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1No-cu-lus the Cyclops
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19By Christopher (CS) Mathias
20No-cu-lus The Cyclops
21	Isn’t it fascinating how the most pleasant action in the world, which we call sleeping, fits alongside the sound of a loud, tremendously-horrid chainsaw? When in the delightful world of dreams, husbands are accustomed to kill the atmosphere of silence in the bed with the sound of dying cow, a most unpleasant noise which destroys the wife’s beauty sleep. It is also a fascinating thing, dreams. Yet we know so little about them, other than they can be really enjoyable, or very, very scary. It’s like watching tv in bed, except it can be as embarrassing as it wants because no one else is watching. If one has nightmares about going out to the supermarket in one’s underwear, at least your dream can’t be intruded upon. But truly, how do they form? Where do they begin? Well, if my reader would stop asking so many silly questions and start listening, I would be able to tell them!!!
22	Sy Se-Sa-Su-So Sycordus Symapsimus Synowherinlificus dragged himself down Sytough Lane toward his house. School had torn his smile off with its sinister hands on that warm Spring day in Sycalm Hamlet. It is not that Sy was one of those boys who counted down the minutes until recess and the end of school while shooting spitballs in everyone’s faces; in fact, he very much enjoyed learning about the great decisive battles of history and how 3+2=1. It’s my annoying eye, he thought. If only I didn’t have to wear this glass. Maybe school would change. Maybe life would change…Suddenly encouraged, he burst into song: “(come up with better song!!!)”
23	“The biggest change I want to see is fivelops, No-cu-lus.” Sy gulped and cautiously turned around. That voice he knew all too well. The monumental cyclops standing in front of him had been the bully of EyeLearn Elementary School (no pun intended) for three years now. He should have graduated those three years ago but had failed to wrap his mind around the concept of addition (or anything other than skating down the street on a syteboard, for that matter). His name was Bullclub, a very fitting name, since his fist felt like a cross between a wooden mallet and a raging male member of the cattle family. He probably just wants the fivelops for some sykirf, Sy thought. For any of those readers out there who still don’t know what lops are, they are the currency used by cyclopes, much as humans use dollars or euros, and like cents, cyclopes use scales. Sykirf is the closest thing cyclopes have to candy, though it is literally the equivalent of sugar powdered rocks. Cyclopes lack the intelligence we have. If we use 1% of our brains, they use the same amount of intelligence with 80% of their brain power.
24	Meanwhile, Sy moaned inwardly. Fivelops. He did not have fivelops. All he had was twolops and seventy-five scales left of his original fourclops and fifty scales. Sy racked his pathetic brain, searching for a solution to this tight trap. His wonderings took him to glance at the Suffering Sphere, white against the blackened sky. He thought about the yarns he had heard from human beings about that planet, their homeland, where great strife reigned. It always reminded him that life here wasn’t so bad; and then the warm glow which radiated from the land of Magiterra (in place of a sun) gave the witless boy a bit of hope. Hope to be crushed. Unfortunately for our hero, it came down to his routine path of escape.
25	“Look, uh, Bullclub…I only have twolops and seventy-five scales, but I could throw in a wash of your hands, hair, nose, ears, and even your syteboard!” He tried to sound as positive as possible about this suggestion. Bullclub sat there for a moment, considering whether to command his gang members, Redpits and Disgunken, to butt-crush the young creature or not.
26	“Ok, you have yourself a deal, No-cu-lus. But only this once, ya understand?” He threatened routinely.
27	“Of course, Bullclub.” Sy sighed. “And while I’m at it, I’ll wash Redpits’ and Disgunken’s syteboards, too.”
28	“Ya took the words right out of my mouth,” Bullclub growled in disappointment. He hated when others stole his rare slightly intelligent words.
29	One would think it strange that Sy was going to take body soap and cleaner to wash the three bullies and their vehicles. Yet it was worse than one would think. It has already been mentioned that cyclopes are not terribly bright. In their “scientific studies,” they have missed the important fact that germs are in a cyclops’ mouth. They have never discovered soap. Further, they think water’s only purpose is for drinking. Without these scraps of knowledge, they have concluded tongues, and tongues alone, to be sanitary tools.
30	So now you can picture our poor hero Sy, up on tippy-toes, licking bugs out of Redpits’ ears. After his humiliating task of rubbing away his taste buds on oily syteboards, the presently pessimistic Sy lugged his pal Sykick out of the bushes.
31	“Good job out there.” Sykick said, patting his friend on the back with a hand quivering faster than a humming bird’s wings. Sy looked at his comrade.
32	“Syk, I want to prove myself. I want to do something worthwhile, something that might make Bullclub respect me rather than scorn me. Then I could protect both of us, you hearing me?!” He shouted the last phrase as Syk happened to have lost his weak focus over an acorn.
