The Kingdom on the Edge of Reality (18 page)

"It's okay, Alton," I said. "I hope she feels better."

Pretty soon I was jingling down the road in full armor, heading nowhere in particular, and feeling uncomfortable and disoriented. My time-sense was totally confused, and I couldn't seem to get settled down in the past or the present or wherever I was. My time with Dugdale had brought up feelings and images from my boyhood, and Charlsey had done her best to conjure up the sophisticated world that she missed so much. All that in medieval costumes with modern table manners was too much of a hotchpotch for my poor brain to handle, so I just rode along feeling insane.

I passed the bridge with the Dugdales' escutcheon, but instead of crossing the river I continued in a southerly direction down the road on the west side of the river. After a while, the weight of my armor and the rhythm of my horse began to make me feel more grounded. I was one of Albert's knights in the New Middle Ages. I was out on quest in a beautiful valley where life was so simple that no one bothered to write down the rules. Sword, horse, road, rock, trees, sky, wind: that was all there was.

The many smells of the world began to surround me; my armor tugged down on my shoulders, making me feel heavy and solid and real. Birds sang to me. My state of mind continued to improve.

Now I began to feel a little sleepy, and I was just nodding off, my chin in my chest, when Pollux stopped dead in his tracks and then took a couple of steps backwards. Glancing up from my reverie, I let out a gasp of amazement. I had wondered about them, and asked people about them to no avail. Well, there they were, right in front of me.

They stood there in their masks, without moving a muscle, radiating a presence unlike anything I had ever encountered in my life. It was no longer a mystery why people grew tongue-tied in their attempts to describe the Picts!

The largest one was a brown bear; standing on his hind legs, he looked about seven feet tall. I could see little of the human inside, only the mask, which was made out of everything in the forest: vines, bark, grass, furs, mud, stones, leaves, and flowers.

Very majestic he was, this bear, a real king of the forest. There was a challenge in his manner, but it wasn't menacing, for he was a very artistic and marvelous bear. What a lot of patience and creativity it must have taken to make a bear mask out of twigs and leaves and wildflowers! I stared into the bear's eyes, but they were only polished stones.

The mouse was tiny, about four feet high. Only a child or a midget could have inhabited that mask. The body was motionless but the little nose seemed to be twitching, the whiskers sensitive to every current of air. I thought,
Oh, mouse, what are you trying to tell me?
For something was definitely coming across, something they were all projecting.

The wolf sat on his haunches, keen ears pricked to the wind. Someone's eyes were watching me from the back of that open mouth full of sharp, white teeth. What did this wolf of wildflowers want with me?

There were two other creatures, very much alike, but I had no idea what they were supposed to represent. They might have been extraterrestrials, or forest spirits, or abstract art, but they had been just as painstakingly created. This pair was standing together at the center of the grouping, flanked by bear, mouse, and wolf a few yards to either side; they were all radiating the same mysterious, unspoken message. All my senses and my intuition told me so, and the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up like antennae trying to pick up whatever these Picts were broadcasting.

I nudged Pollux forward. "What is it? What do you want?" I called softly. I felt like I was trying to talk to the forest itself. What do you say to the forest? What would the forest be trying to say to me?

Then I began to hear music. It was just a few notes, such as might have come from a wooden flute. Now there was a bit of melody, very crude, like a small child playing on the piano with one finger.

The Picts began to move now, but I know no words to describe their movements. They weren't swaying, and they weren't stretching, and they certainly weren't dancing. It was very subtle, as if they were responding to currents of energy or emotion within their bodies stirred up by the music, the way water does to wind by rising in waves.

The music continued in primitive, unresolved phrases, and now the Picts were moving toward me, ever so slowly, and in a meandering way. I wasn't worried. I didn't feel like I was being stalked, or tricked. I simply felt amazed and intrigued by that dreamlike spectacle.

Soon the music stopped. The Picts were quite close to me now, surrounding me on three sides. If I leaned out of my saddle, I could have touched the bear.

