Kingdoms of Light

by Alan Dean Foster

  "I think I could live here." Samm was lying on his back, huge hands behind his head, staring up through pale orange leaves at the deepening orange sky. "Pleasant climate, food fairly falling off the foliage."

  Oskar regarded him with interest. "You no longer feel the need to eat something alive and wriggling?"

  The giant turned his head to look at the other man. "Only occasionally. Strange, isn't it? Some of our tastes and former characteristics remain unchanged, while others have been altered to fit our new bodies and selves. I wonder if such was Master Evyndd's intention?"

  "I doubt that we'll ever know. Unless he made plans to return from the dead." Turning, Oskar sought a soft patch of ground on which to spend the night. Enormous leaves plucked from nearby plants provided suitable, if slightly damp, bedding.

  Nearby, Cocoa contemplated the orange-white specks of the stars. "While we're lying here safe and with full bellies I can't keep from thinking about the poor people on the other side of these kingdoms of light who must be suffering terribly under the hardships imposed by the Horde and the awful Khaxan Mundurucu."

  "I can." With a soft snort, Cezer rolled over, turning his back to the others.

  Cocoa snapped at him. "Well, then consider how the animals must be suffering! Your fellow cats, and dogs."

  "Not to forget the birds," Taj put in. He glanced in Samm's direction. "And I suppose, the snakes."

  Already half-asleep, the giant spoke softly and without opening his eyes. "Mundurucu, Horde, or humans—it doesn't matter. Snakes always suffer. We are condemned to it through rumor, falsehood, and ignorance. I do not believe we would suffer so if others would think of us as quadriplegic lizards. Most folk have no fear of lizards."

  "Perhaps in this benign land even the serpents are well regarded," Oskar offered by way of encouragement.

  "Perhaps." The giant sighed heavily. "Some of us are born to greater burdens than others. That is just the way of things."

  The following morning did not tell them if this was a place where Oskar's hopes for legless reptiles might be fulfilled, but it certainly began in a promising manner. The gnomelike farmer they encountered tilling a thick, ripening field of several different varieties of melon seemed delighted to see them. He was not at all put off by their greater size, or different appearances. Instead, he put his tilling tool aside and rushed to greet them with open arms.

  For all the narrow white-orange beard that reached to his belt buckle, he was no older than Oskar. He wore single-piece coveralls, sandals of peculiar but practical design, a short-sleeved shirt that revealed hairy arms, and a wide-brimmed hat to shield his head from the tropical orange sun.

  His manner of speech was rapid, clipped, and punctuated with laughter.

  "Ho my, what a collection, you are! Ho hee oh, never have I seen such a people-bundle! Come in, come! Or rather, tee-hee, come near, for by my foot-socks I don't think you'll the least of you fit comfortablish in my house."

  Their exuberant, mirthful host led them around to the back of a sturdy stone farmhouse with a thatched roof. In a neatly fenced yard there was a long bench table with chairs built low to the earth. By seating themselves on the ground, the travelers were able to access the tabletop quite comfortably.

  "Myssa!" the swart creature shouted toward the house, "we have company, ho-ho. Bring food, and drinkish!"

  Cocoa made a face their host could not see. "As good as it tasted, if I have to eat another bite of orange fruit it's going to cost me one of my hypothetical nine lives."

  "We must be polite." Oskar kept his voice down. "Just take a nibble of this and that, and sip of whatever is offered. Would you rather be back in the Kingdom of Red and have this little fellow whacking you across the nose with a stout stick?"

  "No," she admitted quietly. "I suppose I should be grateful. There are worse things than being asked to eat too much good food."

  "Hee-hee-ha-ha!" Their host's spouse, when she appeared with tray held high on one hand and jug in the other, was a rosy-cheeked little homunculus clad in dress, apron, and spry bonnet—all of varying orange hue, of course. Similarly shaded was the tray of multiple goodies she set before them, each more sprightly garnished than the next. The jug proved to contain a wine that was as tasty as it was cold. Confronted with the unexpected spread, Cocoa decided not to inquire if their hosts had any milk.

  "I'm Tilgrick," the farmer chuckled from the head of the table. "What brings an extraordinary hodgepodgey like yourselves to my little farm, ha-ha-ho-hee?"