33	“Beautiful one, isn’t it?” He said, oblivious to Sy’s question. And then he began to eat it, chipping off a couple of teeth in the process.
34	“Bad time to eat an acorn. Pay attention, Syk!” Sy exclaimed, though tempted to chew on one of those luscious nuts himself.
35	“Okey-dokey,” the half-listener replied.
36	“How can I prove myself? What can I do?”
37	“Well, Dreamwatchers are the most revered creatures in all of Sycalm Hamlet. If any critter could impress a schoolclops, it would be one of those guys. Oh, these nuts are so nutritious and delicious. How about you sing that ode to acorns you created the other day?”
38	“Wait, what was that you just said?” Sy questioned.
39	“Could you sing about acorns?” Sykick repeated.
40	“No, the other thing.”
41	“Nutritious and delicious?” A boyclops’ intellect is so utterly and hopelessly abandoned by reason that the normal, everyday conversations of Mankind would be as difficult and foreign to him as the writings of the greater thinkers, Irastotle and Oscrates, are to a new, terrified rhetor. Therefore, I believe I will omit the saddening events of the following twenty minutes in which the two schoolmates vigorously attempted to retrace their steps through the dialogue and recover Syk’s words. Finally, it was Sy who announced,
42	“You said, ‘Dreamwatchers are the most revered creatures in all of Sycalm Hamlet.’ Syk! You’re a genius! I’ll become a Dreamwatcher, and then I’ll be cool enough not to be bullied anymore. Best of all, I’ll make a change in this world!” He threw up his arms for emphasis, confidence rushing through his veins.
43	“You should remind my mom that I’m a genius next time I eat all of the stuffing out of her bed on accident,” came the feather-brained response of his reason-lacking friend. He continued, “You can’t just be a Dreamwatcher. You have to be chosen, and how do you expect to be chosen with a glass circle on your face? It may sound mean, but maybe the name ‘No-cu-lus’ implies that you’ll never be a Dreamwatcher. ‘Oculus’ does mean ‘eye’ in Latin, and so–”
44	“I get it.” Sy cut him off, the serpent fangs of those words stinging his cheerful little soul. He knew all too well that the nickname, ‘No-cu-lus,’ was a combination of the Latin for ‘eye’ and the word ‘no.’ It was the cyclopes’ equivalent of the nasty nickname four-eyes. 
45	In indignation at his buddy’s discouraging words, Sy lumbered down Sytough Lane, past the intersection where the trail crossed paths with Sytedcove Road, taking a right on Exsytedream Way. Pausing before a massive stone wall, he beheld the F.D., the “Fortress of Dreams.” He adoringly recalled the tales of these powerful select few, chosen by The Angel to guard mankind’s dreams both day and night. If these heroes spotted an evil Black Wisp, they would summon a Bonseed, a winged warrior the size of a rabbit, which would soar through the air and battle these Black Wisps. The Black Wisps attacked and fed the humans with evil lies, causing war, strife, and disorder. As far as Sy knew, Black Wisps were dark servants of Malus, as they called him, one who wished to destroy the humans who served The Angel. Many conflicts had arisen between Malus and The Angel, sometimes resulting in victory for one side, sometimes the other. But ever the two struggled bitterly. At least, this is what simple little Sy Se-Sa-Su-So Sycordus Symapsimus Synowherinlificus esteemed and believed.
46	The Dreamwatchers did much more than this, however. They would also traffic in the Purple, Red, and White Wisps. Purple meant a light-hearted, playful, joyous dream. These were the most common Wisps. The bubbling of a summer’s brook, golden rays splashing through the trees onto the green grass which seems, altogether, to breathe life into the innermost part of the soul; the rising mirth of children at play, who do not concern themselves with war, taxes, or politics; the moment after one has completed a great amount of labor, and is allowed to sit back and behold it’s splendor; these are the dreams a Purple Wisp weaves. Sy laughed softly to himself, thinking of how much he would enjoy being human for but a few moments in order to soak in one of those.
47	The Red Wisps were not as desired the Purple ones, though just as necessary. These entitled pain, suffering, and rejection. They foretold great agony for the receiver. Not only physical pain, but also spiritual and mental pain would follow. A redemption was found in these dreams, however.
48	The White ones were the rarest of all, and very special too. These spoke to the heart of the recipient of a high and noble adventure they must endure. Usually, the dreamer had to do things he was not comfortable with doing, stretching his skills to the limit. The heroes of old all answered to these dreams when their time was ripe. And one was coming that night, Sy happened to know.
