Man From Mundania (22 page)

from above, could see them. The boy would shortly be a

morsel; the only question was which predator would reach

him first, and whether he would get in one good scream

or none as he was chomped and swallowed.

So Girard, meddlesome as always, succumbed to his

nuisance of a do-gooding instinct. He reached down and

carefully picked up the sleeping boy before any predator

could chomp him. He carried the boy back to his family's

house and set him on the doormat. Then he used the tips

of his fingers, and with the most delicate touch pried up

the roof over the boy's bedroom. When he had the house

open at that point, he lifted the boy again and set him on

his bed in his room. Then he squeezed the house shut

again, slowly, hardly making a sound. The boy was back

where he belonged, and no one the wiser; when he woke

in the morning he would think he had dreamed his running

away, and with luck his folks might never know he had

been gone.

Then Girard returned to the place where the boy had

fallen asleep. He put his hand down by the hoarse chestnut

tree and piled some dead leaves around the fingers, so that

they might be mistaken for a sleeping form. The first pred-

ator to pounce on that would receive a surprise! Girard

didn't plan to really hurt the creature, just shake it around

a bit to discourage it from going after any more sleeping

boys.

But the predators were smarter than he. They smelled

the difference between Boy and Giant, and stayed clear.

Girard realized this only later, after his little trap failed.

At the time he didn't know, and while he waited in perfect

silence he fell into boredom, and then into sleep himself.

Thus his trap became a nap.

100
       
Man from Mundania

A night mare approached, bearing a bad dream intended

for the bad human boy who had run away from home. She

was Mare Crisium, Cris for short, and she was behind

schedule and very rushed. The gourd was short-hoofed

this night; several mares were getting their hooves

trimmed, so their burden of dreams had to be carried by

others. Thus Cris did not pause to verify the identity of

the dreamer; the boy was supposed to be here and some-

one was here, so she kicked in the dream and galloped off

for the next subject. She was later to get her tail severely

tweaked for that error, but that was another story.

So it was that Girard dreamed the dream intended for

the boy. It would have terrified the boy, but it had a rather

different effect on the giant. The first part was routine: a

brief rehearsal of the boy's flight from home. Then came

the main entre:

A huge female figure loomed, garbed vaguely like the

boy's mother. "Bad boy! Bad boy!" she screamed, her

voice echoing like thunder. "When I catch you—!!"

The boy, of course, was supposed to cringe in fear and

plead for mercy. He knew he deserved the punishment,

and feared it horribly. But Girard gazed at the giantess—

and saw there the woman of his dreams. The boy's dream,

technically, but still a remarkably wonderful creature. He

was smitten instantly with love for her.

The huge hand of the giantess reached down to catch

the scruff of the boy's neck. Girard could not restrain him-

self; he took hold of that hand and kissed it with a re-

sounding smack.

For a moment the giantess looked surprised. Then the

dream censor cut in: TILT! TILT! ABORT! ABORT!

In a moment the dream dissipated, and Girard woke,

He knew what had happened: he had reacted in a way the

human boy never would have, and that had tilted the dream

the wrong way and caused it to self-destruct. The night

mares were very possessive of their dreams; they wanted

none of them getting into the wrong hands. He had given

an erroneous signal and ruined it.

That lovely giantess was gone! Truly, it had become a

bad dream for him, because he would have given anything

Man from Mundania
       
101

to have seen more of her. Where did she live? How had

she come to participate in the dream? How could he find

her?

From that moment his directionless life was over; he

had a quest. He had to find that giantess!

He asked everywhere, but none of the other giants knew

where she might be. None had even heard of her. "Must

be from some other tribe," one said. "After all, she was

visible."

"She was in a dream; the rules are different there,"

Girard pointed out.

"True. Maybe you should inquire in the realm of

dreams."

That seemed like an excellent notion. The realm of

dreams was in the gourd, as everyone knew. Anyone could

enter that realm, merely by looking in the peephole of any

hypnogourd. The problem was that the person could not

leave until some other party interrupted the contact of eye

and peephole. That could become awkward.

