Dream a Little Dream (3 page)

At last the trolls became bored with this game. They moved on to more entertaining things. “Give usss that sssword, bassstard mann child,” one troll said courteously.

“Yesss, you two-legged grub. Givve!” another echoed.

“We neeed a fine weaponn like thhat.”

“Nooo!” another troll cried. “Take the flying mucilage factory and do away with the lizzzard!”

Mich grew annoyed. He ‘d had just about enough. He unsheathed his saber and brought it to bear on the throat of the first troll. “Touch either, and you will die.” When that didn’t faze them, he added: “Slowly.” The trolls knew what would happen if Mich tried to cut them, but nevertheless they did feel pain and did not enjoy being cut to ribbons. Slow death meant that their reconstitution and revenge would be agonizingly delayed. They especially hated being threatened, believing that that should be a one-way process.

One of the trolls pounced on him, knocking his sword away, while another screamed, “Get the lizzard!”

All at once, the trolls pounced on the little basilisk and began stabbing at him with their daggers. Snort’s resilient scales protected his body from the knives, but didn’t help much with the heavy clubs that pounded his head and tender nose. Snort felt a troll sink his teeth into his floppy bat-wing ear. He howled with pain.

Mich tried to shake off the trolls so he could help his friend, but the disgusting little creatures were strong for their size, and with three of them holding on to him he could not shake himself free.

Snort was bleeding now and was getting agitated. One of the trolls made the mistake of biting his tender tail tip. Snort couldn’t help it. He bawled with pain and exhaled a stream of white-hot fire. He melted the offending troll into green glop and used a hind foot to scrape dirt into the mess so that it was unable to reconstruct right away.

The other trolls backed off, because they did not appreciate
effective resistance. They joined the attack on Mich. Snort could not fire at them for fear of burning Mich as well.

Mich could not move. He screamed as one of the monsters slashed his face with his own sword. He realized belatedly that he had been a fool to underestimate the little monsters. He had been contemptuous of them, and that was about to get him killed.

The next thing he knew, all the trolls were gone. In their place was a putrid smell, fading as a breeze wafted it clear. What had happened? Had they suddenly dived for cover?

Mich blinked his eyes, peering around. There was no sign of the rancid beasts. Just the white unisus standing there. Then he understood.

Heat had dissolved the trolls into nothing by pointing his dangerous, ridged horn at them. The unisus had delayed as long as he could before acting. Although his friend needed his help, Heat still did not enjoy killing the trolls. They couldn’t help it if they were part of the lowest rung of the ladder of society.

“Thank you, friend,” Mich said, recovering his wits and his sword.

You’re welcome,
Heat thought regretfully.

Once a year, Heat was able to generate a laser that could vaporize almost anything in an instant. The good thing was that his laser was selective. He could use it to kill whomever he wished and however many he wished, all at once. It built up slowly in his body, and after it was used, it took another full year to recharge. It was quite possible for Heat to destroy the whole world. He was not an evil creature, fortunately, and used his powers only when the need was dire. He hated to destroy lives, even those of trolls. He also regretted expending his charge on something relatively insignificant, instead of saving it for a truly impressive feat. Suppose the next attack was by ten large dragons, or there was a massive avalanche threatening them, and Heat was unable to help?

Mich was grateful that Heat had used his power to save him once again, but guilty for not being able to handle the situation himself. Had he had the sense to tackle the trolls rationally, he would have kept his sword out of their reach and used it to cut off their toes, fingers, noses, eyeballs, and ears. That would have distracted them, because such small appendages couldn’t reconstitute into anything dangerous, while handicapping the trolls so that they would not be able to fight effectively. They would have had to pick them up and put them back on, and might have quarreled over which was whose. By the time the trolls got their digits and things sorted out, Mich and his party would have been gone. Instead he had acted rashly and bungled it. His father would have frowned with disapproval, had he witnessed the encounter.

After Mich bandaged Snort’s tail and ear, they settled down to rest. Mich leaned against Heat’s flank and was kept very warm. Snort didn’t need much respite so he kept watch in case more trolls should show up. They had been unforgivably careless to be caught by surprise; that would not happen again. Snort felt a personal responsibility there.