From the forest stepped a figure, unmasked and scarcely dressed at all except for a garment of leaves and flowers, hardly more then a sash that draped across one shoulder. The figure was barefoot and graceful with long gray hair and piercing green eyes in a face that was lean and lined. One hand held those simple pipes we associate with antiquity and the forest god. In my dreamy state I felt neither afraid nor skeptical. Rather, I felt willing for any kind of encounter, whether with man or god.

Holding the pipes lightly to one side, he danced. Without tempo or style, it was like a tree being blown around in a gusty wind. Across the strip of meadow he danced toward me, forward and back, side to side, closer and closer. The leafy sash began to fall away. As he turned, it unwrapped itself until the last loop dropped away, and the god danced naked.

Or goddess? For the god had a woman's breasts, creased and pendulous, that swayed as she moved. But my perception of her continued to shift back and forth, because now I saw that she also had a man's genitals flipping around between his legs as he went stepping and swaying past me. He was heading for the trees on the opposite side of the meadow from which he'd appeared. I gave a tug on the reins and turned Pollux in a half circle; I could not take my eyes off this apparition.

Suddenly he stopped, his fists on his hips, and stared at me, his bright green eyes blazing into mine with energy and merriment and clarity. He looked me up and down, horse and all, and shook his head; and then he looked me up and down again, as though I was a most astonishing and peculiar sight indeed. Now he looked into my eyes once more. It was a very warm and friendly look. And then he let out a shriek of laughter and ran as fast as he could across the meadow, still laughing, until he disappeared into the trees.

I sat in the saddle, stunned and witless. After a time, I turned to look over one shoulder, and then the other; and then I turned Pollux around in a full circle looking for the Picts who were no longer there. I was all alone in the middle of that empty meadow. Lying on the earth was the sash of leaves and flowers that had been worn by the god.

Dismounting in a daze, I picked up the sash, made a coil of it, and struggled back into the saddle. My armor and weapons seemed to weigh more than ever. When I had secured the sash to one of the saddle straps, I nudged Pollux to a walk.

Why I wanted the god's apparel, or whether I wanted it or not, I had no idea. My mind was quite blank. I was one of Albert's knights riding out on quest, carrying all these weapons because that was what knights did. But beyond those simple facts there was a void. All the things I had been wondering about and worrying over had been erased from my mind. I was content just to sit on Pollux's back as he walked up the road.

The sky was blue, the air was fresh, the leaves trembled in the breeze. My name was Jack. Why was I carrying all these weapons around? Why was I wearing an iron undershirt? If I made a mask out of leaves and flowers, what would it be?

A fox. I had a cherished memory of a real fox that had run in the open back door of my house, glanced once at me, and run out again. That was the whole experience, but it made a permanent impression on me because I had never seen anything so light on its feet and so impossibly fast. Any dog would have slid halfway across that slippery floor, windmilling and falling down in a heap before it got itself turned around. But this fox never touched the floor, I'm certain of that. It was riding a lightning bolt; time and space meant nothing.

Yes, I would be a fox, eat mice, snatch chickens, and be one of the moon's minions. At moonrise I would don my garb of wildflowers and cruise the night world on feet that never touched the ground.

It was pleasant to be out of touch with reality on such a beautiful day. I was just a man on a horse headed up a road that could have led anywhere at all. Then a delightful perfume began to insinuate itself on my awareness, but where was it coming from? Back in the days when I was first discovering that girls had different smells of their own, I went with a girl who smelled so beautifully between her legs; and that same smell was in her hair and on her breath, and all over her body. The scent that was in the air reminded me of her.

My head was tilted back and I was trying to catch a good whiff of it, when I felt a little tug on my stirrup strap. When I glanced down, startled, there was a girl walking alongside my horse, and she was tugging on my stirrup leather to get my attention. Looking down at her from my horse, I could see down the front of her loose-fitting homespun dress to her round ripe breasts, pink nipples and all. She was looking up at me with friendly green eyes, unaware of the spectacle she was making of her lovely young bubs, and she said, "Hello."

