“Otherwise we would have done so eons ago,” Fire agreed, removing her own glove just long enough to let a jet of fire out.
“Not even in a dream?” Harried asked.
“Dreams go only so far,” Water said. “They lack sufficient substance.”
“And gods are not good dreamers,” Fire said.
“But we’re dreaming now,” Harriet said.
“Your dreams are supported by substance,” Fire said. “That makes a difference.”
I could see it. Our dreams reflected our realities, while the gods’ dreams, even to the modest extent they could dream, did not. Their realities would destroy each other, while ours would not. There were indeed limits to dreams.
At some point our surroundings had changed; I had been too distracted by the sights just above us to notice before. We were now in a grassy glade.
I still had no idea how to save the Cloud. “About the picnic,” I said. “We forgot to bring sandwiches, cider, cookies—”
“Crumbs, ants,” Henrietta added.
A huge picnic basket appeared, the gift of a god. Harriet opened it and took out sandwiches, a jug of cider, and a jar of chocolate chip cookies. Then she turned it over to dump out the crumbs, and a swarm of ants appeared to carry them away.
“Cups,” I added belatedly. “Hot dogs. A little campfire.”
These things appeared. We roasted dogs on sticks while Henrietta happily pecked up crumbs and ants. It was a great little picnic. And I still had no idea how to save the Cloud.
“The fire is spreading,” Henrietta said.
Indeed, it had sneaked out from its enclosure of stones and was burning the nearest dry grass. It occurred to me that fire was not so much a thing but a process; it converted organic materials to ashes, generating heat in that process. Just as life, another process, converted organic materials to poop. The two had a certain fundamental similarity.
And the idea came to me in a flash of genius, as Water unstoppered his arm and issued a splash to douse the errant flames, while Fire winced. I knew how to save the Cloud.
But would the others accept it? I suspected they would not. Better not to argue the case, lest they convince me I was mistaken. I was none too sure of it myself.
“I’ve seen that look before,” Harriet said. “You got an idea.”
“I did, but it’s tricky to explain,” I said. “Trust me.”
“I do, but we won’t be able to help you implement it if you don’t tell us what it is,” she pointed out.
I shifted the subject. “Fire, Water, you know that you need the Cloud to survive, to use as a setting for your, um, tryst. But the other gods need to have a say in it too, lest, say, Air decides to abolish the Cloud on his own. Would Air and Earth be amenable to a similar arrangement as, um, ours?”
“Actually, yes,” Fire said. “Air is a lusty male who heats me with his breath, to my annoyance, and Earth is a passionate female. But they have no better chance to get together than we do. He lacks sufficient solidity, while she has too much.” She reconsidered. “Than we did.”
“But if they had appropriate hosts, they could,” I said. “Such as the giants. The king, Topsy, Sydelle.”
“Oh, they could,” Harriet agreed. “The king and Topsy will surely agree.”
“You forget that the king is the love slave of Sydelle,” Henrietta reminded her. “He’ll want her to be the host.”
“To which she’ll be only moderately keen,” Harriet agreed. “She’d rather have Topsy do it.”
“Maybe they can take turns,” I said. “Sydelle should be willing the first time, knowing that it’s to secure the continuing welfare of the Cloud and that it’s not really him, but the God of Air borrowing his body. Then Topsy gets him for lesser events. He should be willing to make that sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice!” Harriet snorted. “Him and his harem.”
I gave her a straight look. “And your point is?”
“Oh, fudge,” she muttered, not arguing the case.
“So let’s get Air and Earth here,” I said. “So we can make the case to them.”
Fire emitted another spark and Water a drop, signaling the other gods. A miniature cloud appeared, forming into a wild looking man, and a floating pebble grew into a rock and then a small boulder, becoming a solidly formed woman with hair like an evergreen forest and breasts like conic volcanoes.
“Clothing,” Harriet and I said almost together.
The man conjured a loincloth that concealed very little and the woman bra and panties that actually enhanced her plush torso. That would have to do.
There were quick introductions, and more cider to be shared. Air and Earth seemed to be more interested in each other than in the setting.
