Dream a Little Dream: A Tale of Myth and Moonshine

by Piers Anthony

  When the worms had gone down another tunnel, Snort and Mich crept to the chamber that held Nola. There was a small round window he could look through, but no visible latch. Nola saw the light of Snort’s flame and ran over to the door.

  “Mich! Where are we? What are those things? I’m so afraid!” She collapsed next to the door.

  Mich couldn’t bear to see her so distraught. He drew his sword and was preparing to deal the door a fatal blow when the weapon was wrenched from his grasp by a red tongue. He stood for an instant, uncertain what to do.

  Then Snort blasted the worm with fire. This toasted its skin and melted a little of its thorny collar into goo. It quickly healed itself, but Mich used the respite to take action. He grabbed on to the tongue and pulled it out of the worm’s head. He recovered his sword while the worm was forming a new tongue.

  Mich had his sword again, but in only a few seconds the tongue he still held in his other hand became another worm, and started wrestling with his hand. This was useless! How could he fight a creature like this? While he was trying to throw away the clinging tongue worm, the larger worm was shoving against him, trying to lasso his head with its new tongue. Mich tried to chop it with the sword, but it dropped down and caught his ankles while the rest of its body jammed against him. He couldn’t step back because his feet were entangled. He crashed into the door with such force that the catch apparently broke. He fell ignominiously into the chamber, landing on his back. The worm shoved Snort after him and closed the door, barring it somehow.

  Nola sat up and threw her arms around Mich. “Oh, I was so scared! I thought that thing was going to eat you!” She released him. “I don’t think I could survive in this place alone. Look!” She pointed behind her.

  At this point, the source of the smell became apparent. Behind her in the chamber was a heap of rotting refuse. It looked to be composed of mud, manure and bodies of dead creatures. It was likely that this stuff was what the worms ate. They probably stored it here until it was sufficiently dead and rotten to be tasty. That explained why they hadn’t eaten Nola immediately: she was too fresh.

  “I wish I could tell you what this place is,” Mich said, “but I have never seen anything like it, or those worm things.”

  He stood up and went to the door and felt along it. It felt hard and slick; there seemed to be no way to open it. He chopped at it with his sword and Snort fired a jet of flame at it, to no avail. The door was impervious to damage. The worm had done a good job of jamming it closed.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “My sword is magic; it should cut through almost anything.”

  “Almost anything?” Nola asked. “What are the exceptions?”

  “Well, dreamstone, mainly. But—” He paused. “Dreamstone! The worms must have found a lode and mined enough of it for their purposes. Who would have guessed? We can’t make a dent on this stuff.”

  “But it opened right away for them,” Nola pointed out.

  “They must have some secret mechanism, or maybe they found out how to make it respond to them.”

  “Well, maybe we can find the key,” Nola said. She faced the door. “Open sesame!” There was no response. “Well, I didn’t really think that would work.”

  “Maybe if you screamed at it,” Mich suggested, trying to be humorous.

  Nola screamed, piercingly.

  A worm creature slurped up to the door and poked its head through the window. Nola squirmed, thinking it was going to crawl in and consume them. That was why she had screamed. Instead, it spoke.

  “Keep schilent, humanoid creature. You are schupposed to be schaved, but I will not heschitate to make a schnack of you right now!” It slurped its tongue around the orifice in the middle of its head.

  The thing was surely bluffing, because Nola was nowhere close to being spoiled rotten, and would be hard for the worm to digest. But Mich, being a pampered prince, was not used to this kind of treatment. He didn’t yet understand that his life could actually be at stake. So he did something stupid.

  He poked the worm in the snoot with his sword, hard enough to make some goo well out. “Leave us alone, you refugee from a troll’s dump, or I’ll cut you into little pieces and stuff them into cracks in the floor.”

