Dream a Little Dream: A Tale of Myth and Moonshine

by Piers Anthony

  “Wait, what about Nola and Snort?” Mich asked as he mounted the slimy worm’s back.

  For answer, Nola mounted Esprit, who jumped up to the top of the pedestal, then up through the aperture in the ceiling. Snort followed, spiraling doggedly upward.

  Mich dug into the worm’s back with his hands. It was disgusting, but it was the only way he could hold on, and the worm didn’t seem to mind it. The worm dived into a wall and proceeded up. It was a strange experience. The rock that touched him crumbled away into dust and sand and mostly disappeared. This was a powerful creature indeed!

  Once on the surface, Mich was glad to be rejoined with Heat, but something was bothering him. He thought about the mermaids and the poison that had been cast into the water and of the worm king’s son and he thought of the Welties and the nymphs. He worried that, maybe, the Fren would be more than they could handle. What good would he be if he too were changed into a creature like that? He hoped Nola would be okay. She, being Earthborn, should not be affected by Reility’s evil spells, but she could not prevent the doom of Kafka or Earth by herself. She was, after all, a gentle woman, with not much heart for violence.

  The worm king was true to his word. They were met by a motley-looking group of five worms. They were each almost as large as the king himself. Their collars of spikes were deadly long and sharp, and their tubular mouths armed with glistening teeth. Mich hadn’t fully appreciated those teeth before; these must be special warrior worms instead of household worms.

  Nola was speaking with one of them. She seemed to get along with everyone she met. Her appearance was dulled by the dust and slime that had gotten on her during their trip underground, but even now she was lovely and her sheer spunkiness made her even more attractive. If only she had been a regular girl instead of a Creator!

  She bounced over to him, smiling. “You were great in there! I thought we were history. It was so smart of you to say my name and save us.”

  Mich refrained from reminding her that his calling her name had been cowardice, not intelligence. He doubted himself even more now. What would she think if she knew that he was really more afraid than she was? But her praise in whatever form made him feel better, however foolishly.

  “The worms say that once we arrive at the Shattered-Glass Glade, they will lose their power of burrowing,” Nola said.

  “Did they say why?”

  “Yeah, they don’t know why, because they have never gone that far away from the caverns, but they suspect it has something to do with the type of ground there.”

  “That makes sense, if that ground is made of glass. But if they can dig through solid rock, glass should be easy.”

  “Maybe they cut themselves. No, they would just heal. Maybe they are allergic or something.”

  Mich shrugged. “Maybe so.” It was no use dwelling on that; the worms could surely hold their own, whether or not they could burrow.

  They once more headed south, toward the Shattered-Glass Glade, to find the Welties, with five new friends in tow. They had lost track of the river during the diversion in the worm tunnels, but surely would intersect it in due course.

  It wasn’t long before they came across a band of marauding crimson-skinned demons. Each one was more hideous than the next. They had stout little horns growing out of their foreheads, the cloven hooves of goats, the tails of serpents, and the bodies of men.

  “Well, well, well, look what we have here, folks,” said a particularly gruesome one in the front. “It seems as if we’ve run afoul of a faux basilisk, a couple of walking buckets of glue, a whore and her pimp, and even some escargot! Boys, we shall have some fun tonight!” The demon stepped forward, salivating.

  Mich was worried. He had encountered a demon once before and knew how dangerous they could be. They were always looking for women and trouble. They were able to dismember themselves at will and could change instantly to any form they wished, regardless of size. They could be injured if caught unaware, but demons were seldom caught unaware. They could take over a person’s mind if that person did not guard himself against it. On top of that, they had a bad attitude—as this demon’s greeting had just reminded him.

  A warrior worm slid forward and wrapped his tongue around the demon’s neck. The demon reached up, removed his head from his body and let the tongue pass through. So much for the weapon that had given him and Nola so much trouble before! It was no use trying that tactic again.