49	Filled with wonder, the young cyclops bounded home, anew with hope of that place in cyclops society. 
50	“Clopsma, how do you know if you’re a Dreamwatcher?” Sy questioned his mother eagerly at the dinner table.
51	“Did you remember to sharpen your teeth and callus your hands last night? Look at those teeth, darling. They’re dull as Mrs. Unieye’s squirrel identification class*! And his hands! Soft as…a smooth stone!”
52	“Yes, honey.” Sy’s “Clopspa” grunted.
53	“Darling, make him fix that right now!” Clopsma huffed.
54	“Yes, clopson,” Clopspa mumbled. “You heard what your clopsma said. Get to it!”
55	“But Clopspa, can you first tell me how you know if The Angel has picked you to be a Dreamwatcher?”
56	“Ok, I’ll tell you, but then promise to do what your clopsma and I told you, understand?”
57	“Oh yes, clopspa!” Sy cried.
58	“Well, I don’t know for certain, not being a Dreamwatcher and all, but I’ve heard that when you find silence, and I mean, utter silence, The Angel himself will lead you to the F.D., and you are enlisted among their number. If, of course, you’re the right one for the job. Isn’t that right, Clopspear?” Clopsma asked her husband.
59	“Yes, of course, your mother is so wonderful, don’t ever contradict her.” Clopspear, whenever his wife had been pushed out of his bubble of awareness, answered in this sort of fashion. Clopsma rolled her eyes.
60	“Wow…” Sy sighed, not hearing his father.
61	“Now, go sharpen those teeth and callus those hands or else no Angel’s going to choose you,” his Clopsma intoned, sighing herself at her husband’s oblivion.
62
63	Determined to maintain a persistent silence, Sy quietly kneeled on his bed before the window, gazing into his clopsma’s peaceful garden. Rumored tales flooded his mind of human esquires fortuitously holding vigils before the day of their knighting. Those men had kept watch over their armor with stout swords. However, Sy only had a hay-woven broomstick. Nevertheless, he kept it close at hand, waiting. The night wore on. Once, Sy mistook a cyclops bearing a lantern for The Angel. Leaping in excitement, he shouted to the wingless toddling creature, who gruffly spat at him and told him to go to sleep. Sy sheepishly knelt back down, discouraged a little yet resolute to stay up all night if necessary.
64	The hours passed slowly. The wind was dead. The nocturnal beasts made no sound. Just as he was about to fall asleep, Sy spied a bright light coming from one of the tulips. Suddenly, a might gust of wind burst upon the startled cyclops. The forcefulness of wind and strength of the light caused the young lad to crouch in a ball of terror. And then the light lessened, enough to permit Sy to squint at the being towering over him. The Angel’s wings were a brilliant white, his wide shoulders undisturbed by their weight. His eyes held a stern, gentle mix of color, his face the solid face of a being who has seen many battles. A great breastplate coated his body, with his cape draping down behind him. Instead of the typical boots of a soldier, he wore sandals. In his right hand, he gripped a magnificent sword made of a metal to brilliant for any mortal to bear. His scabbard clanked at his side as he approached Sy.
65	“Don’t be afraid, Sy,” The Angel said in a calming tone. “And in case you are wondering, you have successfully held a twenty-minute vigil.” He laughed heartily.
66	“Oh.” Sy spoke in a whisper, releasing his tensed body into a more comfortable position. Then his voice rose excitedly once he realized what this meant: “Am I a Dreamwatcher???!!!”
67	“Hold your horses, lad,” The Angel counseled. “I have witnessed the bullying and rejection you have suffered because of your glass. I have paid close attention to your longing to help others, and I have perceived your wise spirit. Yes, Sy, you shall become a Dreamwatcher.” 
68	The words echoed through Sy’s peewee brain. The excitement squirmed through every inch of his body. A Dreamwatcher! Him, Sy Se-Sa-Su-So Sycordus Symapsimus Synowherinlificus, he would herald dreams! What an honor!
69After a moment’s consideration, however, he somberly declared, “But I do not want to become one solely to help others; I also want the glory and respect. I’m terribly foolish. I do not deserve such a position.”
70	“Honest and humble! The signs of a true Dreamwatcher. You must not fret.” The Angel proclaimed this as if he could read Sy’s thoughts. Sy betted he could.
71	“You must fix that vice, then, as you go. For now, come with me.”
72	The Angel carried the broomstick-bearer across the hamlet. Sy was breathless as tree and weather-vane, hill and rooftop, the stars and watchtower, all came and left in a flash.
73	“Wow, it’s so cool that you can fly! What else can you do?”
74	“If I truly wished to, I could have willed that both of us were at F.D., but I suspected the sensation of flying would bring you greater joy.”
