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Authors: Piers Anthony
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consciousness for a time.
Nola wasn’t certain of the distinction, but decided to stop worrying about sleep. “What is the River of Thought, exactly?”
It is the source of all life in Kafka. Its waters are formed by all the dreams of humankind. Every drop is a separate hope, wish or fantasy. It is composed mostly of children’s dreams. Not many children are Creators. They are taught from the beginning that imaginary people and animals and monsters are not real. Nor will they ever be real. A child is taught that it is wrong to believe in fantasy and dreams. A child’s dreams last only through childhood, then reality steps in and deals them a fatal blow. You, however, are a very special case. You continue to believe in me.
“I could never bring myself to stop believing in you. You are my friend and I love you.” She put her hand on Spirit’s neck and smiled. “But what about you and Mich and others like you who have been here a long time?”
There are some like us here, but we are few. We remain here because of the small handful of people like you, who retain their dreams throughout their lives.
“What happens to you when I die?”
We are not quite certain, but legend says that if you believe until the end, that your dreams are carried with you wherever you go and that you live within them for eternity.
“Why is it you never spoke to me before I came here?”
In your world, my body and mind are rendered null. I turn into an ordinary horse. That is the way of it for us unisi.
“Oh.”
Dawn is coming up. You should prepare.
“Prepare for what?”
So many questions! To deal with the Fren, of course! Now I will help you to find something to tide you over until the other guards come with new clothes and rations.
They got up. Nola felt refreshed despite not actually sleeping. But she resolved that the next night she spent here, she would tune out consciousness and see if it wasn’t actually pretty close to what she called sleep. It might be just a matter of definition.
Esprit found a small luberry bush. It was covered with white berries. Nola, hesitant, accepted Spirit’s reassurance and ate half of them. They were unlike any fruit she had ever eaten. They were about the size and shape of large cherries. Their flavor was a mixture of blueberries and peaches. The thin skins were very sweet while the centers were very tart, and each contained a small, pale pink pit. She picked some more and put them on a clump of grass next to Mich.
Mich was resting peacefully. He opened his eyes as she knelt down. He saw Nola leaning over him. She was wiping a smudge from his face.
He noticed she was still wearing her semi-translucent undergarment that she had called a “nightie.” Her pale skin looked as soft as cream and her reddish-brown tresses fell forward, almost into his face. He wished he could kiss her, but dared not. He wasn’t sure if she would react positively to that. He had been excruciatingly careful about that while in the real world, lest he offend her and lose everything. She was, after all, not merely a pretty woman; she was his Creator. He decided it would be better to play it cool for a while longer. However, it was hard to be cool with Nola’s half-naked body so close to him.
“Good morning, Nola,” he said, sitting up and stretching. “I hope you weren’t too cold last night.” If only he could have warmed her by wrapping his arms around her!
Until now Nola wasn’t consciously aware that she was still wearing her little white nightie. She had been showing entirely too muchflesh where it was tight, and possibly even more where it wasn’t tight. It was too late to even try to blush, so she ignored the embarrassment. “Spirit kept me warm last night. So, when do we get started?”
“Soon,” Mich said, stretching and flexing his gorgeous muscles. Nola averted her stare. If only the big hunk had shown even a little urge to grab her! But he remained as indifferent as a brother to a
Nola wasn’t certain of the distinction, but decided to stop worrying about sleep. “What is the River of Thought, exactly?”
It is the source of all life in Kafka. Its waters are formed by all the dreams of humankind. Every drop is a separate hope, wish or fantasy. It is composed mostly of children’s dreams. Not many children are Creators. They are taught from the beginning that imaginary people and animals and monsters are not real. Nor will they ever be real. A child is taught that it is wrong to believe in fantasy and dreams. A child’s dreams last only through childhood, then reality steps in and deals them a fatal blow. You, however, are a very special case. You continue to believe in me.
“I could never bring myself to stop believing in you. You are my friend and I love you.” She put her hand on Spirit’s neck and smiled. “But what about you and Mich and others like you who have been here a long time?”
There are some like us here, but we are few. We remain here because of the small handful of people like you, who retain their dreams throughout their lives.
“What happens to you when I die?”
We are not quite certain, but legend says that if you believe until the end, that your dreams are carried with you wherever you go and that you live within them for eternity.
“Why is it you never spoke to me before I came here?”
In your world, my body and mind are rendered null. I turn into an ordinary horse. That is the way of it for us unisi.
“Oh.”
Dawn is coming up. You should prepare.
“Prepare for what?”
So many questions! To deal with the Fren, of course! Now I will help you to find something to tide you over until the other guards come with new clothes and rations.
They got up. Nola felt refreshed despite not actually sleeping. But she resolved that the next night she spent here, she would tune out consciousness and see if it wasn’t actually pretty close to what she called sleep. It might be just a matter of definition.
Esprit found a small luberry bush. It was covered with white berries. Nola, hesitant, accepted Spirit’s reassurance and ate half of them. They were unlike any fruit she had ever eaten. They were about the size and shape of large cherries. Their flavor was a mixture of blueberries and peaches. The thin skins were very sweet while the centers were very tart, and each contained a small, pale pink pit. She picked some more and put them on a clump of grass next to Mich.
Mich was resting peacefully. He opened his eyes as she knelt down. He saw Nola leaning over him. She was wiping a smudge from his face.
He noticed she was still wearing her semi-translucent undergarment that she had called a “nightie.” Her pale skin looked as soft as cream and her reddish-brown tresses fell forward, almost into his face. He wished he could kiss her, but dared not. He wasn’t sure if she would react positively to that. He had been excruciatingly careful about that while in the real world, lest he offend her and lose everything. She was, after all, not merely a pretty woman; she was his Creator. He decided it would be better to play it cool for a while longer. However, it was hard to be cool with Nola’s half-naked body so close to him.
“Good morning, Nola,” he said, sitting up and stretching. “I hope you weren’t too cold last night.” If only he could have warmed her by wrapping his arms around her!
Until now Nola wasn’t consciously aware that she was still wearing her little white nightie. She had been showing entirely too muchflesh where it was tight, and possibly even more where it wasn’t tight. It was too late to even try to blush, so she ignored the embarrassment. “Spirit kept me warm last night. So, when do we get started?”
“Soon,” Mich said, stretching and flexing his gorgeous muscles. Nola averted her stare. If only the big hunk had shown even a little urge to grab her! But he remained as indifferent as a brother to a
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