Red as Blood: or tales from the Sisters Grimmer

by Tanith Lee

  Jarasmi’s maids fluttered about her, all curiosity, but Jarasmi ordered her attendants to conduct her home to the palace. There, she sat alone in her chamber, and brooded upon the magical gift.

  It was surely true, she wished to find out the secrets of her future, what her husband might be, and if she should love him and if he should love her, and whether she would bear him sons, and if her sons might become heroes. Such things she had pondered often. At first, she was almost afraid to try the golden ball in case it failed her, showing nothing. Then she grew more afraid, supposing it would show everything.

  At length, her need for enlightenment outweighed her alarm. She raised her hand to throw the ball upon the floor—and checked. She had thought so long on the matter it seemed to her the whole palace might guess her intent. The moment any heard the splintering of glass, they would realize what she had done. Jarasmi became nervous and abashed at such a notion. She did not want her Father, the Ruler, to discover what she was about.

  Finally, she stole out into the gardens. Here, she again prepared to throw the ball of golden glass. But glancing up, she saw a bird floating in the sky, watching her. She hid herself under a cinnamon tree, but the noon breeze ruffled its branches, and played with her hair—she was not alone.

  Bronze fish stared from the pools. Shadows stirred. The flowers whispered as if someone were walking between them.

  After some time, Jarasmi found herself beside the high wall of the gardens, and before her was the unguarded little door, which led a short distance through the forest to the old and unfrequented temple.

  Jarasmi hesitated for the duration of ten heartbeats. Then she unbarred the door, and stepped out into the deep green shade of the jungle

  —

  Down in the dark of the cistern, where it is neither night nor day, Hiranu stirs. He senses his bonds, which are incorporeal and therefore not to be felt—and yet which he feels with great intensity—shiver, like strings that have been brushed by fingernails.

  Then the step falls upon the paving. It is soft as a leaf.

  —

  The princess found herself uneasy at being in the temple. The hollow intensity of a deserted building hung about it. The bright snakes glinted from the walls. Here and there a spear of sunlight clove the dark, but mostly there was no light at all. And yet she had somehow found her way into a sunken court where there was a large cistern, still full of water, let into the marble pavement. Not a glimpse of sun entered this place, nor into the well, for the temple roofs leaned close and the trees bound up the sky in their veils.

  Jarasmi knew a sudden fear, remembering her nurse’s tale of the Rakshasa. But such an idea was foolish.

  “Come,” she said to herself, aloud but very low, wary of echoes, “throw the golden ball and learn the secret, if there is one to be learned. Then hurry home.”

  So, without further compunction, she cast the ball of glass down against the paving.

  But it seemed her temerity had marred her aim. Rather than strike the marble and shatter, the ball skimmed over the cistern’s rim, and fell into the water.

  With a sharp cry of distress, that strangely roused not a single echo, Jarasmi ran to the cistern, and gazed into it. The ball was gone for sure. Not one bright trace could she see of it. Nor any other thing beneath the surface.

  For a moment, her princess’s vexation outweighed her nervousness, and Jarasmi smote the water with her ringed fist “Give it me,” she whispered foolishly to the cistern. “Am I never to know my future? Give back the glass ball.”

  And then she turned to fly, for a peculiar surge ran through the pool, another and another. Yet, reaching the doorway of the court, some extraordinary shrinking inquisitiveness made her hesitate, and look over her shoulder.

  Something lay now on the skin of the water, round and glittering—the golden ball. It had been returned as she demanded.

  Jarasmi hurried near, and stretched out her hand to retrieve the ball. But no sooner did she touch the glass than it broke into a thousand fragments, small as grains of dust, which showered in a sparkling pollen all across the water. Jarasmi screamed—and screamed a second time, for now her outstretched hand was caught fast in the grip of something cold and glutinous that had trapped it just beneath the surface. She could not see what held her so; her hand had vanished at the wrist in green water, as if severed, and struggled as she would, she could not pull away.

  And then, as abruptly as it had taken her prisoner, the unseen creature let her go.

  Half blind with horror, and stunned by a curious weakness, Jarasmi stumbled from the court and away through the ruined temple.