75	“Oh. Ok. Well, it sure beats riding in a carriage. Wahoo!” Sy whooped. Like that, they had ceremoniously arrived at the F.D. Cries rang from within.
76“The Angel!” 
77“He’s here!” 
78“Make ready for him!”
79“I wonder if the newcomer will like my famous blueberry stone-tarts?” The drawbridge was lowered, and a very hysterical scene ensued. About twenty or more cyclopes, their bellies jiggling and horns swinging up and down, all attempted, in a disorderly fashion, to greet their master first. As a result, they all collided and toppled on top of each other in a clumsy dog pile. They sprang up immediately after untangling themselves. A short chubby one with red, unkempt hair, evidently the leader, stepped forward. He bowed. At sight of the newcomer, he frowned.
80	“Master, where’s the newbie? Also, why is No-cu-lus up here?” Then tone was sharp like the crack of a whip, and very rushed. When Sy began to flare at the mention of that hurtful nickname, The Angel held out an arm.
81	“Darweed, have I not taught you to show respect to all creatures?”
82	“But how do I show respect to a blind cyclops?” Darweed retorted, gaining laughter from most of his companions.
83	“Darweed!” The tone hinted that the jokes were over. “He will prove himself of great worth yet.”
84	“But master, think of the jeers and boos we would get with him in our midst! We would never hear the end of it!”	
85	“Darweed, is your self-esteem why you are serving here?”
86	“Apologies, master,” Darweed answered quickly. “Ok. I’ll assign him to the basic dream-training in the morning. Dismissed.” Before the cyclopes could leave, The Angel started again.
87	“You will assign him to watch White Dream of Wikjay Hillgate. Tonight.”
88	“But master, he’s an amateur, and we have enough Dreamwatchers already.”
89	“Then I suppose he shall take your arrogant place and make it humble enough for a dragon, for even that proud race is humbler than you.” The Angel said calmly.
90	“But master–”
91	“No complaints. Do it now. I must attend to business elsewhere. The Night Runners are in need of assistance. Something stirs from the depths of Gorbane, something I wish had not come.” He became lost for a moment, staring off into the night sky, and then returned. “Good night, my friends!”
92	In a spasm of light, he vanished.
93	Darweed fired a volley of daggers toward Sy with his eyes. Never had he been so chastened. This expression was suddenly replaced with a mysterious, evil grin that was so faint, so subtle, no one perceived it but our hero. Motioning over another Dreamwatcher who had an especially long jaw, he ordered,
94	“Our new friend must be initiated. Boil, I want you to grab Alihorn and Nikkogre and escort our young companion to the Hall. Nikkogre will swear him in.”
95	“But sir,” Boil responded with concern, “Nik can’t say things straight. He’ll mix the words up terribly!”
96	“No buts about it, Boil. An order is an order. Now, do it hastily. The White Wisp will arrive soon.” His voice was mocking.
97	“Yes, sir.” The fretful Boil replied in an almost groaning tone. Sy watched attentively as Boil waved two more cyclopes over to follow him. One’s frame portrayed a tall, muscular creature, a whimsical sharp black beard twisting down and inward, lightly brushing his chest as he walked. An unusually long pointed horn jabbed from the top of his head. In one exceedingly speedy motion, he squeezed Sy’s hand with a stinging hardiness.
98	“Hello! My name’s Alihorn, but I much prefer the name Ali. What’s your name? Do you go to school? If so, where?” The most comical thing about this social chatterbox was that he had a…wizardish voice, Sy had to call it.
99	“Sy. Yes. EyeLearn Elementary!” The overwhelmed being admitted.
100	“Do you know these new boots weigh two sylbes exact!* And that’s not the best part! My–”
101	“Alihorn, you wise fool! Get a move on!” Darweed growled.
102	“Yes sir, sir, sir!” And off he jogged down the lengthy corridor. Sy snatched the golden opportunity to glance at the other, who must be Nikkogre. The waddling monster’s teeth were as askew as a lion on an Arctic glacier. His tongue never truly stayed in his mouth one-hundred percent but hung out through a crack between two teeth. Consistently, he rubbed his head as if in everlasting confusion. Without knowing, one might have mistaken his hair for a broom end. However, he had an innocence that made him instantly likable, except to people who ate to many pinecones. They were all grouches. I believe Darweed’s eaten too many of those. Sy remarked to himself.
103	The corridor widened and ran toward the ceiling to meet it some five-hundred feet up. Soaking in the vibrant banners, shining tables, and splendid throne in the center, Sy fell to his knees in awe. Although the splendor still caused the brainless Nikkogre and worried-sick Boil to gawk, Alihorn, an older Dreamwatcher, hastened up to a side table beside the purple-coated throne. Retrieving a book, he summersaulted backward and landed beside the still dumb-founded Nikkogre, who almost licked the cover had Alihorn not acrobatically twirled it away.
