Rem World

by Rodman Philbrick

  The hatchlings were all racing for the darkest part of the cavern. They were heading for the thundering approach of something very large indeed. It was all Arthur and Morf could do to hang on. They tried to steer by grabbing the stubby wings, but it was no use. No matter what they did, the stampede was carrying them directly into danger.

  Before long, Arthur realized he’d been wrong about heading for the darkest part of the cavern. As they got closer, he saw that the huge dark patch was actually a giant creature—the mother boron. She was stamping her tremendous claws, causing the ground to shake. When she flapped her immense wings, dozens of little borons spun like leaves in the wind.

  Arthur crouched as low as he could, praying the huge beast wouldn’t spot him in the dim light. Suddenly they were in the worst place possible: right under the mother boron. Her great clawed feet came slashing down. Each of the claws were as big around as Arthur, and he came two inches from being crushed.

  The first claw missed him, but the borons they were riding fell down in confusion, and Arthur quickly rolled along the ground, avoiding the other claw. It just missed him, and then he was up and running.

  He looked down and saw Morf beside him, keeping up as if it were no effort at all. “We made it! What’s next?”

  “Keep going!”

  And so they ran into the darkness for as long and as hard as they could. By the time Arthur had to stop and catch his breath, the stampeding borons were far behind them.

  “I wish I had a flashlight,” Arthur lamented. It was very, very dark. “I don’t suppose you know where we are?”

  “Haven’t got a clue,” said Morf. “Obviously, we’re underground.”

  “Obviously.”

  Arthur decided to explore by putting his hands out, and cautiously he walked from side to side. After bumping into a couple of hard surfaces, he could tell that they were in some sort of large tunnel.

  “Well,” he said. “We can’t go back to the boron nest. So there’s really only one direction left.”

  “Forward?” asked Morf.

  “Forward,” said Arthur, leading the way.

  They walked in the dark tunnel for a very long time.

  · · ·

  After many hours of trudging along, Arthur detected a faint light far, far ahead of them. He and Morf hurried toward it.

  At first the faint light seemed to recede as they approached, so that it never got any closer. This was frustrating, and Arthur concluded it must be a mirage of some kind.

  “Ridiculous,” scoffed Morf. “Mirages don’t happen underground.”

  “Yeah? How do you know?” Arthur asked. He was tired and hungry, and that put him in an argumentative mood.

  “It’s just something I know,” said Morf evasively.

  “Well,” sniffed Arthur, “I think you’re the one who’s being ridiculous.”

  “Double the same to you,” said Morf.

  “Oh, yeah?” said Arthur. “Maybe I’ll ask you to change into a glazed doughnut, and then I’ll eat you in three bites.”

  Morf stopped in his tracks and folded his little arms. “I demand an apology.”

  Arthur ignored him. “Follow me,” he finally said. “I think the light is getting closer.”

  Morf stood his ground.

  “Oh, all right,” Arthur said. “I apologize. Can we go now?”

  Morf began walking again. “Just for your information,” he said, “I can’t morph into an inanimate object.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked you to do that, really,” Arthur said, and he meant it. Still, the thought of a glazed doughnut made his stomach feel incredibly empty. To take his mind off being hungry, he decided to ask Morf a question that had been nagging at him. “We came through the place called Vydel’s Mouth, right? So who is Vydel?”

  Morf was shocked. “You flew into Vydel’s Mouth without knowing?”

  Arthur shrugged. “I never thought to ask.”

  Morf shook his head in wonder. “Vydel is a demon. He’s the Demon of all Demons, and Lord of the World Below. Legends say that he has three heads, and each one is uglier than the next.”

  “Legends?” Arthur asked. “You mean he’s not real?”

  “No one knows,” Morf said. “Maybe we’ll find out.”

  “I hope not.”

  When Arthur looked up, the light ahead was no longer faint, and it was much, much closer. Strangely enough, the light seemed to be making a noise.

  It sounded very much like water.