  The demon put his head back on and laughed as he made a grab for Nola. Nola screamed loudly and tried to run, but the demon caught her foot, causing her to fall flat on her face. He yanked her to her feet, leering grotesquely.

  Mich felt awkward and useless, again, because there was nothing much he could do. The demons were callous creatures and could hardly care less whether she was a Creator. Perhaps they already knew who she was, so hoped to make an example of her. They might even know that their action would result in the destruction of Kafka, themselves along with it, and still not care.

  He drew his sword and kept his mind aware for an intruding demon. It would be sheer folly to blindly attack the demon holding her; maybe that was what they wanted.

  It hurt him terribly to see how Kafka was treating Nola. Deep down, he hoped she would be staying in Kafka after this was done. He knew that the hope was a foolish one. She would surely leave as soon as she could. He wished she could have seen his world a few weeks ago, before the arrival of the Fren. He just knew she would have loved it.

  He saw that the demon had control of her mind. He had to do something. He had to help her, somehow. But any automatic reaction was bound to be wrong. He needed to be cunning, so as to negate the insidious powers of the demons. He combed his brain for an idea, and managed to grasp a faint ploy that just might work. “Spirit,” he murmured, keeping his voice low so that the demons would not overhear. “You surely have the power. Read my mind.” Then he felt the presence of the unisus’s mind in his, fathoming his intent.

  The demon pulled Nola to him, savoring her alarm. She was screaming and trying to break out of his grasp, but the demon was strong. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything, she wondered, outrage mixing with her fear. Why was Mich just standing there?

  She had her eyes screwed shut so that she could not see the horrible demon’s eyes. She could hear the other demons laughing and applauding, goading him on. She felt his tail sliding across her body, touching her legs up under her dress. She wondered again how her friends could let this happen to her.

  Then she felt the demon’s breath on her neck as his gross lips touched her ear. Her mind whirled with confusion as she felt an electric tingle travel from her neck to her toes.

  She decided that Mich must care nothing for her. In fact the whole lot of them were against her. They were all conspiring against her. They wanted this to happen to her. They wanted to kill her.

  But this demon, this erotically appealing demon, was trying to help her. He was trying to protect her from the evil ones who called themselves friends. He was holding her tightly to protect her, loving her. His muscular body was pressed close to hers and she could feel him responding to that closeness.

  She started to enjoy the demon’s caresses. She liked the stroking of that prehensile tail. She searched for his mouth with hers. Her lips traveled across the masculine jaw.

  Just as she reached his open mouth, she heard a screaming voice. “Depart demon! Leave this one to those who love her!”

  What did that mean? The demon was the one who loved her, wasn’t he? She continued the kiss, although she now felt nauseous for some reason and her ears rang.

  The kiss sent shivers up her spine and made her feel ticklishly sinful. As the demon lay her on the ground, her head pounded as if she was experiencing the worst headache she’d ever had. She felt the demon’s sensuous, black claw on her breast.

  Then she heard the voice again:

  “I said— depart!"

  The voice carried such force that Nola’s headache turned into a migrai
ne and it pounded at her skull like a jackhammer.

  She sat up and held her head. Then she held on to her stomach; she could feel it wrenching, and she vomited from the pain. She realized that she had actually wanted the demon and the thought sent her stomach roiling. She vomited again. How could she have wanted to have sex with something like that?

  When the pounding of her head abated, she opened her eyes. She had, somehow, managed not to puke on herself, but she had spattered the demon somewhat. He was lying on the ground holding his head and drooling. He was in pain too, although he looked much worse than she felt. She could feel the demon leaving her mind. The farther away it got, the better she felt, and the worse the demon looked. The other demons were gone.

  Something weird occurred to her. That voice, the one that had banished the demon—had sounded just like her own. In fact, she had said those words. But how was that possible?

  She looked around for Mich. As she spied him, he came charging toward her with his sword extended. Nola closed her eyes and screamed, fearing Mich had become jealous of her liaison with the demon and was going to kill her.

