannis, since his crippling and invaliding out of the army, had reckoned. Yannis gave himself a friendly pat on the shoulder, before pursuing the cord home into his physical body,
and the warm, kind blanket of sleep that waited there.
“You will never forget now,” she said, next morning. “Whenever you
must ease the spirit of the leg, you need only release your spirit. Then the leg will never fret you, no matter that its physical self is gone and
• 67 •
• Below the Sun Beneath •
it sits in a jail of wood, just as you do in the prison of flesh we all inhabit till death sets us free.”
“Is it my soul you’ve let out, then?” he asked her. Since waking up
again he had been less confident. “Isn’t that going to upset God?”
She made a noise of derision and dipped her bread in the honey.
“Do you think God so petty? Come soldier, God is God ! How could we get these skills if it weren’t allowed? But no, besides. It’s not the soul. The soul sits deeper. It’s your earthly spirit only you can now release, which is why it has the shape of you and is male and young
and strong. And too—as you’ve seen—nothing human, or very few,
will ever espy you in that form. You will be invisible . Which, when you reach the city, can render you service.”
“You think I’ll use the knack to do harm.”
“Never,” she said. “Would I unlock it for you, if I thought so?”
Yannis shook his head. “No, Mother.”
“And I am your mother, now?”
He said, quietly, “She was yellow-haired and pretty. I don’t insult
you, Missus. And anyway, I meant . . . ”
“There,” she said, and she smiled at him. She had a sunny smile,
and all her teeth were amazingly sound and clean, especially for such an old granny as she was. “And now, Yannis, I will give you the second secret. Which is less secret than the first.”
He sat and looked warily at her as she told him. “You’ll gain the
city by
boughs a hundred feet above and flew—wingless but certain as a
floating hawk—to another tree or to the ground below. Where he
wished, he walked on the air .
The three gray wolves, feeding on bits of meat and turnip by the
witch’s door, looked up and saw him; only one offered a soft sound,
• 66 •
• Tanith Lee •
more like amused congratulation than dismay. Later a passing
night bird veered to give him room, with a startled silvery rattle. A fox on the path below merely pattered on. Later he went drifting,
careless, by three or four rough huts, where a solitary man, cooking his late supper outdoors, stared straight through him with a myopic
gaze. Blind to nothing physical—he was dexterous enough with
his makeshift skillet—the woodlander plainly could not detect
Yannis, who hovered directly overhead. Even when Yannis, who was
afterwards ashamed of himself, swooped down and pulled the man’s
ear, the man only twitched as if some night-bug had bothered him. A
human, it seemed, was the single creature who could not see Yannis
at all.
He roamed all night, or at least until the fattening moon set and
the sky on the other side turned pale. Effortlessly, he found his way back to the witch’s house. A faint shimmering line in the air led him.
He followed it, aware it was attached to him, and of its significance, without at all understanding, until at last he found it ran in under the shed-house door, and up to the body of the man who sat propped
there, so deeply asleep he seemed almost—if very peacefully, in fact, nearly smugly—dead —and slid in at his chest. The cord that binds me, while I live, he thought. And only I, or some very great witch, could see it.
He paused a moment, too, to regard himself from outside. Rather embarrassed, he reassessed his value. Aside from the leg, he was still well-made. And strong. He had—a couthnessto him. And if not handsome, well, he was not an ugly fellow. He would do. He was
worth quite a lot more than Yannis, since his crippling and invaliding out of the army, had reckoned. Yannis gave himself a friendly pat on the shoulder, before pursuing the cord home into his physical body,
and the warm, kind blanket of sleep that waited there.
“You will never forget now,” she said, next morning. “Whenever you
must ease the spirit of the leg, you need only release your spirit. Then the leg will never fret you, no matter that its physical self is gone and
• 67 •
• Below the Sun Beneath •
it sits in a jail of wood, just as you do in the prison of flesh we all inhabit till death sets us free.”
“Is it my soul you’ve let out, then?” he asked her. Since waking up
again he had been less confident. “Isn’t that going to upset God?”
She made a noise of derision and dipped her bread in the honey.
“Do you think God so petty? Come soldier, God is God ! How could we get these skills if it weren’t allowed? But no, besides. It’s not the soul. The soul sits deeper. It’s your earthly spirit only you can now release, which is why it has the shape of you and is male and young
and strong. And too—as you’ve seen—nothing human, or very few,
will ever espy you in that form. You will be invisible . Which, when you reach the city, can render you service.”
“You think I’ll use the knack to do harm.”
“Never,” she said. “Would I unlock it for you, if I thought so?”
Yannis shook his head. “No, Mother.”
“And I am your mother, now?”
He said, quietly, “She was yellow-haired and pretty. I don’t insult
you, Missus. And anyway, I meant . . . ”
“There,” she said, and she smiled at him. She had a sunny smile,
and all her teeth were amazingly sound and clean, especially for such an old granny as she was. “And now, Yannis, I will give you the second secret. Which is less secret than the first.”
He sat and looked warily at her as she told him. “You’ll gain the
city by
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