  The creature could of course heal itself long before he could make good on such a threat, but was evidently annoyed at this challenge. It opened the door so suddenly that it banged Mich’s sword from his hand, pulled Mich up with its tongue and drew him toward its mouth. Mich knew better than to pull out the tongue again. That would just make it harder on him. What could he do? As a hero, he was failing miserably.

  “Help me, Nola!” The words were out before he realized.

  Nola was taken aback. What could she do? What could anyone do? But she had to try. Mich had risked his life to save her and had gotten captured himself. She could do no less. So she picked up the fallen sword and advanced on the monster, hoping that a two-handed slice would accomplish something. Snort moved with her, ready to toast any flesh she managed to cut off. Maybe they would be able to bother the worm enough to make it let Mich go. Of course it might then grab Nola. But she would try to deal with that problem when she came to it.

  Just as she was about to stab the worm, the thing let go of Mich. Nola looked at the sword, wondering what could have cowed the worm so easily. The worms had shown no fear of the weapon when Mich had wielded it, and it should have been clear even to them that she was an utter novice at swordcraft.

  The worm spoke again in its slurpy voice. “You schpeak the name Nola. Why?”

  Mich looked shaken but retained his composure. “I am Prince Michael Edward of Kafka, son of King Erik Edward, and this is Nola Rollins of Earth, and Snort of Mangor,” he said, indicating them in turn.

  The worm leaned forward as if trying to get a closer look at Nola, though it had no eyes. “Sche doesch not schmell like a Kafkian.”

  “Sches not! I mean, she’s not,” Mich said indignantly.

  “Why do you hold us?” Nola put in, realizing that dialogue was safer and a whole lot less messy than fighting. “Who are you?”

  The worm swung its grotesque head to orient on Mich. “Thatch isch not for mech to schay. The king of Kafka chwill give you audiancech. Come with me.”

  Mich wondered what he meant by “king of Kafka.” After all it was his father who was king, wasn’t he? But he had come to a similar conclusion about fighting, and would happily talk with the worms as long as they cared to. He recovered his sword from Nola, and sheathed it.

  They followed the worm through a side tunnel, with Snort illuminating the walls. The smell was not as bad as it had been because his nose was now numb to the odor, but the fumes still stung his eyes.

  Soon they arrived at a great domed chamber. The room was absolutely huge. It was lit by a tiny dot of daylight, high in the ceiling of the dome. In its very center was a tall pedestal made of a silvery material, probably dreamstone. On that elevation coiled a huge worm. It was twice as large and twice as ugly as the ones they had seen thus far, and it had two gleaming red eyes. It wore a silver bowl, upside down, on its head. It was obviously the king.

  “Approach me, you foul nothings,” the worm called down. He spoke plainly, with no slurring accent. Rank evidently had its privilege.

  Uncertain what the king intended, the three did as they were told, which was probably the best course.

  “My guard informs me that you have among you a Creator. Is this so?”

  Nola stepped forward, nervously. Mich could see that she was terrified.

  “Yes, Your Highness!” Nola thought how literal that address was as she looked way up at him. “I am Nola.” She had to speak loudly in order to be heard.

  “You?” the worm roared. “You are such a pitiful creature! Hardly even worth notice and yet you claim high status! How can that be?” He looked at her more closely. “I see you wear a Creator’s stigma around your neck. From whom did you steal it, cretin?”

  Nola f
ingered the cross around her neck; she had forgotten that it was there. “I am what I am, sir! I was told I am a Creator. I am here to help save Kafka from the Fren.” She was slightly offended.

  “You?” he roared again. He laughed so hard that he loosened his coiled body and his hind end dropped over the side. “You? Protect Kafka from the Fren?”

  “That is what I said,” Nola said, quirking her lips and crossing her arms. Her fear was turning to annoyance.

  “Look, you pitiful excuse for a humanoid, the Fren are far too powerful for the like of you. They would overwhelm your pitiful group in the blink of an eye! I do not believe you are a Creator. You are nothing to me.” He blinked his red orbs.

