Red as Blood, or Tales from the Sisters Grimmer: Expanded Edition by Tanith Lee Page A
Authors: Tanith Lee
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them and stopped dead still, for he knew he had found what he came for.
There was a great carved bed, hung with black velvet. On the curtains was embroidered many times the symbol of the silver wheel the sorceress had worn on her hand, and at the front of the canopy was a silver shield. Written on this shield in scarlet letters were the words:
MY FINAL GIFT TO HER
HER DEATH BED
His heart thudding in slow heavy hammer strokes, the prince walked up to the bed and looked down at what lay there.
She was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.
She wore white silk, with diamonds at her throat, but she shone more brightly. Her hands were like white feathers on the black velvet bed, her skin like lampshine through alabaster, but her hair was light itself.
The prince stared at her and did not know what he must do. For she was quite still and unmoving, and more marvelous than any of the wonders he had ever seen. She did not even breathe.
Then it came to him, that miracle in an Eastern city, when he had seen a man brought back to life.
It seemed quite wrong that he should even touch her, she looked so peaceful. Yet it seemed also important that he had remembered at this moment how the thing was done. So he set his feelings aside and leaned down and placed his mouth on hers, and blew into her lungs the breath of life, as he had seen the priest do it. At first her ribcage rose and fell only with his breath, but presently she gave a deep sigh and he let her go. Her eyelids fluttered and lifted, and she looked at him and smiled.
“Welcome, Royal Born,” she said. “So you came as they said you would.”
At that the whirling thing shot off from the body of the spinning wheel and cracked in a thousand pieces like glass. It was strange. He had never really been afraid until she woke, and looked at him. Then fear began.
She led him down into the hall where now all the lamps flickered gold. The people moved rustily, and stared about like ghosts. They were so old, and yet they had hardly lived at all. The king and queen drew her into their embraces, moving like puppets, and then there was a feast.
They sat at the long tables, among the drifting cobwebs, and ate the roast meats and the peaches that had kept perfect for a hundred years, and they spoke in slow, hollow voices of all the things that had been a hundred years before and were no longer, though they did not know.
It filled the prince with terrible icy melancholy.
Even she, his princess, sitting at his side, seemed to be looking up at him out of her beautiful eyes through the dull waters of an ocean—the century which was between them.
Near dawn, when the sad weird figures still moved in their old forgotten dances in the hall, he drew her out into the garden. Beyond the animal trees and the fountains he saw that all the thorns had withered and fallen into dust, which now blew about the hill. For a long while the palace of the king would be surrounded by a desert of black dunes. He took her hand, which felt unreal, like the hand of a doll, and said, “Madam, I can’t stay with you.”
“This I know,” she said. “I saw it in your face at once.” She didn’t weep, or frown, but she murmured: “After all, I am still asleep. I shall never be awake again.”
He tried to comfort her, but it was no use and he saw it, and her pride, so he kissed her gently and went away as the sun was rising.
He didn’t look for the Oldest Man in the city. He looked neither left nor right till he was out of the valley, and then he did not look back.
On the road the black stone was still standing up, and there was a raven perched on it which stared at him with silver eyes.
“So, after all, you had the last laugh, Thirteenth Lady,” he said to it. “You were more clever than you thought.”
But the bird flew up into the wide clear sky without a sound.
WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES
Yes, the great ballroom is filled only with dust now. The slender columns of white marble and the
There was a great carved bed, hung with black velvet. On the curtains was embroidered many times the symbol of the silver wheel the sorceress had worn on her hand, and at the front of the canopy was a silver shield. Written on this shield in scarlet letters were the words:
MY FINAL GIFT TO HER
HER DEATH BED
His heart thudding in slow heavy hammer strokes, the prince walked up to the bed and looked down at what lay there.
She was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.
She wore white silk, with diamonds at her throat, but she shone more brightly. Her hands were like white feathers on the black velvet bed, her skin like lampshine through alabaster, but her hair was light itself.
The prince stared at her and did not know what he must do. For she was quite still and unmoving, and more marvelous than any of the wonders he had ever seen. She did not even breathe.
Then it came to him, that miracle in an Eastern city, when he had seen a man brought back to life.
It seemed quite wrong that he should even touch her, she looked so peaceful. Yet it seemed also important that he had remembered at this moment how the thing was done. So he set his feelings aside and leaned down and placed his mouth on hers, and blew into her lungs the breath of life, as he had seen the priest do it. At first her ribcage rose and fell only with his breath, but presently she gave a deep sigh and he let her go. Her eyelids fluttered and lifted, and she looked at him and smiled.
“Welcome, Royal Born,” she said. “So you came as they said you would.”
At that the whirling thing shot off from the body of the spinning wheel and cracked in a thousand pieces like glass. It was strange. He had never really been afraid until she woke, and looked at him. Then fear began.
She led him down into the hall where now all the lamps flickered gold. The people moved rustily, and stared about like ghosts. They were so old, and yet they had hardly lived at all. The king and queen drew her into their embraces, moving like puppets, and then there was a feast.
They sat at the long tables, among the drifting cobwebs, and ate the roast meats and the peaches that had kept perfect for a hundred years, and they spoke in slow, hollow voices of all the things that had been a hundred years before and were no longer, though they did not know.
It filled the prince with terrible icy melancholy.
Even she, his princess, sitting at his side, seemed to be looking up at him out of her beautiful eyes through the dull waters of an ocean—the century which was between them.
Near dawn, when the sad weird figures still moved in their old forgotten dances in the hall, he drew her out into the garden. Beyond the animal trees and the fountains he saw that all the thorns had withered and fallen into dust, which now blew about the hill. For a long while the palace of the king would be surrounded by a desert of black dunes. He took her hand, which felt unreal, like the hand of a doll, and said, “Madam, I can’t stay with you.”
“This I know,” she said. “I saw it in your face at once.” She didn’t weep, or frown, but she murmured: “After all, I am still asleep. I shall never be awake again.”
He tried to comfort her, but it was no use and he saw it, and her pride, so he kissed her gently and went away as the sun was rising.
He didn’t look for the Oldest Man in the city. He looked neither left nor right till he was out of the valley, and then he did not look back.
On the road the black stone was still standing up, and there was a raven perched on it which stared at him with silver eyes.
“So, after all, you had the last laugh, Thirteenth Lady,” he said to it. “You were more clever than you thought.”
But the bird flew up into the wide clear sky without a sound.
WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES
Yes, the great ballroom is filled only with dust now. The slender columns of white marble and the
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