Dream a Little Dream (2 page)

King Erik Edward sat on his gold throne wondering what he should do about the new crisis. His crown sat askew on his head, and the way he let his dull brown beard grow made him look like Father Time. His brow was etched with deep furrows as he worried over the problem of the Fren.

The Fren lived north of the Shattered-Glass Glade, near the River of Thought. They lived in an ominous place called the Fren Cliffs. The cliffs were a new addition to the Kafkian landscape, and an unwelcome one. The cliffs were rough and ugly and they marred Kafka’s appearance like a great wart on the nose of a goddess.

The Fren were cruel and evil creatures with no positive emotions whatsoever. They cared little for anyone except themselves. Their king, Reility, was cruder than all his minions put together. He had some strange power that Edward was not yet sure of
.
But he knew Reility was using it for evil.

Reility would send his motley, vicious armies into the wilds of Kafka to crush villages and do what they pleased with those who were unlucky enough to survive his attacks.

Now King Edward had an even bigger problem. The River of Thought was receding from its banks, and Edward knew that Reility was behind it. He also knew that if something wasn’t done soon
the river would dry up, and that could spell big trouble for Kafka and its neighbor, Earth.

He had never seen Earth, nor had he known anyone else who had. His sorceress, Madrid, knew of it. She had a big picture book with paintings of it. The creatures that lived on it were somehow connected to Kafka, and he knew that if one realm was destroyed, the other would also go.

Edward reached down to stroke his son’s pet basilisk, Snort, who raised his scaly chin in response. He stretched his leathery wings and exhaled a little puff of steam. Most basilisks in Kafka could kill with a glance, but Snort had been tamed by his son as a baby and he was as lovable as any grass dragon. In Kafka the distinction between dragons and other reptilian creatures could become fuzzy, and Snort was a good, if ugly, example.

Edward looked across to the entry hall where his guards stood holding their swords.

“Guard!” he called. “Has my son returned yet?”

“I will check, Sire.”

One of the guards stepped out of the throne room and called to someone down the hall. Another guard came in, followed by a young man. Snort half crawled, half slithered over to Edward’s son and insisted that he be petted. The young man obliged with a vigorous scratch behind an ugly ear.

Edward brushed back the loose folds of his robe and stood up. “Mich,” he said, “have you been able to find out anything useful?”

Mich smiled. “Yes. More than I’d hoped. The river isn’t drying up. It’s being dammed.”

“I suspected as much. Is anything being done about it?”

“There is nothing we can do, Father. It’s being dammed at its source.”

King Edward scratched his beard. At its source? This could be
very bad news indeed. No one had ever been to the source or even knew where it was. The river splayed into many different streams in the glade, but no one knew where the water came from. No one, except—

“That’s not all,” Mich went on. “It is rumored that the dam is being built of dreamstone.”

“Dreamstone?” The hairs on King Edward’s chin stood on end. “How have the Fren gotten their claws on dreamstone? I have men guarding every deposit in Kafka!” He paused a moment, then doubled his panic attack. “Unless there is a deposit in the cliffs! What’ll we do if the Fren are controlling a dreamstone deposit?”

Mich smiled in that unconsciously patronizing way he had. “Don’t get so excited, Father; it’s only a rumor.”

The king regained his composure and cleared his throat. “That may be, but you know how easily rumors turn into fact around here.” He sat back down on his throne and smoothed his robes. “The dam must be destroyed.”

“But how? We don’t know where the source is and even if we did find it, it is impossible for us to destroy, if the rumor is true.”

“Impossible for us, yes, but for them, no.”

“Them who?”

“Earthling humans.”

“Father, what are you saying? That we get an Earthling to destroy it?”

Edward nodded gravely.

Mich looked his father in the eye and squared his jaw. “Yes, Father,” he said sarcastically, “that would work. Just let me know when you find out how to reach one.”

King Edward rubbed his ear. He loved his son, but from time to time the lad needed to be taken down a peg. “I know how you can find out for yourself.”

Mich backed away a few steps and his face became pale. “No, Father, please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

Edward smiled. “You can ask—”

“Don’t say it!”

“Madrid.”

Mich kneeled on the floor and clasped his hands in a dramatic pose. “Please don’t send me there! She hates me!”

The king’s smile deepened. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, son.”

“You know what I mean. She’ll try to-—to kiss me!”

“Get up, son! It’s not that bad! Actually, she’s kind of pretty . . .”

Mich gave his father a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look.

“ . . . if your eyes are closed!” the king finished with a laugh.

Mich knew how his father liked to tease him about Madrid. She was a sorceress who lived in the Mountains of Mangor. She had a very old body, but a vivacious spirit. She also had a thing for young princes, especially Mich. She was a very good person at heart, but one would not know it if one had just met her. She was rude and had a very foul mouth. However, the land of Kafka depended on her advice and help, and therefore always treated her with respect. In order for King Edward to maintain good relations with her, he often sent Mich to visit, and Mich hated every second.

“Son, you know if there was another way to do this, I would gladly do it, but she is the only one in this world who can help us find an Earth person and she is the only one who may have seen the source of the river.”

“But, Father, you know she will ask that I keep her company through the night, as payment for her help.”

“Yes, I know. But she never harms you and she would never do anything you don’t want her to.”

“That doesn’t stop her from trying,” Mich grumbled.

“It is a long way. It would be best if you got a good night’s sleep and began your visit to Mangor in the morning.”

With that, the conversation ended. Mich hugged his father good night. Snort followed him through the corridor and up the winding stairway to his room.

The next morning, Mich bathed and prepared himself. He bid farewell to his friends and set out on his steed, Heat. He brought with him a three-day ration of food, a lightweight steel sword, and Snort for protection. “You may come
in handy if the sorceress tries to go too far,” he said.