“We know that it is Fire’s turn to take over the realm,” I said. “But we would like to delay that transition for a godly moment, say a thousand mortal years. There are things that can be done on the Cloud that you might appreciate.”
Air and Earth looked at me as if seeing me for the first time.
“Such as borrowing Cloud-borne hosts for a bit of interaction without risking mutual destruction,” I continued. “You, Air, might infuse the king, and you, Earth, the Sorcerness Sydelle, and come together to do what comes naturally. Their two bodies, being natural to the Cloud, can interact without dire consequences. Do you take my meaning?”
Air looked at Earth, who inhaled. They took my meaning.
“But only if the Cloud is not soon destroyed by the approaching Fire Tornado. So we all have an interest in postponing the changeover, don’t we,” I concluded.
They nodded. They were on board.
“Now all we have to do is stop the Tornado,” Henrietta said.
They all looked at me. “Um, yes,” I agreed. “It is time for me to talk to it directly. Fire, can you convey me there without my being cremated on the way?”
“In this inset dream, yes, I think,” Fire said. “Not in the main dream.”
“You think?” Harriet demanded. “You’re not sure?”
“Well, the Tornado is untethered, and I no longer control it. But a cautious approach should be safe, at least briefly.”
“This will do,” I said firmly.
“I’m going too,” Harriet said.
“But Harriet—”
“If you’re going to risk incineration, I’m doing it with you.”
“I like this woman,” Fire murmured. “She has a fiery spirit.”
“I like this man,” Water said. “He’s firm where required.”
I yielded. “If you insist.”
“And malleable where required,” Earth said. “Like molten lava.”
“If his notion isn’t just hot air,” Air said.
That was the rub. I couldn’t afford time to think about it. “Let’s go.”
Fire reached out and took each of us by the hand. Bearable heat flared around us.
We were in deep space, cruising toward the Fire Tornado. The closer it came, the worse it looked. This was sheer incendiary ferocity, hungry to consume anything it touched. Which was okay; I was counting on that hunger, turned to my purpose.
We hovered as close as was feasible before the whirling wall. I reached out with my mind. FIRE TORNADO!
What answered was not thought so much as destructive passion. The thing did not seem to have a mind so much as an urge to consume. This was not a good sign.
I tried again. I HAVE SOMETHING FOR YOU!
This time I got a more coherent answer. FUEL?
Still not good. But I kept trying. A CONCEPT. FORM SOME MIND SO YOU CAN UNDERSTAND.
The thing obliged, to an extent. WHO CARES ABOUT CONCEPT? I’M HUNGRY.
YOU CARE, I insisted. WHAT YOU CONSUME, YOU DESTROY, AND THEN IT’S GONE. YOU WANT MORE.
I DO?
YOU DO, I insisted. One advantage of a primitive mind was that it could be directed, at least to an extent. YOU WANT SOMETHING THAT WILL ENDURE BEYOND THE FIRST CONSUMPTION. THAT WILL NOT LEAVE YOU
WITH MERE ASHES. YOU WANT POSITIVE INTERACTION INSTEAD OF NEGATIVE.
But it was too much for this largely mindless force to assimilate. GO AWAY.
Harriet came to my rescue. LIKE THIS. She reached out, took hold of me, brought me close, and kissed me passionately. I thought my head would float off, but fortunately I didn’t have a real head at the moment. Still, she definitely kissed something, and the joy of it radiated out from us. What a smooch!
And the Tornado reacted. I LIKE THIS.
We had shown it the joy of positive emotion.
Now for the closure. INSTEAD OF EMPLOYING THE DESTRUCTIVE PROCESS, TRY THE LIFE PROCESS. THAT WILL ENABLE YOU TO FEEL THIS. I kissed Harriet now, letting the emotion spread outward freely.
But the Tornado didn’t understand. HOW?
WHEN YOU INTERSECT THE CLOUD, DO NOT BURN IT. ANIMATE IT. THEN FEELING WILL COME. I hoped.
The Tornado considered. TOO COMPLICATED. But it was intrigued; we had shown it something it wanted.
