Demons Don't Dream

by Piers Anthony

  "I was actually fourteen," Nada said. "I had to pretend to be eight. Prince Dolph was really disappointed when he found out."

  "I think it worked out for the best," Marrow said. "Electra seems a better match for him, no offense."

  "No offense at all," Nada agreed. "I never was able to relate very well to younger men."

  The skeleton turned to the dog. "But I do not believe I know this one."

  "This is Bubbles," Kim said. "She's my dog." But as she spoke, she felt a wash of regret. She really liked the dog, and it was going to hurt to have to leave her behind when she finished the game and returned to Mundania.

  She realized that the dog was just another game character who would revert to her normal life once this chore was done. Still, she wished it could be otherwise. She trusted Bubbles in a way she did not quite trust Nada.

  "Well, I'm afraid our show will not be very effective, since you recognized me," Marrow said. "It is supposed to be a challenge of fear, but fear does not work well when the basis of it is known. I am not quite sure what to do."

  "No problem," Kim said. "I'm not eager to rush on with it. Let's sit and chat for a while first."

  "But this is not game protocol," Nada protested.

  "To bleep with protocol," Kim said. "If I can't have my heart's desire, I might as well enjoy the adventure." She plumped down on the nearest gravestone. Bubbles lay down by her feet. "Marrow, just how did your kind come about? I'm sure you did not evolve as skeletons from the outset."

  Marrow sat on another gravestone. "It is a somewhat degenerative story. I am not sure you would relish it"

  “Try me and see." Kim was enjoying the prospect of messing up the all-knowing game a bit. Maybe she would even ferret out a hole in the program.

  "Very well. Long ago, before the Night Stallion tamed the magic of the gourd realm, human beings who looked through the peepholes of the hypnogourds would be trapped, not knowing the secret of breaking the spell, which is simply to have a friend break the contact of the eye with the peephole. Thus many of them were forever trapped here. They would remain alive in the dream realm, no matter how wasted their physical bodies became, so long as their eye socket oriented on the peephole. But their dream bodies would waste away, reflecting the condition of their physical bodies. So in time the gourd realm became inhabited by zombielike figures, and finally by walking skeletons. Each was horrified by his or her appearance, and the appearance of others. I have to say that they were somewhat enamored of their flesh, especially those portions of it that distinguished their male and female attributes. That was not the worst of it; the gourds are living vegetables, and when a particular gourd sprouted and dissolved, the person trapped by it would be released. At this state, however, this meant death. So the folk within the gourd faded out at that point. This was all they had to look forward to: captivity, emaciation, skeletonization, and finally disappearance.

  "But one day a male skeleton and a female skeleton held a dialogue, and fell in love despite their grotesque appearances. Their minds were compatible, and it was their minds they loved. But when they came to love each other, they found each other's body less repulsive. They experimented, and discovered the skeleton key, and made a skeleton child. It was not easy, because they had to borrow bones from their own bodies, and this made it harder for them to function. Nevertheless, their accomplishment was phenomenal, because for the first time they were able to reproduce their kind—as animated skeletons. They had found love and familyhood within the gourd. They hastened to tell other skeletons of this, and others managed to make their own offspring. They did not tell the little skels that they would soon fade out of existence; that knowledge was too cruel. Instead they took pleasure in the innocence of the little ones, making a facsimile of heaven within hell. They adapted their histories to the gourd setting, and developed new myths to replace the old. They tried to explain everything in terms of the dream reality, so as to spare their children knowledge of the terrible truth.

