Collected Fiction

by Henry Kuttner

  “Eli . . .” I said, and my throat tightened at the dead, horrible expression on that strangely altered face. He was shining . . . the way I had heard of others, all through childhood, the whispered, dreaded stories . . . the hidden scourge of our people.

  The Shining Man had forgotten Orgu. He nodded, swaying unsteadily, and his voice was a thin, reedy whisper from far away.

  “I have seen them . . .” he whispered.

  The brand of some cosmic wonder was on his face. His body crept and crawled with living light. He laughed like an idiot, nodded, and went on: “I have seen the tiny folks . . . the Tuatha Dhe. I slept on the hills above the eastern sea, and they came for me and opened the Veil. I went down into their kingdom under the hills . . .

  Simon whispered, “He has seen the little people.”

  “Aye,” said the Shining Man, nodding idiotically. “So did my brother North. But he was warned, as I was, never to open the Black Door. The little people told me North had opened the Door, and that he was dead. But one day I, too, opened the Door, and then—then—”

  His face contorted. He seemed to be looking into some frightful memory. Abruptly he screamed, flung up his arms, and fell. For a heart-beat there was utter silence as we stood there, looking down at that dreadful figure.

  “Jo,” Eli whispered. “They are too mighty. The magic of the ages dwells with them. Take our people and flee . . . end the terror . . . or else . . . in time . . . all will die . . .”

  All will die. The Haunted Land was real. It rose alive and evil from legend, a destroyer dad in Shining Silver. So had the legends spoken, of a Shining Death, and so had it come again after many quiet years.

  Veena and Simon hurried forward. But the rest hung back. I saw my mother wince as she touched the shining skin, and I, too, knelt beside Eli. His flesh was frigid and hard as stone. He was dead, though his body still gleamed with that unearthly radiance.

  My mother’s harsh face was grimly set. I raised her gently and took her to the Throne. I seated her upon it, and turned to face the tribe.

  “My brother has been slain,” I said quietly. “Tomorrow I go to the Haunted Land to seek blood vengeance. There can be no life for us, and no peace, until the Shining Death ceases to be. While I am gone my mother rules the Merricans.”

  And at that Veena cried out and covered her face and wept very bitterly . . .

  A THING done has an end. I had spoken, and no arguments could dissuade me. My mother, that hard gray woman whose code was stern and unyielding as the rocks, said that she did not wish blood vengeance—and the admission was not easy to make, I knew. For to her honor was greater than love. But I think that underneath she was very tender, for she asked me to kiss her goodbye, and I could not bring myself to look into her eyes.

  Also, Mira did not want me to go. It was hard to leave bronze-haired Mira, with her lithe, supple body.

  “When I return, we shall marry,” I told Mira as she clung to me under the trees.

  “Will you return, Jo?” she asked, burying her small nose on my shoulder. “I love you so!”

  I consoled her, as lovers do, and spoke of the plans we had made, which must now be postponed, but not for long. “I shall be back, brown girl,” I said, “when the blood of my people and my brothers is avenged. Then we shall not be parted any more.”

  Simon bade me come to his cave. It was a place of wonder, tabu among the tribe. But most of Simon’s magic he kept locked in boxes of wood. He showed me, once, a thing he called a book, and said the voice of a dead man was imprisoned in it.

  “What does this dead man say?” I asked.

  “He tells of life. His name was Wells, and he gives an outline of man’s history.” Then Simon spoke further, but soon it became plain to me that this Wells was either a liar or a madman. Such outlandish nonsense I have never heard. For one thing, there was mention of a war which involved the whole world, and this is manifestly ridiculous, for what could have been the good of such a fight, or the reason for it?

  Most of all I liked to hear Simon tell of the Ancient Heroes—knights who existed for the sheer love of battle, but fair battle between men, or tales of giant citadels where dwelt sorcerers who could harness the lightning and travel underground in swift chariots. Now Simon welcomed me and looked at me keenly.

  “So you are going to the Haunted Land,” he said, nodding. “Tell me, Jo-Hagra, what do you know of this place?”

