Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales Paperback(25)

In a brief while, the fast-flying boats beached on the near shore.

Then the princesses happily exclaimed, and flung wide their arms, as if to embrace lovers. And at that—at that— There they are, Yannis breathed, in his unheard phantom’s whisper.

For there indeed they were.

Begun as shadows standing between the land and the water, gaining substance, filling up with color, youth and life. Twelve tall, young and handsome men were there, elegantly arrayed as princes.

But their royal clothes no better than the panoply of their hair— one amber red, one brown as tortoiseshell, one gold as topaz, red as beech leaves, brown as walnut wood, gold as corn fields, summer wine, spring beer, winter mead; copper, bronze, and gold— as gold.

In God’s name—could God have any hand in this? Yes, yes, Yannis’s heart stammered over to him. A snatch of the ancient tongue came to him, from his own past, where he had known pieces of it—that the soul was neither male nor female, yet also it was both male and female. So that in every woman there dwelled some part of her that was her male other self. Just as, in every man— The fine princes walked into the arms of their twelve princesses.

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Why not? They were the male selves of each woman. Every couple was already joined, each the other, sister and brother, wife and husband, lovers for ever and a day.

Yannis stared even so as the princes rowed them all back across the lake to the palace of unearthly delights.

Invisibly, he sat in turn in every boat.

Was it heavy work for them? No. Yannis was lighter even than the light.

Nevertheless, they sense I am with them, he thought.

He returned to the air and landed on the other shore first.

How long, that night? Dusk till dusk—so many hours. In the world they had left, he thought at last it would be close to dawn. But here it was always and never either night or day.

In the kingly great hall that far outshone that of their father above, the young women danced the often lively dances of their world and this one, forming rhythmic lines, meeting and clasping hands with their princes, parting again to lilt away, and to return. Sometimes the young men whirled them high up in their arms, skirts swirling, hair crackling. Wheels of burning lights hung from the high ceiling, which was leafed with diamond stars. On carven tables food had been laid, and was sometimes eaten, goblets of wine were to be drunk.

Somewhere musicians played unseen. There were no other guests.

The soldier watched, and sometimes—the plates and cups were communal—he ate and drank. He wondered if the food would stick to him, or leave him hungry; it seemed somehow to do neither. He himself did not dance until it grew very late.

And then, as it had happened on the shore, and as he had known it must—turning, the soldier found another woman stationed quietly at his side. She at once smiled at him. He knew her well, though never had he seen her before. She might have been his sister.

“Come now,” she said, soft as the silver and golden leaves in his pocket, and firm as the single adamant.

And onto the wide floor of the hall, which seemed paved with ? 84 ?

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soot and coal and frost and ice and candle beams and sparks, she went. And somehow then she was dancing with the amber prince who had partnered the amber eldest princess. So then Yannis went forward, and took the princess’s hand. While his spirit’s sister danced with the prince, Yannis danced with Amber, who seemed then to see, if not to remember him.

“How lightly you step,” he said.

“How strongly you lead,” she answered.

After this, one by one, he danced with each of them, twelve to one, as his feminine aspect engaged their princes.

“How strongly you lead,” said each princess, seeing him, too.

Until he came to the youngest princess, Gold-as-Gold Evira.

“How strongly you step,” said she.

“How lightly you lead,” said he.

And he looked into her eyes and saw there, even on that curious dancing floor, a color and a depth he had met seldom. And Yannis thought, This after all, the very youngest, soul-wise is the eldest— And she said, “By a ribbon of air.”

And he said, “But I must follow you.”

“You,” she said, “and no other.”

“Are you so sure?” he said. He thought, What am I saying? But he knew.

And she smiled, as his soul-sister had, and he knew also her smile. And then his inner woman returned, and coming up to him she kissed his cheek, and vanished, and he, if he had grown visible, vanished also.