  "But they had accomplished more than they knew. Two things happened. First, the little skels did not fade out when their parents did; they did not derive from Xanth or fleshly creatures, and so did not cease to exist when gourds rotted. For the gourds are merely apertures; they convey the minds of their captives to the dream realm, much as an eye conveys the image to the mind. The folk of the dream realm are not in the gourds themselves any more than the images are stored within the eyeballs. So a new species had been created within the dream realm. Second, the little skels grew. They did not do it by eating, for they lacked digestive systems and neither imbibed nor excreted, if you will excuse the vulgar terms. Instead they found stray bones scattered around and added them to themselves, becoming larger. When the surviving parents realized this, they were generous with their own bones, knowing that these bones would only be lost when their possessors faded out. So there was suddenly a large supply, and the skels prospered and grew more rapidly. In time there came the first generation of dream realm adults: folk who had never known the outer realm, and to whom it was merely a repulsive alternate world peopled by flesh-clad parodies of skels. They became proud of their own heritage, and their own offspring believed that this was the way it had always been. They were no longer limited to human skeletons; there were now assorted animal skels, existing the same way. All of us learned how to disassemble and reassemble our bones, so as to form strings of them or other shapes. This was convenient when we needed to navigate high cliffs or other hazards. We came to regard ourselves as the most versatile of creatures, with some justice.

  "Then the Night Stallion came, and organized the dream realm, and sent out the night mares with dreams crafted to punish those sleeping folk who deserved it. It turned out to be a considerable market; it was amazing how many living folk had guilty consciences which earned them bad dreams. As the dream business prospered, fancier dreams were crafted, and the call went out for specialists to craft them. Some gourd folk became carpenters, and some artists, and some sculptors, making the settings and scenery. Some became organizers and directors, coordinating the efforts of others. Some became writers, scripting the scenes. And some became actors in the scenes. The realm of the gourd had assumed meaning."

  Marrow Bones paused. He shook his skull. "So it remains, for most of my kind. But accidents of fate and magic caused me to get lost within the gourd, until I was rescued by Esk Ogre from the dread outer realm. I discovered that the fleshly folk, though repulsive, were not as horrible as we had believed, and in time I came to accept them as they were, flesh and all. In fact, I came to prefer existence outside of the gourd; it was a different and often fascinating world. Later Grace'l Ossein was expelled from the gourd, because she had interfered with a bad dream she believed was wrong, and I came to know her, and she came to know this realm. Now we are both satisfied to live externally, and we have two offspring, Picka Bone and Joy'nt Bone, in whom we delight. They are content to exist in this realm, too."

  "That's fascinating," Kim said. "But I understand that you skeletons don't have souls. How can you exist out here without them?"

  "This is a problem," Marrow agreed. "We are trying to acquire souls for ourselves and our children, but souls do not grow on trees." He tilted his head, indicating that this was to be considered a humorous remark. "Supposedly it is possible for mortal folk to share their souls, giving half away, and they then regenerate. But so far we have found none willing to do this. We fear that in time those of us who exist in the outer realm will fade, much as our distant human ancestors did within the gourd." He shrugged, and his bones rattled. "However, this is by no means your concern. You must try to win your game, and I must try to prevent you from doing this, abiding by the rules of the game."

  "Yes, I suppose that is true," Kim said. "I wish there were a better way." She sighed. "Well, let's get on with it. What's next?"

  ***

  Dug stared down the road. He knew there was no chance to catch Kim now; the centaurs were simply too fast. But he was not
about to give up. Guilt drove him on. "We'll just have to walk toward the Good Magician's castle, and hope to catch her before anything happens," he said.

  "Nada's really a nice person," Jenny said. "I'm sure she's very unhappy about having to be False."

  "Nevertheless, she is now the enemy," Dug said. "What I want to do is catch up to Kim, tell her the danger, and trade back. Then you can help Kim win her prize, and I'll—well, I don't know what I'll do, but at least I won't feel like such a heel."

  "But you didn't know about Nada when you traded," Jenny said. "It isn't your fault she's False."

  "Doesn't matter. It's not right to let Kim get washed out, when it was supposed to be me. I feel guilty."

  "I like your attitude," Sherlock said.

  "So do I," Jenny said.

  "It's just a routine attitude everyone should have. What I need now is to find the fastest way to the castle. Which I guess is simply hotfooting it south."

  Dug's pack was sitting a bit uncomfortably, after the wild ride in smoky condition. He took it off, and discovered to his surprise that it was a pretty golden color. It wasn't gold, just gold-colored as if it had been painted. "Look at this," he said, surprised.