104	“Thank goodness it is no longer necessary to display such foolish attitude.” Alihorn sighed. The former energy of his voice had softened into a calmer, more wizardlike spirit. “Now, Boil, I’ll be Nikkogre’s assistant, and you will be the witness. Is that good for you, Nik?”
105	“K.O.” The clumsy word tumbled out.
106	“Well then…” Boil shook his head.
107	“It will be fine, Boil, do not worry.” Alihorn said encouragingly. “Now Sy guy, you will kneel here.” He indicated the steps before the throne. “Nik. You will stand there, with me beside you.” Then tow posted themselves right in front of the throne.
108	“Now Boil, off the carpet. You know the drill.”
109	“Yes, but…” Boil complained, nodding at Nikkogre.
110	“Relax. Leave it to a professional,” Alihorn smiled seriously, surfacing a sophisticated side Sy had not yet seen. Fanning through the pages which crackled like a fire, Alihorn caught himself just before he could skip the page he sought.
111	“Start there, Nik.” He pointed.
112	“Repeat you after.”
113	“No, Nik, it says, ‘Repeat after me.’”
114	“Oh. Repeat me after you.”
115	“Huh?” Sy was confused.
116	“Just say, ‘I will.’” Boil advised, rolling his eyes.
117	“I will.”
118	“I, name your state.”
119	“I, state your name.” Alihorn whispered.
120	“I, Sy Se-Sa-Su-So Sycordus Symapsimus Synowherinlificus.”
121	“Swear to dream the human’s defense,”
122	“Swear to defend the human’s dreams?” Sy questioned Alihorn, who gave him the thumbs up. Nikkogre continued.
123	“Terrible Wisps from Blackness,”
124	“From the terrible Black Wisps,”
125	“Day weather is night,”
126	“Whether Day or night,”
127	“If even me burns Malus’ toast,”
128	“Even if Malus’ hatred burns me,” Sy happily “echoed.” Although Nikkogre’s language was befuddling, he was starting to get the hang of it.
129	“Swear I,”
130	“I swear,”
131	“Above my friends myself to put,”
132	“To put my friends above myself,”
133	“Also, help hood Wisps find their gnomes,”
134	“To also help good Wisps find their homes,”
135	“Most are tall, and never abandon my ghost,”
136	“And most of all, to never abandon my post.”
137	“Now so, tracing my crust in The Everlasting, I demote myself Creamsnatcher of a livelihood.”
138	“So, now, placing my trust in The Everlasting, I devote myself to the livelihood of a Dreamwatcher.”
139	“Trace a rip of the cupcake.”
140	“I don’t understand that one.”
141	“Now take a sip of the cup of grace.” Alihorn said, aiding Sy again. Nikkogre held forth a simple, silver goblet. Sy took a good sip. An unrepressible smile crossed his face. Nobility, servitude and charity poured through his soul. Without knowing truly how he had reached it, Sy knew he was ready.
142	“Do you feel it?” Alihorn asked eagerly.
143	“Like I was born for it.” Sy said sleepily.	
144	“Then you’re training shall begin on the morrow.”
145
146	He had experienced it before. Sy had. The farewell. But never as the one leaving. Oh no. His clopsma would never have let him. As he triumphantly marched down Exsytedream Way, past the crowds of admirers, Sy had second thoughts. Clopsma would hate this. She would fear for me. What if I move too much in the Dream World? The Black Wisps and other horrors would tear me to shreds. But he remembered The Angel’s faith in him. Honesty. Humility. I do this for Clospma, and Clopspa, and Sykick, and all my grandparents and cousins and uncles and aunts. Only with help, can I do this. His resolution restored, Sy drew closer to Alihorn, the friendly cyclops. Out of the blue, a volley of insults splattered on him. 
147	“No-cu-lus, the blind one!” 
148	“Boo!”
149	“Go someplace where you’ll be appreciated, like that bat cave on the cliff. They can see better than you!” A pinecone flew through the air and hit him on the forehead. All the while, Alihorn, Boil, and Nikkogre shielded their young friend from the jabbing nastiness of their former admirers.
150	“Stop it, you meanies!” Boil shouted to no avail. Alihorn kept silent, glaring at those closest him. His eyes were those of a fierce mother bear protecting her cubs; everyone felt the weight of his atmosphere and ceased their teasing.
151	
152	“The outskirts of town. No one but Dreamwatchers have journeyed here. Are you ready, Sy?” Alihorn patted him on the back.
153	“With friends like Nikkogre, Boil and you, yes.”
