Other Kingdoms

by Richard Matheson

  Finally, I saw her.

  She had just stepped out from underneath the sparkling waterfall. She was nude. I cannot use the word “naked”; it seems too crudely explicit. Never have I seen nudity as so completely innocent. She was obviously a young woman, yet conveyed the presence of a child. She was no more than three feet tall, almost doll-like in her exquisite beauty. Her hair was golden; not blond but golden, it’s the only way I can describe it. Her skin was as white as cream; her figure slight but clear. Nor did she seem at all disturbed at her nudity when she saw me looking at her, made no move to conceal her female parts. Even that sounds gross to me. What I mean to say is that her modesty was evident despite her unclothed state. She actually smiled at me. “Hello,” she said. It was spoken in a welcoming manner. Then she added, dumbfounding me, “You’re Alex.”

  I had no voice. It was paralyzed by wonder. She smiled again, knowing that, somehow. “You wonder how I know your name,” she said.

  “I do,” was all I could manage. How do I describe what I was going through? Amazement, yes. Incredulity at the entire moment. Physical attraction to her captivating body. Embarrassment that I even felt such a thing, her innocence was so apparent.

  “I know a lot about you,” she said. She moved close to me. (I felt like a lumbering giant in her presence.) Standing on her toes, she kissed me lightly on the cheek. “I’m glad to have you back,” she told me.

  For a moment, old caution beset me. Have me back? Hadn’t she made my two visits to the woods—especially the second one—terrifying to me? I didn’t want to darken the magic of this moment by confronting her with doubt. I had no choice, however. I had to know.

  “Why did you—” I was going to say, try to kill me? but I couldn’t, simply couldn’t. If she was luring me to destruction, I would have to go along with it. And she was gazing at me so sweetly, so guilessly, that I could only complete my question with, “—chase me the last time?”

  Her laugh was musical delicacy. “That wasn’t me,” she said. “That was my brother, Gilly. He despises human beings. His father was shot by a hunter. Gilly never recovered from that.”

  “I don’t blame him,” I heard myself responding, “He did scare the … insides out of me, though.” I couldn’t say “hell” to that innocent face.

  “Oh, he meant to harm you, no doubt of that. I’m glad the witch from across the way threw down primrose flowers. It infuriated Gilly that he had to stop and pick them up—but he had no choice. We have that weakness, I’m sorry to say. You have none in your pocket, do you?” Again, that burst of caution. Was she trying to discover whether she was vulnerable to me? It seemed ridiculous to consider, since I’d come all this distance without incurring any harm. But I was compelled to say, “I don’t know, I haven’t checked my pockets lately.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” she said. “I’m not going to chase you. I brought you here, didn’t I?”

  Yes, you did, I thought. Who was I to doubt this innocent child, anyway? Child? I was mistaking her height and manner for age. Her round, smooth breasts, though far less expansive than Magda’s, and flowery cilia disproved. “Cilia” is the nicest way I can express it. I wouldn’t, for the world, cheapen my description of her. She was too priceless, too … I must say it, too angelic. It wasn’t just her singing. It was everything about her, head to toe. How could any creature be so perfect? I have no way of analyzing her incomparable pureness. Don’t try me. Can’t do it. Need I add that I became immediately enamored of her? Had I been three feet tall, I would have told her, on the spot, that I was totally in love with her. But I was six feet two inches tall, an ungainly colossus before her. I would have been ashamed to mention love to such a divinely perfect, diminutive creature. My opinion about faerie folk had altered utterly. If she was a sample, the Middle Kingdom was one of magic. Harold had been out of his mind to warn me about it, if that’s what he’d actually done.

  “Are you afraid of me?” she asked. So sweetly that it made my eyes begin to tear.

  “No,” I assured her. “Although—,” I added without thought.

  “Although—?” she asked; anxiously it seemed to me.

  “It was a little … scary,” I said.

  “Scary? I don’t know that word,” she replied.

  “I mean it—startled me.” Be honest! commanded my brain. “Frightened me,” I said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she told me. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She smiled, that totally beguiling smile. “Well, maybe a little,” she confessed—pleasantly, I thought. “I wasn’t sure about you. Now I am. That’s why I brought you here unharmed. I could have—” She didn’t finish, but I got the point. She had abilities I knew nothing about. And wasn’t sure I wanted to.