Snort snorted a ferocious jet of fire, looking outraged. Mich laughed.

Mich urged Heat to go faster and they broke into a trot. The palace stables fell behind. It wasn’t until he was some distance from it that he could get the whole castle in view.

It was a large castle in the most extreme way. He, his father, the palace scribe, three cooks, the gardener, the guards, Misty the resident friendly ghost and a few assorted pets were its only inhabitants. They had no choice about its size. It had been built beside the River of Thought, out of dreamstone, at the time he was born, and it had never deteriorated.

The dreamstone walls were of a brownish hue, and they gleamed as if made of glass. Mich knew that dreamstone could be any color. Dreamstone could not be destroyed by any normal means. It was magically hard and could not be crushed, broken or shaped. It was mined from deep beneath the ground in various places. The dreamstone that made this castle had just appeared one day and had been here ever since, forming the perfect fortress.

They rode through the orchards that surrounded the castle. Then they entered the Forest of Imagination, where all sorts of strange creatures lived and worked. It was normally filled with the joyous
sounds of birds singing and tree creatures squeaking and chattering. This day, the forest seemed empty and quiet.

As Heat trotted beneath a low-hanging branch, a small bird dropped something on Mich. Luckily, it was a cluster of burrs instead of a dropping. He tried to work them out of his long black hair, but ended up pulling out a few strands.

He looked back, but the bird was gone. He heard a faint sound, something like the babbling or cooing of a baby. He heard some rustling in the brush. Suddenly, Heat reared, slightly opening his wings, and Snort shot a small flame into the air.

“What is it, friend?” Mich asked, patting his steed to calm him down.

I’m not sure. I saw nothing, but lam cut,
thought Heat.

Mich looked down. Sure enough, there was a small, blood-streaked wound on Heat’s foreleg.

“Do you need any healing spice?”

Of course not! The wound is merely a scratch. I believe Icon survive.

Mich reminded himself of how proud an animal Heat was. He had to constantly watch what he said, lest he insult his friend.

Heat could read Mich’s mind and feel everything that he felt, and vice versa. Their relationship was one of true friendship. Mich did not think of him as a beast of burden, but as an equal. The only reason Heat let Mich ride on him was because it was logical. They would get to their destination much faster this way than if they were slowed down by his having to walk.

They rode through the morning until Mich and Heat both started to get hungry. Heat drew to a halt at the edge of the Forest of Imagination, where they had lunch. Snort, who had been keeping pace by whomping along behind, slunk off into a thicket to flush out a few creatures. He snapped them up as they ran in his direction. Heat cropped the dry grasses and chewed distastefully.

After a short rest, Mich remounted Heat and they moved on into
the forest. Mich hoped the trip would be uneventful. There were many creatures in the forest, some of which could be dangerous.

The forest is quiet. I’m worried,
Heat thought to Mich’s mind.

“Yes, it is. I’m sure it has something to do with the river. It’s been like this ever since the villagers reported the drop in the water level.”

If the river runs dry we could all be forgotten.
Heat shook his silken mane disdainfully.

It was kind of scary. To be Forgotten was to be dead. No one had ever told Mich what the river had to do with life in Kafka, but he knew that they were somehow connected. If the river went, so would Kafka.

The small group traveled on for two days. Just before nightfall, on the third day, they set up camp at the base of the Mangor Mountains.

The Mangors were a forbidding place. Their charcoal slopes were rough and rugged, as well as steep. It was as if they suddenly shot straight into the air. They would be impossible for any ordinary creature to climb. That is why Madrid lived there: she enjoyed the solitude.

Mich took the last of his food from the bag tied around Heat’s neck. He sat on a clump of grass next to Snort, who was already resting. Gentle curls of steam rose from his nostrils as he exhaled.

He put the lucream pastry into his mouth. A loud noise caused him to squish out all the luberries, which splattered onto Snort’s nose. Heat reared up, his bright silver hooves flashing red in the sunset.

“What is it?” Mich whispered.

Trolls! Wood Trolls!

Snort sat upright and curled back his lips, showing his dangerous, needle-sharp teeth. Mich stood on guard.

The trolls soon emerged from the surrounding brush. They were
about five feet tall. They were stout creatures that hadn’t a whit of beauty about them. Their faces were the color and texture of squashed green caterpillars.

There were twelve of the little anal-retentive creatures and the closer they came, the worse the odor. They each carried a torch and a little dagger or a club. At last they stood close to the group, forming a semicircle.

Mich got to his feet. One of the trolls stepped forward and focused his beady black eyes on him. “What are you doing out here, brothher?” it asked.

“Yesss, what?” hissed another troll.

Mich decided to be more polite than these creatures deserved. “None of your business, you putrid ilk, and I am not your brother.” Foul language was the only dialect some creatures understood, and wood trolls had the foulest mouths in the forest.

“Oooh, he sspeaks harsshhly to me! What have I done to you to desserve thiss, brother? We only need a favor,” the first one said, kneading his hands. The other trolls were crowding in to hear the dialogue better.

“Why would I do you a favor, you vile creature? I wouldn’t give you the pleasure of urinating on you, much less helping you.”

The troll was undaunted. It looked Mich over from head to toe and did the same to his companions. “Look at thiss, brotherss! A stareless bassilisssk! He’ss no threat!”

The trolls cheered and took turns walking up to Snort and staring him in the face. The basilisk was angered terribly by this treatment. He was very sensitive about his handicap of not being able to kill with a glance. It was the price of being tame. He did have fire, but he knew that if he fired on the ugly green trolls, they would only explode into a noxious gas cloud and the remaining pieces would reconstruct into twice as many new trolls. This was an ability more than one type of creature had.