Delusion's Master (Tales From the Flat Earth) by Tanith Lee Read Free Book Online Page B

going with so much song?” And the
answer was returned with the song: “We are going to Bhelsheved, to worship the
gods!”
    And the
question, being as much a tradition as the answer, was the signal in the places
by the way. The people here put aside their buying and selling, their
husbandry, their toil, gave over their quarrelling and their deeds of love, and
followed the procession, adding to it their own music, with the flames of new
lamps in their hands. On this route alone, seven thousand went dancing, to the
beat of drums, over the desert to mystical Bhelsheved.
    When the sun
was gone, the seven thousand halted, though the sound of their music
intermittently continued. To such an accompaniment, a sprawling campment was
made, and fires were kindled, scattering the sands, as if droplets had rained
from the falling sun. The scents of roasting meat and baking bread rose with
the melodies and the lights. But there was scarcely any order in that camp, and
scarcely any watch was kept. What need? Religious fervor was the motivation of
this people who danced across the desert. The cold of the night could not harm
them, nor the predatory roaming of wild beasts. No thieves or villains of any
sort could linger in such a company. No hint of deceit or wickedness.
    And the sky
faded, became a pale glimmering blue, like the ashes of a flower. The stars
appeared from behind the sky. And from the desert, a man, tall and slim, came
walking like a panther among the tents and fires.
    A girl was
kneeling in the pool of the dusk, feeding three or four black sheep. She raised
her head, and looked after the man as he passed. When her tan-haired sister
came from the tent, the girl pointed. “See, Zharet, he is here again.”
    “Indeed, one
cannot mistake him, even from the back,” said the second girl, and her eyes
shone like still flames. “He walks like a king.”
    “But he has no
servant with him, and no guard.”
    “Perhaps he
has no need of them, being his own state.”
    “But who,”
whispered the first girl, “has ever seen him pass among us by day?” Tan-haired
Zharet thought, I should be happy enough to see him by night . She was to
be married to a cousin she had scarcely met. She pictured the stranger as her
bridegroom, and closed her eyes.
    But by now,
the stranger, in his inky cloak, had disappeared from their view, though others
saw him, looked at him, whispered similarly, dreamily:
    “Who is he?”
    “Who has seen him
under the sun?”
    “I saw him by
moonlight.”
    “Was he a
ghost, or a spirit?”
    “Only if they
are very handsome, for he is so.”
    Others were
less pensive.
    “There goes
that dark one. On such a journey as ours, there should be no malcontents, but he is bent on mischief, I believe.”
    “In all the
years I have gone to Bhelsheved there was never anything stolen or any trouble,
yet three nights ago my cousin’s black goat vanished from its pen. Only the
bones were found—”
    “He has a
murderer’s stealth.”
    “He walks like
a shadow.”
    And some who
were not elegant said: “He is too elegant to be honest.” And some who were not
tall said: “He is too tall to be trusted,” and some who were intuitive
shuddered, though they were not sure why.
    Other things
happened, as the stranger passed. A pet bird pecked through the last bit of
wicker on its cage—it had pecked at the wicker very earnestly for three
successive nights, each time the stranger had gone by—and flying out of the
cage and through the tent opening, it darted after the black-cloaked man, and
fluttered round him. Though he did not slacken his pace, the man reached into
the air and took the bird in his hand. It was a notable hand, articulate and
strong, with long, long fingers. The nails were also rather long, like those of
some mighty ruler who need do no work, yet not pointed, but squarely and
smoothly tipped, and with each a silver crescent marked on it. The bird
trembled in this cool and gentle grip, and stared up