Read Online White As Snow (Fairy Tale) by Tanith Lee - Free Book Online
Authors: Tanith Lee
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child, proudly.
Yes, said the nurse, Queen Arpazia, King Draco’s wife, would go with the rest to show her duty to the Oracle.
The child had been trying very hard these past two months, as chill spring melted to summer and the shadows and the sun-born green came down the hills, to see or to find her mother, the Woman-witch queen. But Coira, mostly, was not successful. By arrangement, the rooms where the child lived were far away from the heart of the palace, away from the apartment of the queen. The king never allowed children, once out of babyhood, near his women, not wishing to trip over them.
Once only, having evaded her own attendants, Coira had discovered a garden. And she had seen, not her mother, but the mantle trimmed by bear-fur, left lying on a bench. She had meant to go and pick up the mantle. To smell it and hold it, searching for the Woman’s magical essence. Before she was able to do so, one of her maids ran up and dashed her away, scolding birdlike in alarm.
That morning of the rite, Coira was dressed in a little white gown. Her hair had been washed. Now the nurse combed it.
“Such a shame you’re not a pretty child,” said the nurse regretfully, since Coira (Princess Candacis) was currently the nurse’s own property. Draco had no other lawful daughters, but some of his by-blows were charming, and all his sons were thought manly and good-looking.
Coira’s skin, like her mother’s, was too pale, and did not take the sun. Her eyes were changeable, never blue but sometimes a strange gray, or even black, the iris and pupil seeming all one. Her mouth was too well-shaped for her age, precocious and red, although her cheeks were always colorless. Coira looked, the younger maid had said, as if she had been eating pomegranates greedily—or had put on the salve from an adult’s cosmetic jar. Her hair, though, was a splendor. Heavy silk that shone, and black as a crow’s wing.
They had tried to explain about the Oracle. In the mythic past, kings had come to ask their fates from it. Though it answered in riddles, it never lied, if you could only decipher the message.
“Is it God?” asked the child, idly. Had they known, she was only being polite, for her mind was just then solely on her mother, and the chance of seeing her.
“How could it be God, God pardon you? God’s in Heaven.”
But the younger maid, Kaya, said, “Once. Once it was a god, Nursey.”
Coira, her interest caught a moment, asked, “Isn’t it a god now? Then why does the smoke still come?”
“It does, and there you are. And sometimes it speaks. ”
“How does it?”
“It gurgles to itself.”
“Stop, you’ll scare the child,” rasped the nurse.
“What does the gurgle say?”
“ Feed me. It says feed me a sweet young maiden seven years of age, gobble, gobble.”
“ Stop that. It says nothing of the sort.” The nurse was firm, and this reflected in the way she roughly pulled the child’s hair now
with the comb. “The gurgling is right down in the rock under the hill. It’s because of the spring of water. And the smoke smells bad sometimes, don’t we all know that. And that’s from vapors under the ground.”
The maid, Kaya, said, “ He is down there, they say.”
Coira looked less sure. “Who?”
“The wicked god that dragged the goddess-girl away under the earth. He saw her playing in the ripe corn, and thought he’d like her for his own. So he opened the earth and drove out in his chariot drawn by seven black horses, each snorting fire—or they might have been seven black bulls, like the king’s banner. And he seized the girl round the waist and carried her off. The poppies she’d been gathering fell on the field like blood, and her tears like diamonds, but the next moment she was gone and the earth closed over. And he wouldn’t give her back, even though her mother was Demetra, the Corn-Queen. But he’s Death, and rules the land of shadows.”
“Be silent you bad girl!” cried the nurse.
Yes, said the nurse, Queen Arpazia, King Draco’s wife, would go with the rest to show her duty to the Oracle.
The child had been trying very hard these past two months, as chill spring melted to summer and the shadows and the sun-born green came down the hills, to see or to find her mother, the Woman-witch queen. But Coira, mostly, was not successful. By arrangement, the rooms where the child lived were far away from the heart of the palace, away from the apartment of the queen. The king never allowed children, once out of babyhood, near his women, not wishing to trip over them.
Once only, having evaded her own attendants, Coira had discovered a garden. And she had seen, not her mother, but the mantle trimmed by bear-fur, left lying on a bench. She had meant to go and pick up the mantle. To smell it and hold it, searching for the Woman’s magical essence. Before she was able to do so, one of her maids ran up and dashed her away, scolding birdlike in alarm.
That morning of the rite, Coira was dressed in a little white gown. Her hair had been washed. Now the nurse combed it.
“Such a shame you’re not a pretty child,” said the nurse regretfully, since Coira (Princess Candacis) was currently the nurse’s own property. Draco had no other lawful daughters, but some of his by-blows were charming, and all his sons were thought manly and good-looking.
Coira’s skin, like her mother’s, was too pale, and did not take the sun. Her eyes were changeable, never blue but sometimes a strange gray, or even black, the iris and pupil seeming all one. Her mouth was too well-shaped for her age, precocious and red, although her cheeks were always colorless. Coira looked, the younger maid had said, as if she had been eating pomegranates greedily—or had put on the salve from an adult’s cosmetic jar. Her hair, though, was a splendor. Heavy silk that shone, and black as a crow’s wing.
They had tried to explain about the Oracle. In the mythic past, kings had come to ask their fates from it. Though it answered in riddles, it never lied, if you could only decipher the message.
“Is it God?” asked the child, idly. Had they known, she was only being polite, for her mind was just then solely on her mother, and the chance of seeing her.
“How could it be God, God pardon you? God’s in Heaven.”
But the younger maid, Kaya, said, “Once. Once it was a god, Nursey.”
Coira, her interest caught a moment, asked, “Isn’t it a god now? Then why does the smoke still come?”
“It does, and there you are. And sometimes it speaks. ”
“How does it?”
“It gurgles to itself.”
“Stop, you’ll scare the child,” rasped the nurse.
“What does the gurgle say?”
“ Feed me. It says feed me a sweet young maiden seven years of age, gobble, gobble.”
“ Stop that. It says nothing of the sort.” The nurse was firm, and this reflected in the way she roughly pulled the child’s hair now
with the comb. “The gurgling is right down in the rock under the hill. It’s because of the spring of water. And the smoke smells bad sometimes, don’t we all know that. And that’s from vapors under the ground.”
The maid, Kaya, said, “ He is down there, they say.”
Coira looked less sure. “Who?”
“The wicked god that dragged the goddess-girl away under the earth. He saw her playing in the ripe corn, and thought he’d like her for his own. So he opened the earth and drove out in his chariot drawn by seven black horses, each snorting fire—or they might have been seven black bulls, like the king’s banner. And he seized the girl round the waist and carried her off. The poppies she’d been gathering fell on the field like blood, and her tears like diamonds, but the next moment she was gone and the earth closed over. And he wouldn’t give her back, even though her mother was Demetra, the Corn-Queen. But he’s Death, and rules the land of shadows.”
“Be silent you bad girl!” cried the nurse.
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