  “Well, I’m glad you brought me here,” I said. “It was with the singing, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s right.” She smiled again. I was absolutely charmed by that smile. Magda had a nice smile, too, but nothing like—

  “What’s your name?” I asked, needing to know.

  “Ruthana,” she answered, pronouncing ana as “anya.”

  “That’s a lovely name,” I told her. “You already know mine.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “Now let me put my clothes on, and we’ll talk some more.” I’d forgotten (so help me God!) that she was nude throughout our conversation to that point. Her artless nudity dissuaded physical response.

  I watched as she dressed. Her garb was certainly atypical, more a gossamer mantle that she wrapped around her body from the waist down and draped across her left shoulder, leaving her right breast uncovered. I noticed that the nipple was erect and wondered, for a foolish instant, if she was attracted to me. I knew, in the following instant, that such a possibility was … well, impossible. She was too virtuous for that.

  She pointed toward a large flat rock I had not noticed. (I hadn’t noticed anything but her since first we met.) “Shall we sit and talk?” she asked. So appealingly that I would not have demurred for all the gold in the world. I moved to the stone—it was really a boulder—and sat beside her. I wanted to take her hand but found it unnecessary, as she took mine, with that irresistible smile again. “There,” she said, as though an unspoken rule had been observed. “Now let’s talk.”

  “Yes, let’s,” I said, feeling stupid at the lack of meaning (to me) in the words.

  “You live with the witch across the way,” she said.

  “Is she a witch?” I asked. I knew the answer. Did I want an explanation? Who knows?

  “Oh, she is,” said Ruthana. “We know she is.”

  All I could respond was, “Oh.” God, I felt stupid.

  “Is she cruel to you?” she asked.

  “No, she isn’t,” I said. Despite that gnawing rat of uneasiness, I felt a need to defend Magda. “I guess she is a witch,” I started my defense lamely. “But she’s never been cruel to me, she’s always been—” How far could I go? “—kind and … thoughtful.” I knew I wasn’t going to mention the manuscript; that would really blacken the conversation. I wouldn’t even bring up the healing ritual. Too much witchlike emphasis in that.

  “Well, I’m glad,” Ruthana said. “I was worried about it.”

  Worried about it? How come? Did that mean she was truly concerned about me? Why? Wasn’t I one of the human beings that they loathed?

  “I thought—,” I began.

  “Oh, no.” She cut me off.

  “What?” I asked her, anxiously.

  “Gilly is coming,” she told me.

  The words chilled me. Within that moment, I was back in the woods being chased by him, that thundering pursuit by elephants through a bamboo forest. Ruthana’s words seared my mind. He despises human beings.

  “Come,” she said. She was on her feet in a flash (no better way to describe it), pulling me to mine so sharply that it caused a wrenching of pain in my arm. “This way,” she said, beginning to run. Yanked off my stance by her unexpected strength, I could only dash beside her, filled wi
th dread. How awful was her brother? What did he know about me being there? He must have known, it came to me in a cold rush. Why else was his sister running me through the woods, a look of panic on her lovely face. Not so lovely now, her beauty obliterated by fear. My god, this Gilly must be monstrous! I thought, stunned by dread. We ran and ran. Ruthana never said a word. I heard no heavy breathing from her; it all came from me. I didn’t dare to say I was already getting a stitch in my side. I had to keep running, impelled by terror. I mustn’t let Gilly catch up to me. I mustn’t!

  Miraculously, we were at the path, and Ruthana pushed me toward it. “Wait,” she said then. Raising on her toes, her small hands gripping my arms, she kissed me on the lips, I realized (incredulous despite my lingering fear), passionately.

  “I love you, Alex,” she whispered.

  Then she was gone, swallowed by the woods. I never caught sight of Gilly. He must have noted my escape and given up pursuit. Was he chasing Ruthana now? How much animosity did he bear her? Could he hurt her? I wanted desperately to know. Was she lost already? How was I to know? I trudged back to Magda’s house with only one thing resounding over and over in my brain. Ruthana’s final, incredible words. I love you, Alex.