  THE SOUND OF water grew louder and louder, until it was a roaring river. And that is exactly what Arthur and Morf discovered when at last they came to the end of the tunnel.

  The light they’d seen was the river itself, for the water glowed, as if the river and sunlight somehow had been combined. And yet there was no sun, not this far under the world.

  “Weird,” Arthur said as they stared at the river, which flowed off into the darkness like a glowing ribbon of light. It was strange, yes, and somehow wonderful, too.

  “This must be the River Under the World,” Morf said, sounding more than a little amazed. “I always thought it was just another legend.”

  The water was fast-moving, and each eddy and swirl glowed brightly. The River Under the World was wide—so wide, they couldn’t see to the other side.

  “I suppose you could change into a fish and swim across,” Arthur said, “but I can’t. Any ideas?”

  Before Morf could think of an answer, a voice came out of the water. “Pay the toll,” it said.

  Arthur jumped back, startled. Was it possible that the river itself was talking?

  The voice spoke again. “Pay the toll,” it said, quite peevishly. “Pay the toll, and you can ride to the end of the river, or to the end of the world, whichever comes first.”

  Working up his courage, Arthur peered over the edge of the riverbank. There, just below him, a strange-looking old man was immersed up to his neck in the glowing water.

  “Who are you?” Arthur asked.

  The old man stared at him as if trying to decide whether he intended to answer. “I’m Mr. Pockets,” he finally said. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “What are you doing in the water?” Arthur asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” the old man said grouchily. “I’m fishing.”

  Grumbling to himself, Mr. Pockets climbed out of the water and onto the riverbank. His many pockets were full of wriggling fish. As the water dripped away, the old man removed a small fish from one of his pockets, examined it briefly, popped it into his mouth, and swallowed the fish in one gulp. “What are you staring at?” Mr. Pockets frowned at Arthur. “You’d think the boy never saw anyone fishing, staring like that.”

  Arthur was so astonished that he couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “I’m the Official Toll Keeper for the River Under the World,” said Mr. Pockets with great dignity. “If you wish to cross the river, you will have to pay the toll.”

  “This is rotten luck,” Arthur muttered. “I don’t have any money. Do you have any money, Morf?”

  Morf shook his head.

  “Money?” said Mr. Pockets. “Did I say anything about money?”

  “But you said we had to pay the toll,” Arthur said, confused.

  “Toll, yes. But payment can be in any of several forms.” Mr. Pockets spoke as if reciting from a rule book. “A payment is a transaction, meaning that you, the Customer, give me, the Official Toll Keeper, something of value. Which could be almost anything,” he added.

  The only thing that Arthur had that might be remotely valuable was the mysterious wristwatch loaned to him by Galump, and there was no way he could give that away, not for anything.

  “But I don’t have anything of value,” he said helplessly. “Not that I can trade.”

  “Absolute nonsense,” Mr. Pockets said. He harrumphed in disgust. “Everyone has something of value. Think. What do you have that I do not?”

  While he waited for an answer, the Toll Kee
per absentmindedly reached into his pockets and munched on a few fish. It was very disconcerting for Arthur to try to talk with a man who had a small fishtail poking out of the corner of his mouth.

  What do I have that Mr. Pockets does not? Arthur racked his brains but couldn’t think of a thing.

  “Well? What do you have that I do not?” Mr. Pockets repeated.

  “No idea,” Arthur finally said, feeling defeated.

  “No? Absolutely none? You haven’t even got one idea? Because,” he hinted, “an idea is something of value.” As he waited for a reply, Mr. Pockets made urgent signals with his hands, indicating that he was giving clues to Arthur, and he expected the boy to make the most of it.

  “Oh!” said Arthur. “I get it! You mean I can tell you an idea, and that will pay the toll.”

  “Not just any idea,” Mr. Pockets stressed. “An idea of value. An idea that is worth something to me in particular. Something I need to know.”