“We’ll have to show it at the time,” Harriet said. “Provide it a pattern to emulate. Guide it until it gets the notion.”
“How?” I asked, perplexed.
Then I saw her blush. We had no proper bodies, but there it was. Oh.
Well, now, Fire thought.
We returned to the picnic site. The Tornado followed us like a hungry dog. Contact was incipient. Meanwhile I reached out mentally to Sydelle, back in the larger dream, updating her on her role. She was not totally pleased, but she understood the necessity.
“Get with the giants!” I told Air and Earth. “Infuse them. You know what to do then.” The two gods faded out.
“Our turn,” Fire said. She dissolved into a flame and merged with Harriet, who wasn’t burned.
Water dissolved into a floating splash and soaked me. Then he was inside me, one with my flesh. The sensation was weird but not actually unpleasant; there was all the surging power of the sea in him.
Meanwhile the Tornado caught up with the edge of the Cloud. “Now!” I exclaimed, and we dived for Harriet/Fire.
It started with kissing and progressed rapidly. I knew that Air and Earth were doing the same thing, in the larger dream. And I felt the Tornado picking up on it, emulating the feeling. Life, rather than death. Creation rather than destruction. Joy rather than pain. Instead of burning up the Cloud material, it was infusing it, animating it. The Cloud was coming to life. So was the Tornado. They were merging.
Then we launched into the climax, and the potent wonder of it suffused the universe. The emotional effulgence obliterated everything else. Nothing existed but the absolute pleasure of the union.
Moments or eternities later we drifted out of it. We were back on the Cloud, having transcended the inset dream. I was soaked in sweat, and Harriet was glowing, but we were sated for the moment. The two gods, their business done, had vacated. They would return in a month for more.
And the Cloud beneath us was quietly pulsing. It was no longer inanimate, but a living thing. As was the erstwhile Tornado within it. Destruction had been avoided. Of course it would take time for the gods and mortals to train the Cloud, to educate it, so that it could achieve full consciousness and self direction, to be all that it could be, but that was a project for the morrow. Right now was just satisfaction. Doom had been averted.
Then I heard something. It was Henrietta, evidently talking to the Cloud. “Yes, of course I’ll fill you in on your history, as far as I can fathom it, which is pretty far. You need to assimilate your past so you can progress to your future.”
So the hen had found an important continuing job. Good enough.
“It was a genius idea,” Harriet murmured.
“You helped,” I said.
“You talk too much.” She kissed me again.
And the cloud, picking up on the joy on its surface, pulsed with pleasure.
Chapter 27:
The Ball
CLOUD, I thought, reaching out with my mind. WHERE IS THE BEST LOCATION FOR OUR NEW WELL?
I stood with our children, Jack Jr. and Jill, fraternal twins, although one would never know it. Jill was at least six inches taller than her brother and already showing signs of puberty. Jack Jr. was scrawny and small for his size. In fact, he looked a lot like me at that age.
GO LEFT, JACK OF NEW YORK, said a whispery voice just inside my ear.
“He’s doing it again,” said Jack Jr. “Talking to the Cloud again.”
“I think he’s just talking to himself,” giggled Jill, and now they both laughed.
“You shouldn’t talk to your father that way,” said Harriet, coming up the hill behind us. “He might lose his train of thought when he’s talking to himself.”
Now the kids and my wife giggled uncontrollably.
CLOUD, I thought, CAN YOU HELP ME HERE?
WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE?
A RUMBA SEEMS APPROPRIATE.
A RUMBA IT IS!
And with that, the hill started shaking, but not too violently. The kids squealed, and so did Harriet.
“You did that, dad!” said Jack Jr.
I laughed. “I and the voices inside my head will never talk.”
Harriet laughed and now so did I. The Cloud, who was just beginning to grasp humor, tried a few chuckles, but mostly they sounded like hiccups.
KEEP WORKING AT IT, CLOUD, I thought.
I AM, EVERY DAY WITH HENRIETTA. BUT HER HUMOR IS...FOR THE BIRDS?
VERY GOOD, CLOUD. THAT WAS FUNNY.