  “Why, what every man knows,” I replied, sitting down uncomfortably on a box. “It lies to the east, beyond the Allagaynees. People say the little folk dwell underground there, immortal and very old. They have always lived in this country, since the days of the Ancients. Now they steal our women and kill our men, although I have heard it said they are very beautiful, for—for they have no souls.”

  “IT is an old legend,” said Simon. “Well, for all I know, it may be true. And yet it may merely hide a greater truth. Jo-Hagra, have you ever heard of Manhat-tan?”

  I searched my memory. “No . . . wait! Did not the gods live there once? Was it not a place that floated on the sea?”

  Simon did not answer directly. He picked up a book-thing and stared at it. “I have traveled much in my youth,” he said, “and, of course, I am a member of what is left of the Scientists.”

  “Scientists?” I was puzzled. “Do you mean magicians?”

  Simon laughed a little. “Well, you call us that, Jo. At any rate, we know somewhat more of the past than most men. Is it not possible that the little folk are human—or that perhaps they did not always live underground? And certainly those who dwelt in the days of the Last World War might well be soulless!”

  “You mean the little folk lived in the time of the Ancients?” I asked, amazed.

  “I mean their forefathers were the Ancients,” Simon said, with slow emphasis. He made a queer, hopeless gesture. “So much is lost—so much unknown!” He looked at me and said, “Listen to me, carefully. I can tell you that what killed Eli was a form of energy called radioactivity. It is something that gives off rays like the sun. You understand? . . . Good. Well, you’ll need some protection against this ray. And certain metals, such as lead, will halt it.”

  “I can see that you are mad,” I said, bluntly enough. “Eli was, of course, enchanted. Do you expect a lead shield to turn a steel sword?”

  Simon blew out his lips and said something about using a sy-cology, which I did not understand. “I am going to give you some magic weapons,” he said, and brought out a suit made of flexible stuff that shone like metal.

  “Will this resist a blade?” I asked skeptically. “I think it must be the lead metal.”

  “Yes, yes,” Simon said impatiently. “It will resist other things too, which is more important. Take this, too.” He gave me a coppery wand, no longer than my thumb, but a bit thicker. “The Ancients used a certain hard, transparent substance, which no longer exists, for a great many purposes. There’s a diamond—a magic jewel—in that wand, which comes apart when you unscrew it, A diamond can cut through this transparent stuff the Ancients had, and you may be grateful for that.”

  One other weapon Simon gave me, though he hesitated long before trusting the box into my hands. It was sealed and made of an opaque, shiny, white substance. “I hesitate to give you this,” he said, “for it contains the essence of the greatest malice on earth. It has lain here for centuries and has never been used. But, if my books are correct, and my teachers did not err, this may prove to be the answer to the Shining Death and the little folks. My hand trembles as I give it to you.”

  He said more, though I understood little, and finally I formed my own conclusion that the box contained a jinee. It was dangerous magic, but I stuffed the box in my deerskin pouch and thanked Simon for it. I had no time to waste with him. The memory of Eli had come to me then and I knew what I had to do . . .

  AND so I left the Merricans and set out eastward, beyond the valleys where our tribe ranged.

  I foraged as I went, killing deer, eatin
g wild berries, and keeping a wary eye out for the wolves, which ranged in ferocious, ravenous packs everywhere. Eastward I went. At first I saw no human being. Only the unending hills, the animals, and ruins. I saw stones and corroded metal broken into shapeless heaps, nearly buried in the soil. Then, one day, as I entered a sombre valley at twilight, a cast spear grazed my arm. A chorus of yells rose all around me. Out of the bushes on every side rose men, a dozen squat, hairy, deformed beings more hideous even than Orgu. Without waiting to parley they ran at me, and more spears flashed by me as I sprang aside, stringing my bow.

  These were not true men, I saw at once. They were little more than beasts, and yet with something more than a beast’s cunning. And they had the ferocity and cruelty of men, which is dangerous indeed. Now I remembered that these must be the beasts whom the little folk had used. They too, had been legendary for me, and unreal, for if they had existed, what should the little folks want with my people?