  Arthur thought, and he thought. He had a number of interesting ideas, many of which involved food. For instance, since milk and cookies tasted so good, why not make a cookie-flavored milk? Instead of chocolate milk, you’d have cookie milk. Use that idea and you’d become a millionaire for sure. But somehow he didn’t think Mr. Pockets would be interested. He was after something else.

  And that’s when Arthur had an idea about an idea, which is in itself a rare and valuable occurrence.

  “I know something that’s very important,” he said triumphantly. “Something you need to know.”

  “Excellent! Wonderful!” cried Mr. Pockets. “Tell me, please!”

  “Here goes,” said Arthur, clearing his throat. “Unless I find my way home, and somehow stop the Nothing from rising, the entire universe will come to an end.”

  In the silence that followed, Mr. Pockets’s eyes seemed about to bug out of his head. Finally he exclaimed, “Extraordinary! That’s the most profound and powerful idea I’ve ever heard. Is it true, by any chance?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Dear me,” said Mr. Pockets. Absentmindedly he began to take wriggling fish from his pockets. He dropped them gently back into the river. “This is really quite exceptional. I was expecting an idea like ‘Brush your teeth, or you’ll get cavities,’ and here you’ve given me news that the universe may soon be ending. How did it happen?”

  Arthur explained as much as he could of his unexpected journey to REM World. How because he hadn’t read the instructions and forgot to bring his helmet he was in two places at once, which was impossible but nevertheless true, and that’s how the Nothing had found a way through a crack into the universe, and if Arthur didn’t get back to his basement and stop it somehow, before long Everything would be Nothing.

  “And you say the Cloud People advised you to go through Vydel’s Mouth to find your way home?”

  “Yes. But all we had to go on was some old legend.”

  “Hmmm,” said Mr. Pockets. “Legends can be useful. A legend is just an idea with a story attached, you know. In this case, they almost had it right. ‘Through Vydel’s Mouth’ is simply a variation on ‘From Vydel’s Mouth.’”

  “What do you mean?” Arthur asked in alarm.

  “I mean if you want to know how to find your way home, you should ask Vydel himself.”

  “But the legends say Vydel is a demon!”

  Mr. Pockets rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say Vydel was a nice person, did I? As a matter of fact, he’s not a person at all. He’s a great many things, and one of them is a very bad and evil demon. But the point is, Vydel knows almost everything there is to know. And you’re allowed to ask him one question. If he considers your question interesting, he’ll answer.”

  “What if he doesn’t consider the question interesting?”

  Mr. Pockets shrugged. “Then you’re dead,” he said. “Or worse.”

  “What could be worse than dead?” Arthur asked hesitantly.

  “Believe me,” said Mr. Pockets, “that’s something you really don’t want to know.”

  “YOU’D BETTER BE on your way,” Mr. Pockets advised. “I’ll provide my finest conveyance.”

  “Conveyance?” asked Arthur, who had never heard the word before.

  “A means of getting from here to there,” said Mr. Pockets. “In this case, a rather splendid raft.”

  The raft looked anything but splendid. It consisted of a pair of logs strapped on either side of two upright barrels. The tops were cut off from the barrels so that the passengers stood inside them, which meant if you were Arthur’s size, your head and shoulders were barely above the surface of the water.

  “The river goes to the end of the world and beyond,” Mr. Pockets explained, once he had Arthur and Morf situated in the barrel raft. “I’ve never actually been that far myself, but I’ve heard some interesting tales about what you’ll find when you get there.”

  “Um, what sort of tales?” Arthur asked with concern.

  “Best you discover that on your own,” said Mr. Pockets. “All I know for sure is that you’ll find Vydel in the place called Beyond.”

  “I’m not sure I want to meet this Vydel demon, or whatever he is,” said Arthur. “He sounds frightening and terrible.”

  But the raft was already moving into the current, and Mr. Pockets was standing on the riverbank waving farewell. “Best of luck, Arthur Courage!” he called out. “You’ll need it!”

  “How do you think he knew my name?” Arthur asked Morf, who was sitting on the rim of his barrel.