  God! I thought. I love you, too! Meaningless, of course. I was a human; she, a faerie. She had to know it was impossible for us to love each other. Totally impossible.

  I reached the house and went inside.

  Magda was waiting for me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I prepared myself for a scolding. Magda had obviously, only then, returned. She was still dressed up, her suitcase on the floor. She’d just removed her hat and was holding it in her hands. Now what? I thought. I tensed myself for the worst.

  She threw me off balance with her smile. “Been out for a stroll?” she asked.

  What should I say? I wondered. How much should I tell her? “Yes,” I answered. “It’s such a nice day.”

  “Good,” she said. “Have you been all right?”

  “Oh, yes,” I lied. “I’ve been fine.” It would be anxiety-making enough to keep it all a secret. But I would. The alternative was unacceptable.

  She came over to me and gave me a lingering kiss. “I missed you, darling,” she said.

  I missed you, too. I knew I should have responded but held it in, unable to speak. All I could think was how (terrible word) hefty Magda was compared to Ruthana. I knew, even at that moment, that it was an illogical comparison, yet there it was. I tried to tell myself that Magda, like myself, was a human being, Ruthana a faerie. (Interesting how fully I accepted their existence now.)

  My thoughts were cut away as Magda said—almost wistfully, I thought, “Didn’t you miss your Magda?” She was a beautiful woman. We were (or had been) lovers. Why did I feel so disturbingly estranged from her? Was I that frightened of her?

  I chose to lie again. “Of course I did,” I answered. Then I overdid it. My excuse? Eighteen and dense. I kissed her neck and caressed her left breast. (How large they were compared to Ruthana’s.) “I missed everything,” I lied; again a lie, I was a dolt. Stop it! I told myself.

  Either I convinced her or she convinced herself. She pressed herself against me (she was so fleshy!) and took my lips for her own. Her warm, wet tongue slipped in between my lips and searched my mouth. She picked up my hands and pressed them to her swelling breasts. “Soon,” she whispered, “very soon, my love. Take me any way you want. Any way at all.”

  Oh, God, I thought. This wasn’t what I wanted. Far from it. My loins might be in preparation, but my mind was not engaged. I loved Ruthana. The realization came as a shock to me. Here I was, my beautiful, voluptuous lover thrusting herself against me, yet, even responding physically, my devotion was elsewhere. Part of me, logical even at eighteen, seemed to know that I was being stupidly unrealistic. I wished to heaven that Ruthana had not said what she did. It only confused my teenage lack of intellect. I had no right to deceive Magda this way. I knew that much. Accordingly, I made a spontaneous—utterly stupid—decision.

  “I went into the woods today,” I said. Honesty is the best policy? Not always.

  Magda’s reaction was galvanic. She pulled away from me so rapidly, a trace of saliva descended her lower lip. She brushed it away, irritably, looking at me with demanding eyes. Witch eyes, it (wrongfully, no doubt) occurred to me. Would she now reveal her dark powers to me?

  Instead, she only gazed at me remorsefully. I knew she’d been offended. Even hurt? I wasn’t sure. Even as she said, “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I know,” I answered. “I should have. I’m sorry.”

  Silence from her. Then, “And did the little people chase you out?” I knew that she could not imagine what had really happened.

  “No,” I said. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “What was it like?” Now her tone had stiffened, and I knew I was in for it.

  I swallowed dryly. I was very nervous. Surely she could see that. “The girl I met—,” I started.

  “Girl?” she interrupted. Was that anger in her voice? Sarcasm?

  “Young woman,” I corrected.

  “Young woman,” she repeated. Stiffly.

  “All right, faerie,” I said, slightly aggravated by then. “She was a little person. Maybe three feet tall.”

  “And what did she do?” Magda asked. Demanded, I sensed.

  “Nothing,” I said. “We talked.”

  She gazed at me reproachfully. “Talked?” she said; not a question.

  I answered it as one, however. “Yes,” I said. My youthful ire was rising; I had little control of it in those days. “We talked.”

  “And that was it?” she asked. Was that a hint of genuine curiosity now?