  Do these two ever stop laughing? Mamakitty found herself wondering. Are they always so good-natured in the presence of strangers, or is there something deeper at work here? Without any basis for suspicion, she could only speculate.

  "We have come from a far place," she told their mightily condensed host as his wife topped off their happy goblets. "From beyond even the Kingdom of Red."

  "So far! But you have, hi-hi-hoo, survived that awful country." Several of the travelers nodded. "Wonderful, that is, hee-hee! The Kingdom of Orange is so much better a place, as you will find-oh."

  Samm held forth the bucket that had been provided for him in place of one of the attractive but to him inadequate goblets. Orange liquid sloshed within. "We are already finding it so."

  "Good, good!" Tilgrick laughed, his spouse joining in serenely. "What is it you want here? Whatever it is, ho-hoo, I'm sure you will certain find it. You don't have to stare at me like that to get me to answer." Samm immediately lowered his gaze.

  "We want nothing here," Oskar told him, "except some fleeting hospitality." He raised his goblet. "Which we have already found. We still, I fear, have far to go, to find the white light that we need."

  "White light?" For once, Tilgrick and his wife did not laugh as they exchanged a look. "This is the Kingdom of Orange. You must truly have, ha-ha-hee, far yet to go. Why trouble yourselves with something so difficult to eye-magine, much less capture? Stay here, in our land, and be always ever always happy like us."

  Cezer was intrigued. "You mean, everyone here is as contented as you two?"

  "Oh no!" Tilgrick giggled. "Myssa and I are left to ourselves by our neighbors. We are, ha-hee-ho, outcasts of a kind, habitual grouches that we are."

  Oskar was unsure he had heard correctly. "You two are considered grouches? If you were cats, now, I could understand." Cezer threw him a look.

  "Oh yes, my my me, ho-hee!" Laughing steadily, Myssa refilled Oskar's half-empty goblet.

  "Then what," wondered Taj aloud, "is everyone else like?"

  "You can see for yourselves, hee-hee-hee." Nodding with his long gnarled nose, Tilgrick gestured toward the northeast. "A delegation is coming to visit. Others must have seen you cross the river, ho-ho-ha, and hurried to spread the joyful word."

  "Yeh. Joyful." Though his belly was full, his taste buds sated, and his body warmed by the moist air and mild mid-morning sun, Oskar had to strive to summon up a correspondent smile as he leaned to look out the window.

  Marching toward the farmhouse across an open, unplowed field came more than a hundred of the ardent, gnomish locals, every one of them vividly dressed, bouncy with excitement, and laughing hysterically as they walked. It was a shifting, stumpy, swaying panorama of unrestrained joy, exuberant delight, and runaway giddiness.

  Oskar felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle in all-too-familiar dog fashion.

  Out in front of the advancing throng, a slightly taller homunculus raised a hand and waved, his words hard to make out above the communal belly-twittering.

  "Hi-ho-hee there, Tilgrick! What is this dour company you keep-oh?"

  Their host leaned over to whisper to Oskar. "That twisted old graybeard is Nugwot. He's the local farmer's co-op representative. Word of your arrival spread quickly."

  "How?" Oskar wondered. "You and your wife are the first folk we've seen since we left the river."

  "That you've seen, yes, har-har-hi. That don't mean others haven't seen you."

  "I don't like the look
s of this." Pushing aside her plate full of orange-tinted victuals, Mamakitty had risen from the table and moved to the open space between picnic bench and field fence. "These people aren't very big, but there are an awful lot of them."

  "So what?" A blissfully insouciant Cezer continued to munch contentedly on the bounty provided by their hosts. A few tails were all that was lacking to complete the gourmet repast. "They're all cackling and chortling like a giggle of kittens strung out on catnip."

  "What about that?" Oskar remained close to their benefactor. "Can you tell what they have in mind?"

  "Not sure, ahee-ho." Tilgrick waved his wife back into the farmhouse. "I don't much like Nugwot. He's an officious so-and-so, ho-ho. But we get along well enough when we have to." He started forward. "Come with me, and we'll see what he has to say, and why he's brought so many with him."

  "I'll come, too," declared Mamakitty.