  The worm who had escorted them to the chamber was coming forward and sticking out his tongue. He wrapped it about Nola’s arm and pulled on it.

  “Wait!” Nola screamed. “I am! I am a Creator! If you kill me, many people will die, and if Kafka falls, so will you!”

  This gave the worm king pause for thought. He certainly did not want the blame to fall on him if Kafka was destroyed. The guard released her.

  “All right, then. Prove your status,” the king said, re-coiling his fallen tail.

  Nola looked at Mich, who just shrugged his shoulders. “How?” she asked.

  The king’s snout wrinkled. “Guard, bring Prince Chitie.”

  The guard worm left the chamber through a side tunnel and after a few moments was back, carrying a large iron cage. Inside the cage was a small, crumpled animal. It was black and looked like a deformed man. The guard put the cage down in front of Nola.

  “This is my son, Prince Chitie. He was ensorcelled by Reility. He can no longer burrow and is therefore not fit to be heir to the throne. He is my only son and must take kingship. If he does not, my bloodline will end.” The worm king looked almost sad as he blinked his red eyes. “If you are a Creator, you can change him back. If you do not, you will be promptly sprinkled with rot elixir so you can be consumed.”

  Mich, unable to control his anger further, stepped beneath the worm and shook his angry fist. “You can’t do this, you pile of refuse! I am Prince Michael, son of King Edward! I command you to release us at once, or face the consequences!”

  The worm king looked down. “You are in no position to command me or anyone else, twerp. I care snot for your human king. Below the surface, I rule.” An eye swiveled to cover Nola. “Now, comply or die.”

  Nola rested her hand on Mich’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Don’t get us killed before I have a chance to try.”

  Mich was slowly realizing their situation. These were creatures not to be taken lightly, and they could surely kill the captives if they felt the need. He hated to admit it, but for once, his status didn’t matter. He was sufficiently daunted.

  “How can I change him? I don’t know how,” said Nola, studying the transformed prince.

  “That I cannot tell you. You say you are the Creator; do you not know how to Create?”

  Nola noted the gleam in his eye and immediately covered her mistake. “Yes, of course I know how,” she said, wringing her hands nervously.

  “Then get on with it!” he snapped. His voice boomed through the chamber, making it sound more authoritative.

  At that moment, Nola heard a noise like that of glass being broken. She looked up. High in the ceiling, the glass of the tiny window was tinkling down to the floor. The window was actually not small, but looked that way because it was so high up. Above, she could see hooves crushing the glass and the rock around it. The iron shoes made sparks as they struck the rock, dislodging huge chunks, which the group was careful to avoid.

  “What is this?” the worm king demanded. “Guard, stop that creature!”

  But as he spoke, Spirit broke through and jumped into the chamber. It was not large enough for him to fly down, but it was too high not to. So he half spread his enormous black wings and glided down, landing on the rock floor.

  Spirit’s eyes were showing white around the edges and his ears were flat against his skull. He stepped slowly toward the pedestal. His head just reached a quarter of the way up it. He bared his square teeth.

  If you do not let my friend go, I will surely kill you, he thought in a calm voice. He pawed the floor, striking up more yellow sparks.

  For once, the worm king seemed not sure of what to do. His head retracted into his coils and disappeared. The rest of his body followed. In a moment, the worm was gone.

  Nola watched Esprit nervously, and Mich held up his sword. A small door opened up in the base of the pedestal and there was the worm king.

  He approached Nola and dropped his head low. His crown tumbled off his head and spun like a top when it hit the floor. “I did not realize you were a friend of this wonderful creature. You must be a Creator. If you will stay and listen, I will tell you all I know of the Fren, and I will give you my warriors to help you defeat them,” he said, picking up his crown with his tongue.

  Mich was confused by this sudden change of heart and sheathed his sword. “Why did you abduct us?” he asked, still not trusting the worm.

  “Because Nola ate some of our young.”

  “What?” Nola asked, disgusted. She imagined swallowing a small version of one of these things and her stomach roiled.