  Indecision tore at me. My duty was to avenge my brother. Till I had done that, I could not let myself be slain. And so I fled.

  The short, gnarled legs of my enemies could not match my long strides. Once a spear tore flesh from my back, and I groaned at the blinding impulse to turn and fight. But coldly, desperately, I fought down the berserker madness that would rob me of all sanity. I ran through that dark valley, and the noise of shouting died behind me in the distance . . .

  Onward I went. Suns were born and died. I saw no more men. Only the gaunt gray wolf-packs that ranged fleetly, and at night I could hear the primitive, melancholy baying from the distance at my fire. Sometimes green eyes watched me from the shadows, till I flung burning brands and drove the wolves back.

  I went on, and reached the sea.

  At sundown I stood on the summit of a great, domelike mound, staring down at gray waters that stretched into darkness. I shivered, suddenly apprehensive. I could not have told why. Perhaps this great stretch of sea frightened me . . . different, somehow, from the great Inland Lakes, which I had once visited. I stood in the Haunted Land.

  To the north a bare granite cliff rose sheer into the sky. And it seemed to me that, far and faint, a movement stirred . . .

  Eyes watched me, I thought.

  But I was wrong. Though I searched, I found nothing, only a deepening twilight gloom, and the whisper of leaves in a chill wind. And above me the great ramp of the cliff rose.

  I was exhausted by my journey, and I tried to find sleep, but queer dreams oppressed me. I saw Mira’s face, veiled by bronze hair, and it seemed to me that she cried warning. Then the face of Orgu rose up, misshapen and hideous, and that gave place to a vision of sheer madness. I saw a city that might have been built by the gods, and fire rained down upon it from the night sky.

  Suddenly I was wide awake. The embers of my fire cast a vague red glow. And standing above me was a girl.

  SHE was no human maid. Slim and small and fragile as gossamer, her raven-dark hair did not reach to my waist. Her face was delicately chiseled and marble-pallid. In the great, luminous eyes dreams dwelt.

  She wore a robe that might have been made from the silken wings of butterflies.

  Involuntarily my hand went to my knife, but sheepishly I let it fall. What harm could come from this wee creature of the little folk?

  She saw my movement and laughed gently. Her lips, soft and rose-pink as a baby’s, spoke, and though the words were slurred and strange, they were Merrican, and I understood them.

  “I am Aiyana,” the soft voice told me. “I have come to save you. Those who sleep here do not always waken. The—the—” She hesitated, and glanced around with fear in her eyes. “The Guardians watch always,” she said. “Come, there is danger here. Outside the Veil there is always danger.”

  The Veil? Eli had spoken of a Veil, before he died. But who were the Guardians? I let Aiyana tug me forward, toward the ramp of the cliff that towered near by, asking no questions.

  We stood beneath it, and the tiny girl reached out and fumbled over the rock surface. There was silence for an instant. Then, far away, seemingly underground, a bell tolled once and was still.

  Before my eyes the cliff melted into nothingness! It wavered and rippled like water and was gone! In its place I saw a curtain of silvery, luminous mist.

  “Come,” Aiyana urged. “I must close the Veil swiftly.”

  I followed her into the mists. She was a dim shadow beside me. And then, abruptly, the bell tolled again.

  Swiftly I turned. I caught a glimpse of the hillside, and the red spot of my fire not far away. It seemed to me that misshapen, dark figures were moving around it—but before I could be sure, the picture wavered and faded. It was gone. Only the silver mists existed. I was in the land under the great dome. “The Veil is closed,” Aiyana said. “Follow me.” We walked together down a sloping ramp. The bright clouds whirled about me. Then, suddenly, strangely, they were gone; I stepped out into—Into the Unknown! I cried out, and Aiyana’s hand tightened upon mine. She looked up inquiringly at my face.

  I did not see her. I was staring out at the immense, incredible vista that stretched before me.

  For I looked upon the land of the little people—the Haunted Land!

  FIVE hundred feet below me it lay. We stood on a platform from which a spiral path of green metal reached down, to end amid a grove of trees directly beneath. I could see for perhaps two miles—and then the land ended.