  There seemed now a thunderous silence hung there, and in the forest beyond the outer doorway a silence like deafness. But the Ruler’s daughter did not heed it as she fled. Nor did she note the jewelry serpents hid, as it seemed, from her. While the monkeys, which had scrambled amid the boughs above the path, were gone. At last she reached the door in the high wall and dashed through it, shutting and barring it behind her.

  As she knelt by a fountain, rinsing her hands over and over, the bronze fish quivered, and darted under stones. But her two maids ran toward her laughing. The sun was low, and soon she must dine beside her Father, the Ruler, in his palace.

  —

  The red light on the hills beyond the forest came through the windows and splashed the fine plates, the goblets.

  The musicians, mindful of Jarasmi’s wedding half a year away, played music that had to do with bridal processions.

  The Ruler was in a good humor. He urged his daughter to eat. “See,” he said, “how tenderly the meats have been cooked to please you, and how cunningly the spices have been prepared. And how the gold flashes on your fingers as you move them. While, only too soon, I shall lose you to a fine and wealthy lord, who will carry you away to his own palace and make you mistress of it. What can have stolen your appetite with so much of joy and success about you?”

  “Pardon me, my Father,” said Jarasmi, “I do not know.”

  But she did.

  The sun on the western hills changed from clear red to dark red. Servants came, drawing down the ornate lamps to light them.

  The musicians played a bridal dance.

  The sun sank.

  The hills, the jungle-forest, and finally all the long windows turned black as ebony.

  There came a strange sound, audible even above the music, though plainly it was far away.

  “Now, what can that be?” inquired the Ruler, growing testy, for the evening was not as carefree as he had envisaged—his grateful daughter sullen and uneasy, his musicians faltering, and weird rappings echoing up from his garden like stony blows at the bottom of a cistern.

  Just then a servant entered, and prostrated himself.

  “Master-of-fhe-Palace, someone knocks for admittance— not at the great gate, but at the little door in the high wall of your garden.”

  The Ruler plucked at his robe, examined a ruby ring.

  “It will be some beggar.”

  “No, Master-of-my life, no beggar. For when one of your guard questioned who knocked, a voice answered from the darkness: ”The Princess summoned me.‘ “

  “What is this?” demanded the Ruler angrily.

  “I do not know,” said Jarasmi.

  But she did.

  And now the dire rapping sounded again, hollow, far away, filling up the night.

  “Tell them,” said the Ruler, “they must not open the door.”

  But it was too late. One of the young guard had opened it, and stepping out on the jungle path, had challenged the depths of the silent forest and the tall pillars of the trees. No one was there.

  “The noise has stopped now,” said the Ruler. “All is quiet.”

  Indeed it was. A river of quiet was in the gardens, rolling toward the lighted palace. And as it came, the leaves grew still on the bushes, and the night-flying insects lay heavy as drops of moisture in the bowls of flowers. The fountains fell spent and did
not rise again.

  Quite suddenly, the birds in the cages about the room stopped twittering. The musicians’ hands slid from their instruments.

  Something smote upon the palace door. Again, and again and again. Cold the blows were, as if smitten under water, where sunlight had never once penetrated.

  “This is too much,” said the Ruler.

  Rising, he drew his rich robe about him. He walked into the glittering vestibule, his servants round him, his slaves throwing themselves respectfully down, his guards massed, threatening with their leaf-headed spears.

  All confronted the door, which rang and shook.

  “Who dares to knock?” cried the Ruler.

  From the soundless gardens beyond the door came a voice:

  “The Princess summoned me.”

  “You lie,” said the Ruler. “Be gone, and I shall act leniently. Knock once more, and I will set my guard upon you.”

  The knock came. The palace vibrated at it.

  “Open the door,” thundered the Ruler, “and kill whatever is out there.”

  “No!” cried Jarasmi. “Do not open the door.”

  “Why do you say this?”

  “I do not know,” said Jarasmi.

  But she did.

  Next minute, the palace door stood wide, and the guard burst out upon the terrace. Only the black of night was waiting to be let in, and the motionless shrubs that did not stir in the windless air. The wind had crept instead into the palace. It blew upon the lamps and they nickered. It shook the draperies.