  "No." Surprising himself, Oskar put out a hand to forestall her. Was this informal "leader" business going to his head? He didn't think so. He would have insisted she stay back in any case. "One of us is enough. If something unforeseen should happen, it's better that one of us be in a position to give advice to the others."

  Mouth full of assorted orangey fare, so that his face resembled an exploded melon, Cezer looked up and frowned. "Hssst, I can give advice, too, you know!"

  "And your point is?" Wearing a smile as wide as he could muster without cramping his jaw muscles, Oskar accompanied Tilgrick out of the yard, through a gate, and down one of the many paths that crisscrossed the farmer's tree-bordered fields.

  They met the marchers in the midst of rows of thick, high growths each of which sported at its apex something like a maturing orange coconut. Up close, a relieved Oskar could see that none of the marchers carried anything resembling a weapon. There wasn't even a pitchfork or shovel among them. A few bore long feathers while others wielded large, delicate fans that were no doubt employed to ward off the heat and humidity. All regarded him curiously.

  "Good afternoon, Nugwot," Tilgrick began. "As you can see, Myssa and I are having—"

  "Woo-hoo-hoo!" the weathered elder interrupted. His chortling was quickly taken up by the rest of the gathering. "They're big ones they are, yo-ho-ha! Especially that one with the axe, who I'll wager is no carpenter." Ardent laughter rolled through the tightly packed throng, buoyant as distant thunder.

  "They must be from the humorless Kingdom of Red," snickered someone in the middle of the assembly, not forgetting to punctuate the comment with a tellingly sharp chuckle.

  "No, no; not at all." Raising his hands and grinning forcefully, Oskar hastened to reassure them. "My friends and I come from beyond the Kingdom of Red, from a kingdom encompassing all colors. We mean no harm. We're just passing through, actually, on a little quest of our own."

  "He doesn't laugh," chortled someone humorlessly.

  "His smile seems forced," declared another scornfully.

  "They'll bring us down-oh," insisted a third with a dynamic hoot and a holler.

  Tilgrick rushed to his guests' defense. "Hi-hi-how, you misjudge these good folk! 'Tis true they don't laugh outright as much as us, but can you blame them? They are to be pitied for not having the boon of being born in the Kingdom of Orange. Ha-ha-hoo, it is not for us to criticize those from other lands, but to help them experience that which we, hi-hi, enjoy as our birthright."

  "Har-hardy-hidy, we'll help them, for sure!" Nugwot's long beard jiggled as he spoke. "No way will we let outsiders bring us down, curdle our milk, piss on our peavy, spoil our crops." Turning to gaze at the milling, metronomically tittering mob, he urged them forward with a wave. "We must help the strangers! Give them the marigolding!"

  Oskar reached for his sword, but too late, as he was overwhelmed by the unexpected forward surge of the crowd. Going down beneath their raucously guffawing numbers, he felt something strike at his belly and gasped. Anticipating pain, he felt none. Expecting to see blood, he saw only his rippling shirt. Something ephemeral was caressing his stomach.

  It was one of the fans, moving lightly back and forth. Something else struck him under an arm as small but field-strengthened hands pulled at him: one of the many long feathers the locals carried. Despite his fright, he found himself starting to giggle, then to chuckle. Within moments, he was laughing out loud, roaring uncontrollably, his body convulsing with unrestrained laughter. His arms jerked and his legs kicked, but he was firmly pinned by weight of numbers.

  "The marigolding, the marigolding!" the gathering was chanting—all the while laughing relentlessly among themselves. They were determined to see that he had a good time, that he joined them in full, unrestrained mirth. With feathers and fingers and fans all working skillfully on his helpless body, he twitched and twisted, snared in the grip of unbridled jocularity. His lungs heaved and his throat ached, and still they tickled and prickled him.

  Why, if this kept on, he thought through the coagulating haze of hilarity, he might very well laugh himself to death.

  Just as he was about to pass out, the feathers and hands fell away, the shadows of compact, chortling bodies parted. Familiar faces gazed anxiously down into his own.

  "Are you all right, Oskar?" There was no hint of merriment in Taj's stricken expression.

  "Yes, grayfur, how are you doing?" This from Cezer, equally concerned but visibly puzzled. "And what are you laughing about so hard? We thought they were cutting you to ribbons."