154	“Ok.” Alihorn’s voice transformed to an instructing tone.
155	“Now, you must open a gateway to the Dream World of the Humans. First step, ask The Everlasting to aid you. Then, you must release all tension, all stress, all anxiety, anything that prevents you from being at peace.”
156	“That should be easy. I don’t have much anxiety, except to get there.”
157	“You would be surprised at how difficult it is. You should let go of that excitement, too.” The wise one counseled.
158	“Oh.” Sy shrunk.
159	“As I was saying, peace must reign in you. The door will open then. Once within the world, you must move quickly with us. Silence is key. When we reach the dwelling of Wikjay’s imagination, you will be within the range of the Black Wisps. They will chaotically twist and rampart your imagination with so many thoughts that you will lose sanity in moments. Do you have a favorite song?”
160	“Yes.”
161	“I sing. Even the slightest noise cuts out the endless drone, but remember, in one second, they can slam ten thousand conceptions into your brain. Whatever you do, don’t stop singing.”
162	“Also, never move when we are around the Wisps. Only your eyes and lips should move,” Boil told Sy, commandeering the role of teacher from Alihorn. “If and when you spy a Wisp, chant, ‘Bonseed, terra nube atra ambulatur!’ The Bonseed will want to know if you are a real Dreamwatcher, and so you tell him, ‘Peace is key,’ and he will trust you. A battle will follow in which you will have no part, understand?”
163	“Yes,” Sy chuckled lightly at Boil’s ever-worried mood. He wondered how the perturbed creature made his own passage to the Dream World with that demeanor.
164	“One last thing.” Alihorn said. “You must leave the World with or without us before sunrise, or else your form will be trapped within Wikjay’s Wit till the end of the ages. Do you promise you will do all these things?”
165	“Yes, of course. I just have one question.” Sy’s curiosity swelled up within him.
166	“Toot away!” Nikkogre jumbled out his words. Sy’s sides split.
167	“He means, ‘Shoot away,’” Alihorn translated once the giggling had receded.
168	“Will I be able to see Wikjay’s dream?”
169	“That if for him alone and those to whom he wishes to unveil it.” The enigmatic wisdom returned to Alihorn’s character. Sy yearned to discover this hidden knowledge, but the leader of their small group of twelve, one Starzak, snapped,
170	“Silence! No talking! Prepare your souls. We are entering the Dream World in a couple minutes. If No-cu-lus can do it,” he murmured.
171	“See you on the other side.” Alihorn grinned, ignoring the comment. Seconds later, he was gone.
172	“Smother hides bees you the on.” Nikkogre babbled, trying to swallow a cockroach that had crawled up his back.
173	“See you there too, Nik,” Sy smiled. Closing his eyes, the brainless brick-head stood in concentration. Then he too disappeared. Sy rotated toward the rest of the group. Only he, Boil, the dark-cloaked Starzak, and one other cyclops remained. Boil was chewing on something, but Sy was unable to ask what, for he vanished, as did the other cyclops. Now only Sy and Starzak were left. Sy closed his eyes. Concentrated. But nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. All he could feel was excitement, but that was all that was needed to cage in any peacefulness within him.
174	“Come on, No-cu-lus. I can’t go till you do.” Starzak prodded.
175	“I can’t do it!” Sy cried in annoyance.
176	“Of course you can’t. The Angel ‘chose you,’ you know, because he wanted a good laugh. Might as well go back where you came from, Glassorb. You are a total mistake.” Starzak mocked. 
177	At that moment, a voice spoke in Sy’s head. It was the Angel. You can do it. Ask The Everlasting for help. Sy shut out Starzak’s insults. Everlasting. I have never met you, but I need your aide. Help me find peace. Out of thin air, a door materialized. Sy passed through. He now roamed the Dream World.
178	
179	After stomping with the others through the forest for a while, Sy began to adjust to the otherworldly atmosphere of the place. The surrounding trees, the brush, the rocks, himself, and his companions, all had undefined, unclear, vapory shapes. When he had first set foot in the Dream World, he had felt his chest to see if he was all together. Feeling nothing, he had timidly gazed down and almost shrieked when he discovered only a dark, shifty shade of melting, formless being. The whole world seemed a mix of grays and blacks, a very alive, swirling mixture.
180	“Wait! We forgot to do a roll call!” Alihorn exclaimed, bringing to a halt his barrage of chatter with a rather grateful Boil. “Where is Starzak?! He should have done this already.”
181	“Someone at the back reports he briefly saw Starzak arrive, and expects he’ll catch up with us in moments,” one cyclops replied.
182	“Ok. In that case, I will lead the roll call this time.”