  It ended at a wall that had no summit. The whole little country lay under a vast dome that glowed with pallid radiance. It was as though a bowl had been overturned upon it—a bowl of giant size.

  From my height, it seemed as though a lovely pattern stretched out to the circumscribed horizon. I could see gardens carpeted with verdure and brilliant flowers. And there were buildings, jewel-like and beautiful. Some were white, others flashed with all colors of the rainbow. Small figures moved here and there, dwarfed by distance.

  “Let us go down,” Aiyana said, and I obeyed, adjusting my knapsack more easily upon my shoulders. The girl looked at me curiously.

  “Why do you carry that? Throw it away!”

  “No,” I said stubbornly. “It contains—magic.”

  “Magic!”

  But I interrupted her laughter. “Why did you bring me here?” I asked stubbornly. “Why did you save my life—as you say?”

  “Mortals are interesting,” Aiyana said, her eyes clouding. “We are happy here, but . . .” and her voice died away.

  I asked quietly, “What is the Black Door?” Aiyana halted, swung around to face me. In her eyes was the strange horror I had seen there when she spoke of the Guardians.

  “So you know,” she said. “Someone came back, then.”

  “What is this all about?” I asked. “Is there something that threatens you? For I know now that our legends are false, that the little folk are kind and gentle. What do you fear?”

  Aiyana scrutinized me carefully. “Yes,” she said, at length. She pointed up at the shining dome above.

  “The light is not enough. It gives us immortality. We do not even need food, though sometimes we eat for pleasure. But the light is not enough. Even the Prytls are not enough. Perhaps your people . . .”

  “I do not understand you,” I said. “I had expected to come to the land of the little folk. We used to think they were in the Haunted Land. And then I learned that they came from the Ancients. Now tell me, what is this place called?”

  “Ma’hattya.”

  “Manhat-tan!” I cried. “Then they are all the same—and I am in the city of the gods, the city that floated on the sea!”

  “They are all the same, mortal. We are the immortals who once dwelt under the sun, even as you, until Doomsday. Then came a time when the sky was fire, and the air was death, and men flew in the air and slew with beams of light. We fled and hid under this great dome, which cannot be sundered. We are immortal, and yet . . .”

  I remembered old Simon’s words about the war of the whole world, and wondered,
but then she took my arm and we walked again, reaching the foot of a great spiral path, like a winding stair in the earth.

  I could sense some purpose in her leading me. My brain was whirling with countless questions.

  “Tell me,” I said, “if there is a Black Door here. For all that I have seen tells me that somewhere the book-things of Simon have erred, and that the Shining Death does not come from this wondrous land. But if there is a Black Door, then I have come right.”

  “And if you have?” she whispered.

  “Then I must take blood revenge. I will end the thieving of our women and the killing of our men, for my people and my brothers are more important than my life.”

  “LOOK!”

  Aiyana pointed down the great spiral on which we walked, like a stairway in the earth, and below us I saw many little folk coming to meet us. They ran on the moss-like grass, past a rose-pink fountain, and we came together near a building shaped like a shell.

  I have no words to describe them. Fragile, tiny and delicate they were, all beautiful and all with the large, luminous eyes of Aiyana. They ringed us, laughing and playing and pointing to me.

  Then, all at once, from somewhere the deep-toned bell I had heard before rang out, once, then again. Suddenly the little folk stopped laughing. I looked into their eyes and I shuddered inwardly, for they were not innocent—no! A moment later they were running away and their laughter had returned.

  “Are these the people on whom you have come to take blood revenge?” said Aiyana, beside me. I flushed with shame.

  “Once and for all,” I cried, “tell me if I have come right. This land is not for me. I have—”

  “You are right. The Black Door is here. Your brother North came here and then Eli. He must have been the one who escaped. And you too are marked for the . . .” But she could not utter the words I knew should follow—the Shining Death! “Stay here forever, Jo-Hagra. I will save you!” She stood before me, breathlessly beautiful, in the garden of scarlet blossoms.