  “That’s all,” I said.

  “And then you left,” she said. I knew she didn’t believe a word of it.

  “That’s right,” I said. “Then I left. Without harm.” I would not, I vowed at that moment, tell her about Gilly’s pursuit and, God knew, about Ruthana telling me she loved me.

  “Alex,” Magda said then. “Darling.” I reacted in surprise. Her tone had changed completely. Now what? I thought, confused.

  “Did you really believe that nothing happened to you but a harmless conversation with a faerie?” Her question was given without rancor, but I knew it was intended as criticism. Mild, perhaps, but criticism nonetheless. I knew, for sure, that I would not reveal the rest of it.

  “And then you left. Without harm?” she repeated my words.

  “Yes,” I said. I was really getting riled now. Witch or no witch, what right did she have—?

  She broke the mood (her mood) in an instant. “You’re not telling me the truth, my dear,” she said. The last part of her accusation perplexed me. Was she being understanding—or derisive? I wished I knew but didn’t. The best I could say was, “What do you mean?” I used to say that to the Captain, delaying the necessity to respond to any given question. I knew I was doing the same delaying ploy but hadn’t the wit to deter it.

  “I mean,” she said—as though my question deserved a reply. “A lot more happened to you. Did the young woman escort you from the woods?”

  “Yes,” I said. Then felt the compulsion to add, “We were being chased. The same way you and I were.”

  “Chased by—?” she asked—okay, demanded.

  I sighed—audibly. The cat was out of the bag. Partly, anyway. “Her brother,” I told her.

  “Brother,” she said.

  Damn it, stop repeating me! My mind exploded. I had the good sense not to articulate it.

  “Yes, brother,” was all I said.

  “His name?” she demanded; she was making no attempt to conceal her interrogative irritation (good, damn it, combo!) now.

  “Gilly,” I answered, pronouncing his name clearly.

  “Gilly,” she repeated.

  “Magda,” I protested.

  She relented; a little. “And was it he who chased us?” she inquired.

  “I don�
��t know,” I said. “It may have been.”

  “But this young woman—this faerie—led you from the woods, unharmed.”

  “Exactly,” I said, refusing to back down from her persistence.

  “Oh, Alex,” she said. Now her voice was devoid of vexation. If anything, it was no more than a form of gentle exasperation. “Don’t you understand at all?”

  I could feel my lips bearing down on each other. “Understand what?” I demanded.

  “You remember what I called them?” she asked.

  “Called them?” For the moment, I didn’t know what she was referring to.

  “I called them fooligans,” she reminded me. “You remember?”

  I did. “And you’re saying—?” I began.

  “Yes,” she said, not letting me finish. “You’ve been fooled.”

  “Why?” I insisted.

  “Because you were,” she said.

  “That’s no answer,” I retorted, angry again.

  Magda stiffened—it was not difficult to notice. For a second or two, I stiffened myself, a tinge of fear in me. Then, as visibly, she softened her expression and said, “Alex, I don’t know why; the faeries are, very often, beyond understanding. To be frank, I’ve never heard of anyone being treated as you were. The young woman must have been attracted to you, that’s all I can think of.” It was said so casually that I’m certain she saw the look on my face, an expression of astonishment that she had, so effortlessly, divined the actual occurrence. If that was the actual occurrence.

  “I’ll only say one thing, then we’d better let the subject go,” Magda said. She looked into my eyes for several moments, then completed her remark. “The young woman—a faerie, if that’s what she was, and I’m not so certain—placed her mark on you. You must be careful, Alex. You must look to me for protection. Now, let’s be done with it. You’re safe here; that’s all that matters.”

  Questions flooded over me. She wasn’t certain Ruthana was a faerie?! Why? And if not a faerie, what? An image flashed across my mind. That delicate creature. What else could she be but some preterhuman being? A missing citizen of Gatford? Beyond belief. What, then? And, further, “placed her mark on me”? What was that? Witch talk? If Ruthana was not some preternatural entity, how could she place a “mark” on me, anyway? All these questions flushing through my beleaguered head at once. Poor Alex White. Eighteen and non compos mentis.