183	“Who made you leader?” A defiant inquiry.
184	“Yeah, why don’t Kriltin or Zilhunk here take command?” Another rebellious question.
185	“Because I said so!!!” Alihorn bellowed, raising his voice in anger for the first time since Sy had met him. No one dared question his authority now. Alihorn preceded to call out names.
186	“Nikkogre!”
187	“Here!”
188	“Cobnoggin!”
189	“Here!”
190	“Sy!”
191	“Here!”
192	“Zilhunk.”
193	“Here!”
194	“Kriltin!”
195	“Present.” Alihorn continued down the list in this fashion until he reached Boil.
196	“Boil.” No answer. “Boil!” Still nothing. Alihorn looked up to see Boil with his mouth full. He rolled his eyes.
197	“What and why are you eating??!!” He exploded. Boil took one last chew, swallowed loudly, and sheepishly replied,
198	“Bark jerky. Eating helps me find peace, ok?!” Everyone roared in laughter, Sy included. Ol’ Boil, the worrywart, calmed by eating. After this episode of mirth, Alihorn concluded,
199	“that makes 8, I make 10, and Starzak makes 12. Now on to Wikjay’s Dream!” Alihorn bent down to pick up a formless yet sturdy-looking stick, and, leaning upon it, took the lead.
200	
201	As Sy and his friends slowly thumped through the thickets, Starzak grinned a deep, evil smile to himself.
202	“I believe we must introduce young Sy to them.” He chortled, tremendously pleased with his nefarious plan, and dashed down another path leading away from the others. If, by chance, Dordot, the lumbering tower of a cyclops, who drew up the rear of the company, had decided to look behind him, he might have seen Starzak’s heavy shadow in the distance, in quiet conversation with a goblin-like creature.
203
204	The company picked their way through a swampy wasteland, the scenery dreary and sown with weeds, mud holes, and swarms of gnats. Throughout the bog, little islands were planted, a thick cluster of trees masking whatever lay within. The constant squelching resounded in Sy’s ears, and he could sense that the female members of their group in particular found this to be the most unpleasant stretch of their journey.
205	“Alihorn, why did we pass through this fetid bog? Couldn’t we have gone down the other, gentler path?” Alyster complained, her dress hinged with muck, her precious high-quality shoes cased in slimy mud. Marjimop seemed more accustomed to the swampland trail, although she did appear to agree with Alyster. Her precious shoes had never so much as seen a spot of any brown substance. And they were brand-new! Horror of horrors! Alihorn stopped and threw up his arms in frustration, as their brothers, Kriltin (Alyster’s brother) and Bascarp (Marjimop’s brother), snickered behind him. 
206	“Often the difficult path opens onto fresh meadows, Alyster. The easy path may appear the more prudent, but ever its finish will be aught but a painful end.” This cyclops’ sage manner never failed to whet Sy’s curiosity. Marjimop, who had attempted to remain quiet, now moaned,
207	“Will you just tell her straight-forward what we are doing on this mud-ridden trail?” Her irritation at Alihorn’s confusing wording was apparent. Alihorn sighed deeply. He wished they would all trust his leadership, instead of question it at every turn. Leaning on his stick, he gestured to the bog.
208	“Mistress Marjimop and Mistress Alyster, we are entering this mud-ridden swamp because a great deal of terrible, monstrous beings dwell on that other, easier path. If you want to be transformed into some dreadfully horrid things, I suggest you try traversing that other path. If not, come along, and please, hold the complaints for the returning journey.” Both of the girls nodded, though they still moped about it quietly. Now that this matter had been settled, Alihorn began to resume his pace when the mud-covered Bascarp spoke. 
209	“Alihorn, should we let the ladies become more accustomed to the uncomfortable landscape?” Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his sister Marjimop and Kriltin grabbed Alyster (his sister), and both began smearing mud on the enraged girls’ faces. Alihorn at first commanded them to stop, but then joined in himself! Soon, all the members took sides, and an epic mud battle ensued. Even Alyster and Marjimop inwardly forgave their mischievous brothers (although, on the outside, they had no qualms about hurling some substantial mud balls). Sy landed a massive mud ball in Boil’s ear, who playfully fell over as if dead. Nikkogre, to the disgust of all, licked his “wounds” clean, and slurped up the mud like a young boy digs into his birthday cake. In the end, the teams called a truce, and the mud-bejeweled Eleven renewed their trek with a much happier spirit.