Mich had trouble relaxing. He thought about how Heat always managed to save him from likely doom. Sometimes he felt like a coward and other times he was glad that Heat was always there for him. When he sprang from the waters of the River of Thought, Heat had been there to protect him and teach him about friendship, loyalty and honor.

Heat was a unisus and Mich’s best friend. He had once belonged to a huge herd of unisi that lived in the sky, above the clouds. They were all the colors of the rainbow and all shades in between.

All except for two: Heat and Spirit. Heat was the color of purest snow, leaning toward silver, while Spirit was the color of a starless night, leaning toward a black hole. All the unisi could fly on strong, feathered wings, and each had a single magical aspect. They could
purify water, or cure illness with a touch of the horn, or do something similar. When they ran through the sky, each colored creature would leave a streak of light behind that matched his own color. So when the whole herd flew, a beautiful rainbow formed.

Eventually, Heat was abandoned by the group. He could leave only a white streak and white was not an appropriate color, so he could not help with the rainbows. White was the combination of all colors; therefore he was not considered an individual. Instead of curing sickness with his horn, he destroyed things by making them disappear forever, so was considered evil and dangerous. Soon after that, Spirit was abandoned too and was never seen again. No one really knew what strange power he had, except for Heat, who never mentioned it and ignored inquiries. Apparently Spirit and Heat had been good friends and Heat preferred not to remember.

Mich wished he could find this black maverick unisus and bring him home, if he still lived. It would be the perfect way to repay Heat for all his years of protection and friendship.

Mich let his mind wander back to the first time they met, relaxing, and finally fell into repose. Such thoughts always cheered and relaxed him.

Early the next morning, they ate and prepared for the ordeal ahead. Snort wrinkled his snout. He didn’t speak in words, of course, but his expression conveyed his attitude clearly: Did he really have to go there?

Mich knew why. The sorceress liked basilisks almost as well as she liked young men. She would ruffle Snort’s scales affectionately. That might not seem like a bad thing, except that the scales were hard to unruffle, and for hours thereafter would smell of sweet perfume. It was quite unbecoming for a basilisk. If trolls spied Snort at such a time, they would fall into an ugly pile, laughing. That was why Snort had breathed fire when Mich teased him about protecting Mich from Madrid: Snort was as vulnerable himself.

“I think we can manage without you on this particular mission,” Mich said dryly. “If you’re quite sure you wouldn’t rather go in my stead.”

Snort shook his head so vigorously that wisps of fire puffed out of his mouth. He would remain in the valley while Mich and Heat flew up to Madrid’s cottage.

Mich wished that Heat didn’t become tired so easily. It would save so much trouble. But poor Heat’s wings were too small for traveling great distances, though they were powerfully effective and
quick for short distances. This was why he flew only in emergencies, and he was always very tired after a flight.

Heat spread his wings. Though small, they were still large enough to create a dust storm from the downdraft. In a few strokes, his hooves lifted off the ground. It was more difficult flying straight up than it was flying up at an angle, but even with a passenger he managed it. Mich hated to make his friend work so hard, but he loved the experience of flying, and regretted that he hadn’t come into existence with a set of wings of his own. There was so much to see from on high, as the realm of Kafka appeared below. The Forest of Imagination spread out like a rich and variegated carpet across the land, keeping it magically warm. Beyond—who could guess what he might see, if he could only fly high enough, long enough?

Near the summit, nestled among the evergreens, was a well-camouflaged house. It was made of mud and pine branches. It was almost covered over with fallen pine needles. If it weren’t for the smoke curling up from the chimney, it would look just like a hill covered with dead twigs and needles.

A small woman appeared in a hidden doorway. “Ah, Mich!” Madrid exclaimed. “At last you’ve come! You sure took your damn time getting here.”

As she stepped through the doorway, a little shower of pine needles decided to take refuge in her curly red Afro. She walked toward them with a slight limp and looked her guests over.

“Well?” she said, placing her hands on her somewhat gnarled hips.

“I came to ask you—” Mich began.

“How can you find an Earthling who can destroy the dam made of dreamstone?” she finished. Her expression became droll. “I know why you’re here. Come inside and make yourself at home. I’ll escort Heat to his stall and make sure he is comfortable.”