  Mich leaped over her and landed before the demon. With one swipe, he lopped off the demon’s head and cut that into two halves. After he was sure the demon was dead he wiped off his sword in the grass and turned to Nola.

  She looked up at him, her blue eyes bright with tears. He was sorry that he could not protect her from that experience, but it was the only way to get at the demon. He just wished he knew why the demon had attacked her. There were surely some nymphs around; the demon could have his pick of those beautiful, stupid creatures.

  He was caught by surprise as she jumped up and threw her arms around him. He dropped his sword and held her close.

  “It was so horrible!” she cried into his shoulder.

  “The demon took over your mind, but you’re okay now. Spirit saved you,” he explained. He felt ashamed that the rescue had not been completely his doing.

  “Spirit? How?” She looked at her huge friend standing nearby.

  Simple. The only way to exorcise a demon is to tell him to leave you alone. You, of course, had no idea so you could not have done it yourself. Only one who can speak directly through your mind can do it. He was a tough one, though. Usually, you have to tell them only once. However, my role in your rescue was purely arbitrary. Give credit where it is due, to the one who saw the strategy I did not, and who slew the demon.

  She had spoken the words to repel the demon—because no one else could speak them for her. Spirit had sent the words to her, after learning them from Mich. That might not be the old-fashioned, hero-slays-dragon-saves-damsel type of action, but it had been effective.

  Nola looked back at Mich and experienced a déjà vu. He might not have slain a dragon, but he had slain a demon for her, just as he had in her dreams.

  He was smiling, and that made her feel better. Again, she wanted to kiss him, and again she balked. She owed him so much! She could never have made it through this place without him. He was so brave. But part of her just could not believe that he was who he claimed to be, even now. For the moment she let herself believe, she would be hopelessly trapped, in love. Once she was in love, if she found out she was mistaken, it would be too late. Her heart would break and she would probably kill herself. She had lived too long in the real world.

  Since demons were naturally rotten, the worms consumed its flesh with delight, gnashing it with their rows and rows of teeth. Then the party traveled on until nightfall, intersecting the river.

  They spent the night next to the River of Thought. The water glowed dimly in the night and it was very beautiful. Mich showed her how the colors changed according to how one looked at the water, and she was entranced. She touched the water with a finger and it swirled around almost like an oil slick, only the slick was not oil and it was not just on the surface. It had the viscosity and texture of ordinary tap water, but there was something else there. It gave her a feeling of happiness, as if she were touching every dream ever dreamed by anyone; as if she had shared them all.

  They rested in each other’s arms, while the others formed a protective ring around them, and they let their minds drift peacefully through the night. Nola thought again of the kind of diversion that might nicely fill such a period, but still couldn’t bring herself to suggest it to Mich. She was just too ambiguous about it, not sure what she really wanted.

  In the morning, both Mich and Nola felt a call of nature and found a nearby stand of trees, where they answered it. Nola wondered why this should be so in the dream realm, but concluded that wherever eating occurred, so did other processes. They scouted out some food for themselves and for the worms, as the worms could neither see nor smell well.

  Mich looked again at the map. He traced his finger along the dotted line. He noticed that it stopped at the Shattered-Glass Glade, not at the source. The source wasn’t even marked on the map. The river ran past the glade, through a section marked “Unknown,” then ran off the paper. He hoped that the source was somewhere in the unknown section. But if it wasn’t he would just follow the river to its end, wherever it led. He had to save Kafka and find his father.

  Nola put her hand on his shoulder. “What’s bothering you?” she asked, sitting beside him.

  “Oh, nothing,” he said, folding the map. “I was just thinking about my father.”

  “Don’t worry, Mich. We’ll find him. And if not, so what?”

  Mich was taken aback. How could she treat the matter of his father’s disappearance so callously?

  Nola noted his response and clarified herself. “I mean, you say I am a Creator. I can just re-Create him—as soon as I find out how.”