"Hello," I said, quite surprised. I leaned over in my saddle to get a better whiff of her, and also to get the best possible view down the front of her dress. Her fragrance rose up to me like a whole field of roses and lilacs mixed with something more personal that made me feel quite wild.

She was small and young and barefoot, and her wavy blond hair fell to the middle of her back. I was in love with her already; but there was a problem, of course, because she couldn't possibly have been twenty years old yet, and I was very much older. I shouldn't even have been taking advantage of her inexperience by gazing down the front of her dress like that, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. And more than that, I was enveloped by the fragrance that was rising up from her body. In my own way, I was very ripe and innocent at that moment myself, and when she said, "Won't you stop?"—I did.

"Let me guess," I said, pretending to myself that I wanted to keep it light. "Your cat's up a tree and can't get down."

"Oh, no," she said with a pleasant smile. "We had a cat, but we had to eat it last winter."

I wasn't sure what to say. "How was it?"

"Not so bad," she said. Then she made a little face and tugged on my stirrup strap again.

I was enjoying the view I had from my saddle, but she seemed to know what she wanted, and I wanted to be polite. When I slid off my horse, she was right up against me, a little over five feet tall and smiling brightly, the tips of her breasts almost touching my tunic. The perfume from her body was seeping into my brain like some intoxicating incense, and my high sense of ethics was like a little ship tossed on a raging sea of lust.

Her hand came up and rested gently on my chest. I sensed the softness of it right through the chain mail. "Aren't you hot in that armor?"

She's just a child.
My dazed conscience was trying to rally support, but it was no use. "Yes, actually, I
am
a trifle warm."

"Here's some shade," she said, taking my hand and leading me to an intimate grassy glade. She had to help me tie up my horse because I couldn't manage a knot. "You're the new knight everyone is talking about."

"Well, not exactly new," I began. "I've been here almost a week."

That made her laugh, and she went right to work helping me off with my sword belt. When she was finished she sat down in front of me in such a way that I could look down the front of her dress again.

"Nice, eh?" she said. I think she was referring to the glade.

"Very nice indeed." I knew I wasn't doing the right thing, but I couldn't help it. She was gazing at me in such an open and defenseless way, and I was staring at her like a hungry bum at a bakery window.

"It's all right," she said. "No one will bother us here."

That was all I needed to hear. I kissed her and undressed her and admired her and took my time petting her. And when she was very ready for me, I was a very naughty knight-errant. That I was!

She was quite passive, but that seemed to be a lack of experience, for she was certainly very responsive. She made all kinds of wonderful noises, which are always flattering to a man, and when we were done she rewarded me with that look of awed appreciation a girl will give you when you've shown her the way to a new kind of pleasure. She could have been a virgin except for one curious thing: her breasts were full of milk.

When I first noticed it, I was too busy ravishing her to pay much attention. The appearance of this sweet-smelling girl had been like a magical climax to my encounter with the Picts. Reality had taken a holiday and good riddance to it. But when I awoke from my happy and satisfied snooze in her arms, reality had returned, unbidden and unwelcome, along with that awful compulsion to rationalize everything.

What was the story with this girl-woman who had stopped me in the road and given herself to me without even telling me her name? There was nothing to do but ask her. But she was still sleeping on her back with her legs slightly spread, so exposed, so innocent, making no attempt to conceal or protect herself.

After a while she stirred, opened her eyes, and smiled at me. I helped her sit up, and held her close to me with one arm while I played with her breasts. When I squeezed them in a certain way, they dribbled, and I found it quite fascinating. She sat very still and watched me while I experimented.

"Will it squirt?" I asked.

"Sure."

"Make it squirt."

She took hold of her breast, said "Open your mouth," and gave it a tug. It certainly did squirt, but she missed the target, and now my face was dripping with milk. That set us both to laughing.

"Let's try the other one. Open wide now." She took aim and squirted a long jet of milk all over my face again, and we laughed until she got the hiccups. I liked her a lot. She was a pleasant, passionate lay, she smelled like the dream heaven of the hashish-eaters, and she knew how to have fun and get a laugh out of life.