Mich cast a worried glance at Heat. His friend looked unconcerned, so he entered the house. The unisus was not the one who would be receiving the brunt of the sorceress’s attention, and the food in the stall was bound to be excellent.

Inside, it was warm and cozy. A fire crackled in the fireplace and cast dancing shadows on the mud walls. A kettle hung over the fire, and he could smell the delicious soup simmering in it. There was no doubt that the sorceress had nice accommodations. If it weren’t for Madrid herself, they would be perfect.

Mich walked over to the fireplace and sat down among the many fat cushions. In a corner of the hut was a high shelf with many books. In front of the shelf was a desk with a huge text sitting on top. His eyes traveled around the hut he had been in so many times before.

Madrid always had a chore for him to do when his father needed a certain spell. She would usually try her hardest to seduce him, and never got even as far as a kiss. But it was clear that this was idle play for her; Mich dreaded the time she might get serious. Her powers were such that she could have him by magical force, if she chose. But she preferred to make it a game. She wanted him to truly want her.

He heard the door open and shut as Madrid returned. “Heat is settled now. He really likes the grass that grows up here. He told me there was no grass sweeter than Mangor’s.” She paused and shut the door. “Do you know why?”

Mich shrugged, trying to avoid being drawn into her game. Anything he said could be turned around to seem suggestive. For example, if he said that the grass was well fertilized, she might reply that that was because lovers had slept on it, and it was time to add to the effect.

She waited a moment for a reply that she knew wasn’t going to come. Then she said, “Because the leaping cows crap on it!” Madrid doubled over with laughter, knowing she had faked him out with a
crudity instead of an endearment. Her ploys with words were endless. She didn’t stop at words, however; they were merely the warm-up exercise.

After the euphoria wore off, she wiped away a tear of mirth and sat down beside him. Mich shook his head, silently pitying her on one level while fearing her on another. He almost wished he could find her as attractive as she evidently found him.

She put her spindly, callused hand on his. Mich wished he hadn’t come here. She took his chin in her hand and turned his face toward hers.

Oh, no, here it comes.
Mich got ready to pull away, as politely as possible, but she shocked him by not trying to kiss him. She only studied him.

“I know you have no personal interest in me, you dear boy,” she said. “I’m tired of trying to trick you.”

Mich sat back on the cushions and breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re a nice person. Just a bit—mature for me.” He hoped that would please her instead of annoying her.

“I do know why you have come here. Kafka needs your help more than you know. So I will have to help you, though one aspect of it sorely grieves me. My dear boy, you are about to discover romance, and not with me.”

That was not entirely reassuring. “I don’t know where to find a human, let alone a human who has the ability to destroy dream-stone,” Mich said. “And I don’t know anything about romance.”

“That’s obvious. Do you know your Creator?” Madrid’s eyes were sharp and piercing.

“Of course! The River of Thought. Everyone comes from there.”

“Yes, that’s true. But where does it flow from?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

She sighed. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to start at the beginning.”

She positioned herself better on the cushions and folded her hands in her lap. “In the earliest years, the land surrounding the River of Thought was quite normal, with trees, grass, rocks, birds and sky. One day, a great dragon appeared. His name was Kafka. He was an immortal creature.

“He was the son of a greater dragon, along with his brother. Kafka’s father was cruel to him. His father had absolute power over his family, and Kafka often felt low and cowardly in the presence of his father. He lived like a slave under his father’s cruel hand. Kafka had always searched for something to make him happy. He never found happiness in his life, yet he found it in his imagination.

“As the years passed, he became bored with his situation and more and more curious about his growing world. He longed for escape. Kafka had a special power apart from his family. His imagination, coupled with his ability to write, was so strong that when he wished it, his stories became real. So, he invented Kafka. A place of dreams rather than nightmares. An escape from the nightmares he suffered. He gifted his new world to its neighbor, Earth. Earth was facing self-destruction, and without escape for its people, Earth would die. He understood this need and provided the cure, so long as Earth’s people had faith.

“He was the ruler of Kafka for many years. And with each year, the land of the river grew larger. He explored every new border and every new territory. He is gone now, killed by the Fren that pollute the land, but he left behind Kafka, the land of dragons and dreams.”

Mich was perplexed. “What does this have to do with humans?”