  She was right! That was within the power of a Creator. Nola had done more with that statement than she knew. He felt so much better about neglecting the search for his father in favor of saving Kafka. Now, why hadn’t he thought of that?

  At that moment, the group was startled by a strange noise. It sounded like a child babbling. They looked and saw a small, gaunt creature that resembled a troll running quickly toward them. Its little legs carried it so quickly that it was upon them before they could react.

  It brushed by Mich and he felt a sudden, sharp pain in his arm. He looked and saw a deep cut, and his blood was welling out. When he looked up the creature was gone. He could hear the faint babbling, then even that disappeared.

  “Oh!” Nola cried as she saw the cut. She ripped the yellow sash from her sleeve and wrapped it tightly around his arm.

  Mich was confused. “What was that?” he asked Heat.

  I don’t know. I have never seen that ilk before. Heat’s silver orbs glistened with anger. He did not approve of this at all. His friend had been maliciously cut.

  Nola wrapped the bandage tightly. The blood would not stop. It flowed until the sash turned red.

  One of the worms crawled up and wrapped its tongue around Mich’s arm. He could feel the pain disappear. He took off the blood-soaked sash; where the cut had been was now clean, healthy flesh. The worm had extended its power of rapid healing to him. He was coming to appreciate the worms better.

  “Uh, thank you,” he said awkwardly. He had never been good with such expressions of appreciation, as the Sorceress Madrid had noted. He hoped the worm wouldn’t want to be kissed.

  “That wasch a Fren,” it said.

  “A Fren!” Nola exclaimed, amazed.

  “A Fren?” Mich asked, similarly surprised. “I couldn’t tell.”

  “Yesch. They are getting more common.”

  Mich realized that it was true; they must be getting more common. Not many people had actually seen them. He had seen a picture once but never a live one; he had never thought he would. It was different in the flesh: fast, ugly and pointlessly vicious. It hadn’t even tried to kill him; it had simply hurt him in passing, perhaps because he was in its way. This one had slashed open his arm so quickly that he had barely felt it. What would happen when he met a whole arm
y of them? What about when they knew his identity and meant to kill rather than off-handedly maim? Mich was not at all sanguine about the prospect.

  They put the incident behind them as well as they could. Mich, Nola and Snort mounted a worm and traveled underground, where they would be safe, while the two unisi galloped full speed on the surface. They traveled in this manner through the morning and most of the afternoon. Everyone was beginning to show signs of wear. All were tired and worried, including the worms. Nola was learning to understand their expressions. Each worm had its own personality and idiosyncrasies.

  They arrived at the Shattered-Glass Glade by evening. The worms surfaced and they dismounted, resting. “This is it?” Mich asked, with a confused expression.

  “It’s beautiful!” Nola said.

  Yes, it is, Heat agreed. The sunset makes it look like broken glass.

  “But it’s nothing like what I expected,” Mich complained.

  “Let’s be glad for that,” Nola said, smiling.

  In front of them the glade stretched out under the western sunset. It was not made of glass after all, but the ground here was marshy with tiny rivulets of water flowing erratically in all directions. The orange and red light of the sun glistened on the water, making the glade sparkle like shattered glass. The whole scene was quite pretty.

  “We cannot dig here,” one of the worms said. “Alscho, there are Schenticores. Very dangerousch.”

  Mich did not want to be rude, but he was having trouble understanding the warrior worm’s speech. It had an awful accent, but Mich guessed that it must be difficult to talk with all those teeth and all that tongue.

  Luckily, Nola had understood his speech a little better and clarified it. “Centicores? What are they?”

  Mich’s face lit up. At last, a monster he knew a lot about! “They are composite creatures with the rear part of a scorpion, the wings of a griffin, the body of a horse and the head of a wolf. I saw one once, from a distance. It was fighting a dragon.” He smiled. “The dragon lost. They have been here longer than any other creature. They date back to when Kafka was still exploring his boundaries.”