Girard considered. He could ask another giant to stand

by and cut off his view into the gourd. But the problem

was that the outside giant could not know when the time

was right; Girard might be on the verge of discovering the

giantess, only to be cut off and never find her again. He

really did not know much about the gourd, so did not

know what rules operated. Maybe there was some way to

break the contact from inside, so that it would be under

his own control. He decided that since he would rather die

than be without the giantess, he might as well take the risk

of dying in order to make the best possible search for her.

He went to a private forest that had a glade where a

hypnogourd plant grew. He lay down on his stomach be-

tween the trees, wriggling to fit, and propped his chin next

to the gourd. He moved the gourd around until the peep-

hole was about to come into view. Then, chin still

propped, he closed his eyes and set the gourd firmly in

place.

He opened his eyes. One eye found the peephole.

102 Man from Mundania

He was inside the gourd. He knew it was only his soul

self, not his physical body, but he felt the same, and would

not have known better had he not known better.

He was in a jungle. The trees were so big that they were

slightly taller even than himself, and that was certainly the

tipoff that this was not the real land of Xanth. They were

solid, too; as hard as rock maple, by the feel of their

trunks, or ironwood. It hadn't occurred to him that any-

thing in the dream realm could be that solid, but obviously

it was.

Something tickled his bare toes. He looked down and

saw that giant vines were curling over them. They looked

like krakan weed tentacles, with big suckers. A sucker

clamped onto a toe with a slurping sound.

There was pain. It took a while to travel all the way

from his toe to his head, but it was authoritative when it

arrived. "Youch!" he bellowed.

In response, another sucker clamped on, with another

slurp. They were sucking his blood!

Girard didn't have to stand for that! He bent down and

pinched the first vine between his fingers, pulling it off his

toe. But it refused to let go. The sucker sucked so tightly

that it threatened to rip the skin off with it. After a mo-

ment, doubled pain reached Girard's brain: it hurt to pull

on that vine!

Meanwhile, more were rustling in, their suckers quest-

ing for firm flesh. Soon his feet would be food for the

vines, and he would be unable to stop it because it hurt

too much to pull them off!

Girard reacted as giants do: he lifted his free foot and

stomped. The vines caught below it were squished flat.

They wriggled a moment, then expired.

He stomped again, this time right beside his caught foot.

"Take that, sucker!" he cried.

A few more stomps flattened all the vines around him.

The suckers, deprived of their stems, lost suction and fell

away, to be stomped in turn. It served them right.

Giraid walked on. He wondered whether the giantess—

he thought of her as Gina, because that was the way she

had looked in the dream—had come this way and been

Man from Mundania
       
103

trapped and forced to work for the night mares in the bad

dreams. If so, he was on the right track.

He came to a great halfway flat plain. Ahead of him a

cloud formed, expanding rapidly. It was an ugly cloud,

with mean curlicues at its edges and a droll gray face.

He recognized that cloud! It was Cumulo Fracto Nim-

bus, the worst freak of nature in Xanth. Fracto termed

himself the King of Clouds, but he was just hot air, always

up to mischief.

Fracto formed a mouth and blew out a blast of wind.

Hot air? This was freezing! Girard stepped back, shiver-

ing. But Fracto followed, blasting him with sleet-laden

gales. Snow swirled around him, turning his skin purple

with cold. Soon he would be frozen by the ill wind!

Again, Girard reacted as a giant should. He inhaled

hugely, then blew out a blast of his own. He blew that

cloud topsy-turvy; Fracto's bulbous misty face turned up-

side down.

Fracto was so angry that lightning bolts shot out of his

bottom. But they did no harm, because his nether side was

aiming at the sky. A few incoming sunbeams were dislo-

cated, to their great annoyance, but that was all.

Before Practo could right himself, Girard blew again.

This time the cloud was sent rolling across the sky with

the sound of infuriated thunder. Girard kept blowing until

the cloud was out of sight. So much for that nuisance!

He walked on. He hoped Gina had not been frozen by

the cloud. Women were less blowhardy than men, so she