  "It changed color!" Jenny said. "It's pretty."

  "But how did it happen?" Dug asked. "I was wearing it, so I didn't see it happen. Did either of you?"

  They both shook their heads no. It was a minor mystery. However, Dug didn't trust mysteries. Not in this treacherous game. Little things could signal important developments.

  He opened the pack and took out a somewhat squished sandwich—and it too was painted gold. Yet he was sure it hadn't been, a moment ago. He touched a spare shirt—and saw it change color. "I'm doing it!" he exclaimed. "Everything I touch turns to gold!"

  "Uh-oh," Sherlock said. "I heard about King Midas. That's one mean curse."

  "But the stuff isn't solid gold," Dug said. "Just gold-plated. See, this shirt's still flexible, it's just changed color. And the sandwich's still soft; the wrapper's golden, is all."

  "It still does seem like a curse," Jenny said. "Maybe you shouldn't touch anyone else until you know how to stop it."

  "I'd love to stop it," Dug said. He concentrated on not changing color, and touched another item in the pack. But it turned golden anyway. He walked to the side of the path and touched the leaf of a tree. It too turned golden.

  He realized that this could not be random. He had not done anything special in the last few minutes, so didn't think he had invoked any magic. He hadn't picked up a stink horn, for example. So why should this spell be on him?

  He stared at the golden pack. Gold-plated pack, actually. It had been gilded. It was gilt.

  Gilt. That sounded like guilt. And one thing he was feeling now was guilt. He had said so.

  He groaned. "I'm being victimized by a pun," he said. "Gilt by association."

  "But we don't feel guilty," Jenny said.

  "Gilt. G I L T. If you associate with me, and I touch you, you'll be gilded. Gold-colored. Gilt. Gilty. Someone's made it literal."

  "Then you should be able to stop it," Jenny said.

  "Maybe now I can." Dug stood and faced the forest. "I deny any gilt by association," he declaimed. Then he touched another item in his pack. It did not change. "Ha. I neutralized the pun."

  "Curses," someone muttered. "Foiled again."

  The three of them passed a glance around. None of them had spoken.

  There was a swirl of air, like a small whirlwind. It became smoky, then solid, taking the shape of a well-proportioned woman, scantily clad.

  "Metria!" Jenny exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

  Dug remembered that there had been a lady demon among the choices available for Companion. This would be her.

  “Two things," the demoness said. "I'm investigating your chaos."

  "My what?" Dug asked.

  "Confusion, disorder, misapprehension, ferment, jumble litter—"

  "Foul-up?” Dug asked.

  "Whatever," she agreed crossly. "What are you doing with the wrong Companion?"

  "We traded," Dug said. "I decided that Jenny Elf was better for me than Nada Naga."

  "But the challenges were pitched for Nada!"

  Dug wondered whether that was good or bad. "You mean that she could have helped me through better—or that she couldn't?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Just that Grossclout had it figured one way, and you were playing it another. Using the cat to find your way through. Zilch only knows how the other player's been doing with the serpent woman."

  "So is there a rule against it?" Dug asked.

  "Not exactly. Nobody thought anybody'd be fool enough to pull a stunt like that."

  "So what's the problem?"

  The demoness fidgeted. "It's just not steak."

  "Not what?"

  "Encounter, converge, intersect, unite, connect, join—“

  "Meet?" Dug could handle puns when he had to.

  "Whatever. It's just not meet to change things around like that. Now I have to recomplicate things."

  "You mean I'm doing okay, so you're going to mess me up?" Dug was bemused. He wasn't even trying for the prize. He just wanted to undo the mischief he had inadvertently caused.

  "Approximately," the demoness agreed.

  "Wait half a moment," Jenny said. "Metria, did Professor Grossclout tell you specifically to interfere with Dug's progress?"

  "What's it to you, waif?"

  "I'm Dug's Companion. It's my job to steer him past unnecessary confusions and complications, so that he won't think he's in some other game where that sort of thing is supposed to be standard. You strike me as exactly that kind of mischief. What exactly did Grossclout say to you?"

