Night's Master (24 page)

“A fiery wind,” murmured Fountain.

“Ash on the wind,” murmured Favour.

“No,” said Fair the youngest, “it was a beautiful man with black hair and
eyes like the burning coals.”

“The shame!” howled the farmer. But he told the neighbors his seven
daughters had a strange malady, highly infectious. And he secluded them in the
house and allowed no visitors. It was an age of Innocence, he was believed,
though for seven months the “malady” persisted.

On the last day of the seventh month the sun went down, and seven sisters
each gave a scream and fell on their beds. For seven hours there was screaming.
In the last minute of the seventh hour, seven sisters each gave a triumphant
shriek.

The old servant woman of the house, who had been assisting the labor,
began to scream instead. The father ran in and shook her, “Well, are they sons
or daughters?”

The servant woman, regaining her natural fortitude, remarked: “I declare
that never in my long life, which now has doubtless been shortened by this
shock, have I witnessed such a thing. Fleet has given birth to a little baby’s
arm, and Flame to another little arm, and I will be struck dead if Foam has not
given birth to a leg and Fan to another leg, while poor Fountain brought forth
a whole torso, and Favour a head.”

“And Fair?” whimpered the farmer.

“Well,” said the servant woman wisely, “I am sure I cannot say what Fair
has given birth to, but rest assured, it is a fine specimen.”

The farmer wept, and when he had ceased weeping, he commanded all these
pieces of a child’s body, so unnaturally accrued, to be bundled in a sheet and
buried. But no sooner were the portions of anatomy in the sheet together than
the sheet began to writhe.

The farmer fled, but the wise servant woman peeped in, and she saw a
wonderous joining had taken place, and a whole healthy child, of striking
beauty, lay there sleeping.

“Now,” said the servant woman, “which of you girls has milk to give this
infant?” She had got herself in a mundane mood, but she was to be tested still
further. None of the seven daughters were found to have any milk upon them and,
in any case, it was not needed. For, turning to the child again with clucks of
commiseration, the servant woman saw he was prodigiously grown. Indeed, the
child in the sheet was now a handsome boy of perhaps eleven years. “Steady, my
chick,” cried the servant woman disparagingly, “you will overtax yourself.” But
to no avail. In another minute the child had grown further, and further yet.
Now a toothsome, adolescent youth lay there, jet black of hair, thrilling to
look on, so the old servant trembled all over. Then, even the youth was gone. A
man was stretched upon the sheet. He seemed made of dark light, he glowed with
beauty, and his naked body was like a god’s, or as they thought a god’s should
be, the eight who shivered awestruck above him. His sleeping face deprived them
of speech.

But abruptly Fair, the youngest of the seven sisters, crept to the
window, and there in the east she saw a single yellow sword uplifted, the token
that the sun was coming. What made her do it she never knew, but she hurried to
the incredible man, and, kneeling by him, she kissed his mouth, and whispered:
“Azhrarn, awake, for the sun returns to earth and you must return to your own
kingdom.”

And the man’s eyelids flickered up, and two dark fires blazed suddenly
between the bladed lashes, and he smiled, and touched the lips of Fair with his
cool fingers. And then he was gone.

The room was filled with screaming yet again, while a black eagle rose
unseen into the sky of earth, turned on its broad wings, and vanished without
trace.

Moments after, the bright sun rose. But be sure, the age of Innocence was
ended.

About the Author

Tanith Lee was born in 1947,
in London, England. After non-education at a couple of schools, followed by
actual good education at another, she received
wonderful
education at
the Prendergast Grammar School until the age of 17. She then worked
(inefficiently) at many jobs, including library assistant, shop assistant,
waitress and clerk, also taking a year off to attend art school at age 25. In
1974 (curious reversal of her birthdate) DAW Books of America accepted 3 of her
fantasy/ SF novels, (published in 1975/ 6), and thereafter 23 of her books, so
breaking her chains and allowing her to be the only thing she effectively
could: a full-time writer.

Since then
she has written 77 novels, 14 collections, and almost 300 short stories, plus 4
radio plays (broadcast by the BBC) and 2 scripts for the TV cult UK SF series
Blake’s
7
. Her work, which has been translated into over 17 languages, ranges
through fantasy, SF, gothic, YA and Children’s Books, contemporary, historical
and detective novels, and horror. This year she was awarded the prestigious
title of Grand Master of Horror 2009. She has also won major awards for several
of her books/ stories, including the August Derleth Award for
Death’s
Master,
the second book in the Flat Earth series.

She lives near the South East coast of England with her husband,
writer-photographer-artist John Kaiine. And two tuxedo cats of many charms,
whose main creative occupations involve eating, revamping the carpets, and
meowperatics.