  Raising his exhausted body to a sitting position, Oskar caught sight of a beaming but concerned Myssa. "Ask her."

  The squat woman's smile widened. "Hi-dee-hee, they wanted to make sure your presence was in harmony with your surroundings. Next they would have brung the marigolding to the rest of you." She nodded sagely in Samm's direction. "Hi-yi-hoo, even to you!"

  "They were tickling me." Oskar rose shakily to his feet. "Holding me down and tickling me."

  "I couldn't do anything." Tilgrick was hard put to do more than grin regretfully. "They wouldn't let me near. I could see what was happening, though-oh. Nugwot didn't care, the old jokester! In those not born to the kingdom, hee-hi-hee, marigolding can end in more than laughter."

  "Tell me about it." Oskar clutched at his left side, which was throbbing with pain. "Sometimes laughter hurts—hee-hee-ha."

  Sword drawn, Mamakitty was scanning the surrounding crops and forest. "When we charged, they all melted into the trees." Her gaze found Tilgrick. "What will happen now?"

  "They'll come back for you," their host warned with a somber snicker. "Already, Nugwot's acolytes will be spreading the word that there are strangers in the wood whose smiles are forced and who converse without mirth. They will gather so many farmers and townsfolk that even you, with your weapons of sharp metal, will be overwhelmed. Then," he glanced apologetically at the still aching Oskar, "you will all of you be well and thoroughly marigolded."

  "Hey, it's not so bad." The dog-man groaned as he rose to his feet. "For about two minutes. After that, it's a hilarious slice of hell."

  "Marigolding does not injure a true citizen of the kingdom," Myssa informed them. "Those who are not born to it, however, can"—she had to fight to mouth the unfamiliar word—"suffer."

  "We need to get away from here." Shading her eyes, Cocoa contemplated the dense tropical forest that both blocked and marked the way eastward. "We need to leave this place and exit this kingdom as fast as possible. It may be more overtly friendly than the Kingdom of Red, but it's no less dangerous." To show she meant no ill will, she smiled warmly at Myssa.

  "Yes, yes, ho-ho-hi," agreed Tilgrick readily. "You must flee quick—quick as you can. I am only a simple farmer, and Myssa and I somewhat a pair of outcasts. But there is one even crankier than us who lives nearby. A hermit who is shunned by all for his un-orangeish temperament. Forced to live alone, he has traveled far and learned many paths and routes we settled folk do not follow." He turned to his wife.

  "Myssa, my love, ha-ha-ho, take our guests back to the ho
use." He turned to Oskar. "You must finish your eating and drinking, my friend. You will need your strength for the journey that lies before you. Post a watch, and I will seek out the hermit Wiliam. When I tell him that there are visitors here of a disposition similar to his own, I wager he will gladly guide-oh you."

  Oskar put a hand on the farmer's shoulder. "How can we ever thank you, Tilgrick, for your help and hospitality?"

  "You already have, hi-hee-har." The stout homunculi's grin grew wider than ever. "The totally absurd and ridiculous sight of you and your friends tickles me to the bottom of my soul, and will provide food for laughter for weeks to come!"

  Oskar smiled warningly at Cezer, who looked about to say something. "Vainless folk that we are, we're always pleased when we have the chance to present the gift of our ugliness to our friends."

  TEN

  The recluse Wiliam, when he finally arrived with a proudly gleeful Tilgrick leading the way, proved to be not the gruff, gloomy dwarf Oskar had expected, but a rather kindly faced, lightly bearded fellow who was noticeably slimmer than the farmer. He reminded Oskar of a gerbil the cats had once chased through the house. Extending a hand, he barely made contact with the dog-man's.

  "You're not what I expected," the pleasantly surprised Oskar told the homunculus. "You seem—almost normal."

  "Don't be taken in by my attitude, ha." Wiliam put both hands behind his back, interlocking and waggling his hairy fingers. "I'm really a terrible person."

  "Yes, I can see that." It was Mamakitty's turn to smile. But not too broadly, lest she frighten their guide away.

  "Everyone else thinks I'm mad," Wiliam put in for good measure. "I'm not, you know. I just don't find everything so—funny."

  "I'm surprised they haven't tried to marigold you." As he spoke, Oskar was gathering up his small pack and water bag.