“I’m getting to that!” she snapped, as if annoyed by his shallowness. “Now, Kafka himself sprang from the river. The river was always there. It was there before the land and sky. The river is, indeed, a river of thought. However, these are sleeping thoughts; dreams, if you will. Human dreams.”

Mich’s confusion grew. What was she getting at?

“Sometimes there are births. When an Earthling human believes so strongly in a living, nonliving or otherwise fantastic creature that he sees in his dreams, that creature is born from the river. These Earthlings are called Creators. If the Creator of the creature ceases to believe or forgets, then the creature will no longer exist and it will be as if he had never been.” Madrid took a deep breath.

“So the humans are the source of the river!”

“Yes and no. They provide its waters, but exactly where the waters flow into Kafka is unknown. Now, there are very few humans who can create or destroy dreamstone. Your Creator is one of them. If you can find the human, and get to where the physical river flows into Kafka, to find the dam, then we will have a fighting chance.”

“Where is the source and where can I find him?”

She spread her hands. “No one knows how to locate the source. Not even me, and it’s her, not him. I will tell you how to find her in a moment.” She got up and poured a little more stock into the simmering pot. Then she walked over to the desk. “Come here, Mich, I want to show you something.”

She ran one long, red, curled fingernail along the contents page of the huge text on the desk. She flipped through the quill-written pages. “There,” she said.

Mich’s eyes followed the bony finger to the nail tip, which was gouged into a painting on the page. “That’s her,” Madrid said.

Mich couldn’t believe his eyes. She was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. She looked to be three or four years younger than he. She had long red hair and intense, slate-blue eyes.

“She’s my Creator?” he asked.

“Yes. Her name is Nola Rollins.”

“She’s so striking,” Mich said, half to himself.

Madrid ignored his drooling. “When you find her, she may not be so eager to cooperate with you.” She closed the book and walked over to the simmering kettle to stir it.

“But if she believes in me so much, why would she even hesitate?” he asked.

“Because, though she is one of the few true dreamers left, she still lives in a world of reality and she may not believe that you are really who you say you are.”

Mich heard a noise, and turned around to see the shape of a unisus standing outside the open door. That was odd, because he hadn’t summoned his friend. Was something wrong?

The sorceress nodded, evidently aware of something he didn’t know about. “You must convince her, and not just because you will love her. So, to help you with that, all you have to do is show her this.”

Madrid gestured to the door, and as Mich approached, he could see that the unisus wasn’t Heat. It was Spirit.

He was a huge beast. He was not taller than Heat, but he was broader and definitely more muscular. His wings were each two lengths his own body size. It looked very awkward and unbalanced, but he stood as if his wings weighed nothing.

He reminded Mich a little of himself. Spirit’s eyes were the exact shade of green as his own and his hide was glossy black, the same as Mich’s hair. There was an air about him, something intangible but powerful. Around his neck was a thin strap of leather bearing a silver crosslet with a tiny pallid, blue dreamstone. The pendant was lightly engraved with a Crosshatch pattern and was over an inch in diameter. It was a meager speck of glitter against the great black chest.

“That is what you must show her,” Madrid said.

“You mean the pendant?”

“No, idiot! I mean the unisus.” She paused, then added: “But that’s not a bad idea. Take him with you.”

“But how can we survive in her world if we are only dreams to her?”

“Oh, all these petty problems! Must I do everything myself?”

“But—”

“Oh, very well!” Madrid flicked her fingers and mumbled some indecipherable phrases. “There, now you will be protected from her reality for the period of one week. That is the most any Kafkian can survive there, even with magic. I must warn you, stay longer and you will cease to exist, no matter how much she believes in you. In her world, you can die and you cannot be brought back.” She flashed a grim smile. “Please take care that you do not exceed that week.”

Mich had no idea about death, or what it was like to die, but he knew that he didn’t want it to happen to him. It was probably worse than being Forgotten.

“Now it’s time for dinner,” Madrid said briskly. Mich realized with a shock that much of the day had passed, in what had seemed like half an hour.

He was hungry, and the soup was very good. There was a certain magical ambience about it. The more of it he ate, the less repulsive the sorceress looked, and the more pleasant her words sounded. At another time he might have wondered about that.