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.
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 h
is 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.