THANK YOU. NOW TAKE FIVE MORE STEPS...THERE. STOP. YOU ARE AT AN IDEAL LOCATION FOR YOUR NEXT WELL.
THANK YOU, CLOUD. I CAN TAKE IT FROM HERE.
VERY WELL.
I put a stake in the ground where indicated as Harriet came up next to me, sliding an arm around my waist. I pulled her in close and we surveyed our land together. We truly lived in paradise, along with other humans who had chosen the same route, even if temporarily. Indeed, many human transients came and went. Some staying a week, others for many months. Not all, of course, had the means to live permanently as we did. But we had Carl who oversaw our sleeping bodies back on earth, in an estate purchased with Henrietta’s gold. A small team of nurses checked on us, turning us over, keeping us healthy and alive, so that Harriet and I could live in peace, here in paradise.
The same couldn’t be said for Joe West. Yes, he’d gone back to New York with more of Henrietta’s gold, but, according to Carl, he’d gotten himself involved in another scheme and was currently serving time. Occasionally we saw a dragon flying overhead, and we knew that it was Joe, here in the Cloud...anything to escape the drudgery of his prison cell, even if for a few days. I didn’t miss him; I felt that he had not contributed as much to our effort as the rest of us had. We had never actually needed the support of a ferocious dragon, as it turned out. But that was hindsight; at the time Joe had seemed like a good investment. That was, of course, his specialty: to seem, if not to be.
Now, with my arm over Harriet’s shoulder, I looked down the sloping hill to the verdant valley below, where the chimney in our stone cottage puffed smoke and our giant sheep and even bigger cows roamed mostly free. Our gardens were ripening, sprouting giant tomatoes, squash and berries, and Harriet’s flower beds were blooming. Yes, Spring was in the air.
We still had our monthly rendezvous with the gods, safely away from the children, but didn’t mind because that was the fair price of our continuing paradise. It wasn’t as though we did anything with them that we didn’t do on our own, and we knew they really appreciated it. Sometimes they even stayed to listen to Harriet’s harp playing; she had become quite good with practice, and loved it. I would dance my jig then, liking to think I had improved similarly as a dancer. The children thought we separated from them for that hour to avoid their candid comments on our musical and dancing abilities, and we did not see fit to disabuse them.
The castle shimmered in the far distance, where Sydelle had proven to be a fair and competent ruler. The previous king, of course, gave h
er his best counsel, all while he comically waited for any loving scraps she might hand his way. A kiss on the cheek here, a smile there. It was enough to keep him satisfied, such was the power of the love spell.
“If we don’t hurry,” said Harriet, “we will be late to the ball.”
“We are in no rush,” I said.
“But the ball is at dusk, and it’s many hours ride to the castle.” And then it hit her. She turned me toward her, excited. “Carl is coming.”
“But of course,” I said. Like other transient humans, Carl made it a habit to spend a week with us here and there.
“Uncle Carl’s coming?” gasped Jack Jr. behind us, overhearing us.
“Sure he’s coming,” Jill said knowingly. “He’s got a thing for the Queen’s little sister, Auntie Selle, even though she’s a giant. She likes him too. She makes herself seem his size, sometimes when they’re alone.”
“Oh?” Harriet asked, surprised.
“Yes, Uncle Carl is—” But that was all I could get out. Both kids squealed with delight, grabbing hands and running down the hill recklessly toward our cottage home.
“Careful!” shouted Harriet after them. “You’ll fall down and break—”
“Don’t say it,” I groaned.
“Neck,” said Harriet. “I was going to say neck.”
But we both laughed anyway. My wife had, of course, always wanted to name her daughter Jill. And I had always wanted a boy named after me. Nursery rhymes and fairy tales were alive and well here on the Cloud.
“You could say that again,” said Harriet.
“I didn’t,” I said. “I thought it.”
“Well, same thing,” she said, “here on the Cloud.”
I nodded and held my wife a bit longer, soaking in the beauty, the peace, and reveling in the joy of living here, far away from bosses, time cards and traffic. We had achieved our salvation without the need for our powerful but obscure third talents, whatever they were. Maybe those were for some other adventure.