  The demoness fidgeted. "He said to investigate, and use my judgment."

  "He meant to judge whether Dug was in some unwarranted trouble, because of the mixup," Jenny said. "He's not, so all you have to do is go back and report that all is swell."

  "All what?"

  "Bulge, grow, increase, billow, bloat, inflate—"

  "Hey!" Dug protested.

  "I mean surfs, seas, waters—"

  "Wells?" Metria offered.

  "Yes. Only the other way around: swell."

  "Oh, you mean that everything is satisfactory."

  "That's what I mean," Jenny said evenly. "In your own imitable fashion. So you can now buzz off and tell him that. No more turning his guilt literal, or whatever else your demonly fancy conceives. He is not for you to play with, Metria."

  Dug saw that Jenny was trying to do her job. Obviously the demoness would only interfere with whatever he was trying to accomplish. He liked the elf's attitude.

  Metria pondered. She glanced at Dug, then at Sherlock. Her garment flashed translucent, not quite showing her panties. Assuming she was wearing any. "But these are such interesting men. I think I'll stay and investigate some more."

  "But you have to go back and report to Grossclout," Jenny reminded her.

  "I have to use my judgment. My judgment is that I should hang around a bit more." For an instant she assumed the form of a woman being suspended by the neck until dead.

  "But you aren't supposed to interfere with my legitimate Companioning."

  "But Nada Naga's supposed to be his Companion," Metria pointed out. "You're not his legitimate Companion. You're Kim's."

  Jenny turned to Dug. "This is likely to be trouble," she said. "Fortunately her attention span is not great. If you ignore her, she'll go away after a while."

  Metria smiled. "Yes, ignore me, Dug Mundane." She stepped into him, her clothing disappearing.

  Dug expected her to be smoky, but she was completely solid. He realized belatedly that she was not half demon, the way Threnody was, but full demon. She could change instantly.

  Metria squeezed against him. Not only was she nude, she was voluptuous. She reached up and drew his head down for a kiss. "You should have chosen me to be your Companion," she murmured. "I could have made your
life deliriously exciting."

  He realized that it was true. He had taken one look at beautiful Nada and chosen her, but now he saw that the demoness could make herself just as shapely, and she had no princessly attitude to counter it. He probably should have chosen her. He might not have gotten far in the game, but he would have enjoyed the distraction. He was now appreciating first-hand (first-mouth) what Sherlock had when he had gotten kissed by a demoness.

  "Still could," she added, sliding her bare front across his clothed front as she inhaled. He realized that it was no bluff. Innocent was not a term anyone would ever apply to this creature.

  However, at the moment he had a different mission. He had to catch up to Kim and warn her about her False Companion. So he steeled himself to ward off the demoness' allure. "Forget it," he said. "Maybe some other time, you infernal creature."

  Right away he realized that he had blundered. Metria's mouth curled into a frown, and then on into a fanged, tusked muzzle. It snapped at his nose, but was insubstantial as it closed. Dug was startled but unhurt.

  Then the demoness faded into air. "I'll be back," her words came.

  "Oh, mice!" Jenny swore. "I told you to ignore her, not to insult her. Now she'll be seriously mischievous."

  "She was getting hard to ignore," Dug said defensively.

  "All she was doing was getting in your way."

  "She was hard to ignore," Sherlock said. "A child wouldn't understand."

  Jenny shrugged, obviously not understanding what appeal there could be in a lusciously shaped bare demoness who wasn't wearing panties. Dug was glad for Sherlock's support.

  They set off south. But soon they encountered a huge gray donkey. "Well, now," the creature said. "Are you the three folk the demoness said are looking for trouble?"

  Already the mischief of a demoness scorned was manifesting. This was obviously no ordinary equine. In fact, he saw that it had a whole bundle of tails. Dug thought fast. This was really just another kind of challenge: how to turn mischief into something positive. "No, we are the three folk who are in trouble," he said. "We're looking for a way out of trouble. She must have misunderstood."