  The worm king blinked at the guard, who brought forth a pile of mushrooms from a nook in the wall. “These are our eggs,” he said, showing Nola.

  Nola turned her head. She didn’t feel so good and was afraid she might splatter the king with her vomit, which probably contained partially digested worm eggs.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” she said, covering her mouth to choke her stomach back down.

  The king was gracious, accepting her apology. “It’s no sin, my dear. You did not Create us, so you would not have known. Nevertheless, it irritated my minions.”

  “Why does a creature like you lay eggs, when all you have to do is have your body severed?” Mich asked, still suspicious.

  “It is true that we can multiply this way, but it is a somewhat debilitating experience when repeated, and our clones may live only for a week or so at the most, while I am over two hundred years old.” He gave the platter containing the worm eggs back to the guard. “Now follow me.”

  He led them to another chamber, apparently a study. He pulled down a small volume and opened it. The pages crumbled slightly as he turned them with his tongue.

  “This, I’m afraid, is all we know about the Fren. They are what’s left after a creature is disbelieved.”

  “You mean Forgotten?” Mich asked.

  “No, to be Forgotten is to no longer exist. To be disbelieved is worse. It is to be transformed into living cruelty and evil, the product of a shattered dream. They are still there, but they are warped and badly deformed.”

  “That sounds right for Fren,” Mich said. “What else can you tell us?”

  “Just that no one has ever been able to defeat them.” The worm king looked thoughtful for a moment. “At least, no one we know of.”

  “There is a first time for everything. We have the help of the Welties.”

  “Ah! Now, there is a fighting force! Even we have trouble when we fight with them. We have been at odds with them for many years, but we have become allies under the present situation. We try to be at peace with them. They have such lovely skins! It’s too bad that they must ask now for help. The Fren should have been destroyed long ago. Where will you meet them?”

  “At the Shattered-Glass Glade.”

  “Then you will definitely need our help to get there.” He turned to look at Nola. “Accept my apology, Lady Nola, and some of my warriors.” He nodded his head to her. “And one piece of advice; my source tells me that you spoke to a nymph and she told you to lie down in the river, is this so?”

  “Yes, it is. Her name was Violet.”

  “You must understand that nymphs are largely ignorant of what is real and what is legend. As well as this liability, Kafka has cursed them wit
h stupidity. They forget significant details of their lives. Reility may have sent her to intercept you. He knows who is able to help you and he is trying to destroy all chances for our salvation. Both the lying in the river to reach the source and the winged hippocampus are legend. Legends may be true, but often require special interpretation, and are best not taken literally. So I do not say that the nymph was trying to deceive you, but you must be cautious. I’m sure you will come to know more of them and you must beware of this. They are good at giving messages, but bad with personal information.” Then he added, “Trust not the stupid. Do you trust me?”

  “Of course!” She wondered if she should, but what choice did she have? Obviously, he wasn’t stupid. Ugly, but not dim. She didn’t know this land, and he did. She looked at Spirit, then back at the king. “But how is it you know Esprit?”

  “He has been protecting our entrance tunnels from the hazards of the upper world for as long as I can remember. We have never done anything for him in return. We don’t know why he does it. Once he saved my son from being eaten by a giant crow. We normally do not fear such a fate, but if one of us is consumed entire, it is very uncomfortable, and may result in awkwardness. So we are duly grateful.”

  Surely swallowing one of these things whole would nullify it, Nola thought. “And what about your son now?” she asked.

  The worm king looked a little sad. “If it wouldn’t be an imposition, Lady Nola, would you consent to break the spell on my son and change him back?”

  Nola shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, I may indeed have the power, but I don’t know how.”

  The worm king lifted his head high and his eyes brightened. “I understand. Do not worry. You will find a way. I have faith in you.” He looked at his guard and blinked, then looked at Mich. “Get on his back. He will carry you through the rock to the surface. My warriors will be waiting for you.”