Red as Blood, or Tales from the Sisters Grimmer: Expanded Edition Read Free Page B

grapes, and skins of wine were passed along the Procession. They made no pretense of stopping now. They were less wearied than they had been at midday. Weariness was unknown to them. They could dance forever.
    And the priests were laughing now. Everyone was. Or was it the pipe which laughed?
    And then, the day began to go. It was curious, for it had seemed the day, too, would last forever. But still, it was a lovely departure, the sun folding itself under a wide pink wing, a violet light filling the enormous sky, and stars like bright birds coming to hover in that enormity.
    Then the torches were lit. The Lime Treeans put their god down on the grassy slopes between the vineyards and the wheat fields. They lay on their elbows on the fragrant back of the world, and watched the last stain of sun linger on the river below, and the village beyond the river. And the village flamed softly like a burning rose in the moment before the dusk drank up the sun.
    Do I live THERE? Cleci asked herself in wonder. In so beautiful a place?
    A dog lay over her knee, and she kissed its head.
    And then she thought about the music of the pipe, and how, rather than making them listen, it had made them see and feel and know. And now Cleci knew so much, she knew that the world belonged to her, and she must love it and cherish it so that it might love her also. And she knew she would live forever, even after her body had died. And she knew that she, and all men and women, and all beasts, and all forms of life, had been born simply in order to be happy.
    Then the pipe stopped.
    In the great stillness she heard the evening breeze flying low over the slopes. She sat on the grass, and smiled, as if she had just woken from a miraculous dream which she would never forget. And there was no face in all the crowd, wherever she glanced, that looked any different from her own. She felt then younger than the youngest child, and older than the hillside.
    The Piper was standing about halfway up the hill, and he was clearly visible. The breeze lifted strands of his hair tenderly, and set them down. His face was radiant and still as the dusk. Yet his eyes, which were the dusk’s color, glowed and shone. They were full of untold emotions. Emotions that perhaps no human had ever felt. And although he stood above her on the hill, Cleci was slightly puzzled as to how she could see all this so well from such a distance.
    Some of the priests, and all Lime Tree’s important men were walking slowly toward the Piper. They walked as they would have walked after a good dinner, contented, savoring.
    Cleci heard their voices through the medium of the same intense clarity as had shown her the Piper’s eyes.
    “Well, Piper. I take it all back. You’re a find, and no mistake. I’ve never known such piping.”
    “Never felt so good after the Procession, either. Where’s the blisters I always get?”
    “Ah. And where’s my wife’s swollen ankles?”
    “On her feet?” innocently suggested the butcher, and the rich men burst out in childish guffaws, slapping each other on the back.
    “There’s more to come, more dancing yet,” said the baker. “There’s the bonfires to be lit, and the best wine to be drunk. But I say we should pay you now, to reward you for this fine day’s work.”
    “Is that your only reason?” inquired the Piper. His head was raised, as if braced for a blow. There was a sudden strange tearing in his face, as if he knew an ancient, but well-remembered stab of pain.
    “Oh, just for good measure,” said the miller. “You know what they say: Once you’ve paid the piper, you can choose the tune.”
    “Not,” said the miller’s priest son, with anxious courtesy, “that the tunes you already played for us were not singularly splendid.”
    “State your fee,” said the vintner. “Whatever you like. Gold if you want—I’m sure we’re all agreed. I’ll even throw in a jar of my best ruby.”
    “Yes, gold. And as much bread as you can