  “Who is there?” shouted the Ruler.

  But no one answered.

  Then, returning to the table, one of the servant-women exclaimed. Jarasmi’s untouched plate had been emptied. Her untouched cup was drained.

  —

  The Princess went to her apartment, and her steps were slow. She sat on a little stool while her maids brushed and anointed her hair, took from her her finger-rings and earrings, and clad her in a loose robe for sleep.

  Below, two sorcerers were busy in the palace, and smoke rose. A priest discussed the nature of demons reassuringly with the Ruler. The young guard, who had opened the garden door, had been savagely beaten, and hung from a post, groaning.

  “How strangely cold the chamber is,” said one of Jarasmi’s maids.

  “It must be the season,” said the other.

  Unlike the Princess, they had hurried, and now hurried to leave, the anklets clinking on their dainty feet. Bowing low, they were gone.

  Jarasmi sat motionless as a figurine upon the stool.

  Jarasmi waited.

  But it was not long before the voice spoke to her, from behind her left shoulder.

  “You know that I am here, Princess.”

  “Yes,” murmured Jarasmi, “I do.”

  And she did.

  “Why not turn about, then, and see what you called from the cistern in the temple.”

  Jarasmi wept. She felt a dreadful, drawing weakness.

  The voice, however, laughed gently.

  “But what could I be that is so fearsome, if a small cistern can have held me?”

  “Oh, you are something monstrous,” cried Jarasmi wildly. “A beast like a fish, or a frog, thick-scaled and dripping slime, with talons and the teeth of a tiger, and the bulging eyes of a lizard.”

  The voice laughed again.

  “So much? Oh, Jarasmi—a fish? A frog? A tiger? Turn and see.”

  Then her fear became so vast she was powerless to deny any command of her tormentor’s, and she did turn and she did see. And so she beheld Hiranu.

  There in the lamplight was a young and handsome Prince, clothed in beautiful garments, and burning jewels, his dark eyes burning more fiercely than any of them.

  “I,” said Hiranu, “was bound by the spell of an enemy, to abide in the mud of the well until an innocent girl might free me by some inadvertent deed, such as desiring a favor of me. How unlikely this seemed. But never once did I lose my faith that one turn of the wheel should bring reprieve.”

  Then the handsome prince came to her, and took Jarasmi’s hand. His touch was delightful, and all her strength seemed to flow away.

  “And now, exquisite Princess, I wish only that you will come with me to my Kingdom, and rule with me. And I will love you all your life.”

  At which, he kissed her, and every lamp in the chamber died.

  In the pale azure hour before sunrise, the Ruler gave his only daughter to a foreign prince, to be his wife.

  Presently, a wonderful carriage was driven into the court before the great gate of the palace. It was hung with scarlet, and fringed with gold, while silver discs made rippling music from each drape and fold. The window-spaces were filled by screens of carved ivory, and their eyelets closed with precious gems, so none might look in—or out. Reddish horses pulled the carriage, and the moment they stopped, their driver leapt down and ran to Hiranu, kneeling at his feet.

  “This is my loyal servant,” said Hiranu, “who all these years has patiently awaited my return.”

  And he embraced the man, and sent him to kneel also to Jarasmi. This the servant did, placing in her hands a white flower. When he rose, she saw his eyes were bright yellow as a snake’s.

  Jarasmi entered the carriage with her bridegroom, and the carriage was closed.

  The Ruler stood before the palace door and watched the carriage rush away. He caressed the huge emerald the young Prince had given him, which was larger than a pigeon’s egg, and the diamond that was even larger. The Ruler’s face was sallow and his hands trembled so that soon he dropped both jewels. His slaves scrambled to retrieve them, as, from the halls of the Palace, there lifted the notes of a dreadful lamentation.

  —

  In the darkened carriage, Hiranu is almost done, now, with waiting.

  Beyond the scarlet, gold and ivory, the day begins to blossom, but he will not see it; day and night are all one within the dark. He can, of course, see his bride perfectly well. And if she sees him less perfectly in the blackness, she may at last be glad of it.