  “Maybe he found it in one of his pockets,” Morf said, and then he began grooming his tail as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Arthur didn’t have time to ponder the mystery of how Mr. Pockets knew he’d been named Courage, because the raft was gaining speed, sweeping them out into the middle of the glowing waters.

  The river flowed through a gigantic cavern, and the light from the water illuminated it. Stalactites loomed from above like huge icicles frozen in stone. The effect was beautiful, in a frightening sort of way, because Arthur knew that if a stalactite broke loose, it would probably sink their little raft.

  “I wonder how long it will take to get there,” he said, for he was very anxious about Vydel and wanted to be done with the journey.

  “That’s easy,” Morf piped up. “It will take exactly as long as it takes, and not a moment more.”

  “You’re no help.”

  “I’m too busy worrying to be helpful,” said Morf, although, as usual, he didn’t look remotely worried or concerned.

  “What are you worried about?”

  “Are you kidding? What am I not worried about?” Morf shrugged. “Okay, for starters, I’m worried about why the river glows. There has to be a reason, and I’ll bet it isn’t a good one.”

  · · ·

  The answer came an hour or so later, and by that time Arthur had fallen asleep, lulled by the rush of the water and the gentle bobbing of the barrel raft.

  “Uh-oh,” said Morf, and that was enough to bring Arthur instantly awake.

  Directly ahead of them, a glowing fin had appeared on the surface. Almost immediately after, another fin appeared directly behind it, and then another and another.

  “S-s-sharks,” said Arthur in a voice so small, it could barely be heard.

  But they were not shark fins, as they soon discovered, because a huge head lifted from the water. Connected to the head was a very long neck, and it soon became apparent that all of the fins belonged to the same animal, and they ran along its back like plates of armor.

  It was a kind of giant river serpent, and it glowed so brightly that it made the whole river shine with eerie light. Or rather it was one of a number of glowing river serpents, because a series of heads soon lifted from the water until the raft was surrounded on all sides by the silent and mysterious creatures.

  “What do we do now?” Arthur whispered, loud enough for Morf to hear.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” said Morf. “Besides,
I’m not sure they mean us any harm.”

  Indeed, the river serpents seemed to be carefully avoiding the raft, as if they knew their undulating tails might be dangerous to a craft so small and fragile. The serpents swam in magnificent silence, as if escorting the little raft was their solemn duty.

  Which, as it turned out, was exactly what they were doing.

  “Maybe they know why you’re here,” Morf suggested.

  “How would they know that?”

  “It could be they were listening when you told Mr. Pockets about the Nothing.”

  It was a reasonable explanation, but Arthur was never to know for sure because the serpents did not speak. They formed a silent convoy, accompanying the raft but keeping a respectful distance, and their gleaming bodies were so bright, it was like being surrounded by sinuous pillars of daylight.

  If there were any other creatures in the river—creatures who might threaten the little barrel raft—they were obviously not willing to risk swimming among the huge sea serpents.

  “We should have asked Mr. Pockets for some food,” Arthur said as they drifted along. “I’m so hungry, I’d almost be willing to eat a fish.”

  “Maybe Vydel will invite us to supper,” said Morf.

  “Maybe he’ll have us for supper,” Arthur replied.

  The prospect of being eaten was once again such a real possibility that neither of them spoke for some time. Meanwhile the raft continued to flow with the river, surrounded by the glowing serpents, and gradually the dark, foreboding landscape of the eerie underground cavern began to change.

  The River Under the World became narrower, and faster. The raft picked up speed. The waters became choppy, and soon the barrel raft was bobbing violently.

  “Hang on!” Arthur cried. “Rapids!”

  “It’s rapid, all right,” Morf said, clinging to his barrel.

  Arthur was less fearful when he realized that the river serpents were protecting them from the worst parts of the rapids. They guided the raft through swirls and currents and helped the raft avoid the large, pointed rocks that reared up like miniature islands.