  How swiftly they travel through the jungle-forest. Perhaps, by moonrise, he will have reached his home. His bride, unfortunately will not. But it was true, he will love her all her life.

  Hiranu turns to her, the means of his deliverance. She is finding it hard to smile at him; her smiles resemble, more often than not, winces of terror. Yet, garnished by her flower, she attends. She is here, and no one can come to her aid at all.

  Hiranu ceases to wait. He assumes, very quickly, and with a degree of simple pleasure, his other form.

  The sealed carriage does not reveal it. While Jarasmi’s frenzied shrieks are muffled, and in any case, do not continue long.

  Wolfland

  1

  When the summons arrived from Anna the Matriarch, Lisel did not wish to obey. The twilit winter had already come, and the great snows were down, spreading their aprons of shining ice, turning the trees to crystal candelabra. Lisel wanted to stay in the city, skating fur-clad on the frozen river beneath the torches, dancing till four in the morning, a vivid blonde in the flame-bright ballrooms, breaking hearts and not minding, lying late next day like a cat in her warm, soft bed. She did not want to go traveling several hours into the north to visit Anna the Matriarch.

  Lisel’s mother had been dead sixteen years, all Lisel’s life. Her father had let her have her own way, in almost everything, for about the same length of time. But Anna the Matriarch, Lisel’s maternal grandmother, was exceedingly rich. She lived thirty miles from the city, in a great wild château in the great wild forest

  A portrait of Anna as a young widow hung in the gallery of Lisel’s father’s house, a wicked-looking bone-pale person in a black dress, with rubies and diamonds at her throat, and in her ivory yellow hair. Even in her absence, Anna had always had a say in things. A recluse, she had still manipulated like a puppet-master from behind the curtain of the forest. Periodic instructions had been sent, pertaining to Lisel. The girl must be
educated by this or that method. She must gain this or that accomplishment, read this or that book, favor this or that cologne or color or jewel. The latter orders were always uncannily apposite and were often complemented by applicable—and sumptuous—gifts. The summons came in company with such. A swirling cloak of scarlet velvet leapt like a fire from its box to Lisel’s hands. It was lined with albino fur, all but the hood, which was lined with the finest and heaviest red brocade. A clasp of gold joined the garment at the throat, the two portions, when closed, forming Anna’s personal device, a many-petaled flower. Lisel had exclaimed with pleasure, embracing the cloak, picturing herself flying in it across the solid white river like a dangerous blood-red rose. Then the letter fell from its folds.

  Lisel had never seen her grandmother, at least, not intelligently, for Anna had been in her proximity on one occasion only: the hour of her birth. Then, one glimpse had apparently sufficed. Anna had snatched it, and sped away from her son-in-law’s house and the salubrious city in a demented black carriage. Now, as peremptory as then, she demanded that Lisel come to visit her before the week was out. Over thirty miles, into the uncivilized northern forest, to the strange mansion in the snow.

  “Preposterous,” said Lisel’s father. “The woman is mad, as I’ve always suspected.”

  “I shan’t go,” said Lisel.

  They both knew quite well that she would.

  One day, every considerable thing her grandmother possessed would pass to Lisel, providing Lisel did not incur Anna’s displeasure.

  —

  Half a week later, Lisel, was on the northern road.

  She sat amid cushions and rugs, in a high sled strung with silver bells, and drawn by a single black-satin horse. Before Lisel perched her driver, the whip in his hand, and a pistol at his belt, for the way north was not without its risks. There were, besides, three outriders, also equipped with whips, pistols and knives, and muffled to the brows in fur. No female companion was in evidence. Anna had stipulated that it would be unnecessary and superfluous for her grandchild to burden herself with a maid.

  But the whips had cracked, the horses had started off. The runners of the sled had smoothly hissed, sending up lace-like sprays of ice. Once clear of the city, the north road opened like a perfect skating floor of milky glass, dim-lit by the fragile winter sun smoking low on the horizon. The silver bells sang, and the fierce still air through which the horses dashed broke on Lisel’s cheeks like the coldest champagne. Ablaze in her scarlet cloak, she was exhilarated and began to forget she had not wanted to come.