210	At last, the edge of the bog was visible. Bascarp took off ahead next to Alihorn, leaving Sy alone in the rear. The squelching was finally getting to him, and so the thought of the end encouraged him greatly. Suddenly, he had the awareness of someone (or something) watching him. He whirled around in fright, all his senses straining to pick up any sign of another presence beyond that of his friends. Silently and steadily, a voice called out. As it got louder, Sy made out the words,
211	“Sy, darling, come help me!” It was the familiar voice of his clopsma. “Sy, help me!” It came from the center of an island nearly three hundred yards away, and Sy almost immediately ran toward it. However, he had been warned earlier by Alihorn to stay on the trail. Torn two ways, Sy looked one way; Alihorn, Bascarp, Zilhunk, and Alyster had reached the slope leading out of the bog and were helping each other up. He faced the direction of the cries. “Sy, help your clopsma! She can’t make it much longer!” Again, he returned to the scene of his friends; Cobnoggin, Kriltin, Dordot, and Boil felt around for sturdy footholds as they scaled the steep, short incline. The cries like, “It’s grabbing my leg! qwerty!” rose in volume, but his friends were oblivious. Now Nikkogre was unsuccessfully aiding Marjimop in her ascent. Bascarp had to intervene so that both did not slip and come crashing down. 
212	Sy made his decision. A bad one. A very bad one.
213
214
215	None of the Ten realized the little boyclops had run off, as they were all attempting to surpass the obstacle of transporting the whale of a cyclops, Cobnoggin, up the side of the cliff, for he had fallen down. Fortunately, nothing had been injured (except his pride) and now Alihorn and Kriltin were forced to climb down and comically drag him up the slope. Much pouting spewed forth from the plump creature, but eventually he was atop the rocky wall with his companions. 
216	“Looks as though Cob has fallen…again!” Zilhunk criticized. In mockery, he added, “If Jamellon thought going around Magiterra was a hard thing, he should try goin’ ‘round Ol’ Cob’s round center thingy.” Kriltin, Bascarp, Boil, Marjimop, and Alyster snickered at the well-played (but intelligence-lacking) joke. Dordot maintained an expressionless countenance, a fortress impenetrable by any great host of humor. Nikkogre was lost in a wrestling match between his shoelaces and his clumsy fingers, while Cob wrestled with tears. The wizardish-tone coxed the conversation into a more serious direction.
217	“It is very rude, Master Zilhunk, to comment on Cob’s belly in such a way. I may dare to say that everyone’s waist is not what one would call ‘skinny.’ And as for the rest of you–” he glared at the five snickering Dreamwatchers– “should be ashamed of joining in this foul game. Now. We are nearing the Wisps’ Territory, and I need to talk to Sy. Sy? Sy?!” With each shout, worry rose in Alihorn’s voice. “SY SYCORDUS!! WHERE IS THE BOYCLOPS???!!!” The low rumble had grown into crashing thunder.
218	“Well, looks like No-cu-lus proved himself. And you thought he’d be helpful to us when I told you he was a burden.” Bascarp said matter-of-factly.
219	“Alihorn, the boyclops couldn’t see straight with that piece of glass on his eye. He probably drowned in the swamp. You shoulda left him behind.” Alyster accused her leader.
220	“Well, looks like he’s a goner. Time to move on.” Marjimop dismissed their companion like the hireling rejects a lost sheep. All but Boil, Alihorn, and Nikkogre abandoned the edge of the bog for the wooded trail leading to the Field of Dreamers.
221	“How can you leave him?!” Boil cried, his loyalty toward Sy unwavering.
222	“Boil is correct. Why would you so hastily reject a boyclops in need?” Alihorn questioned. “Why do you not respect him? Why do you tear him down and band yourselves with those who berate him with mockery? How low can you bring yourselves? No matter how embarrassing you may find his presence, he is ours, he is one with us, he is our brother. He is a Dreamwatcher, and Dreamwatchers never reject each other.” Sheepishly, the seven cyclopes regrouped at the edge of the precipice. 
223	“Sorry, Alihorn. We were wrong.” Alyster softly apologized. Bascarp, Kriltin, Marjimop and the others all nodded in solemn agreement.
224	“Good. Now, down the slope again, everyone.” Alihorn commanded.
225
226
227	“Clopsma!” Sy yelled as he vigilantly pursued the pleas for help. Every time he neared the undefined form of his mother, it would happen to be merely a shrub or large rock and would then appear further away on another island. By now the cliff was out of sight behind him, but Sy did not pay attention. Deeper and deeper into the swamp he wandered, the crooning of crickets blanketing his ears, the mud squelching at his every footfall, his willpower honed on catching up to his beloved clopsma. Upon one extraordinarily large island, as his hope began to wane, he captured another creature with his gaze, standing in the midst of an opening in the trees. A fire crackled in the center of this opening, tended diligently by the hunched-over critter. 
228	It is a known fact that the weary mind does not have the same caution as the alert mind. And so, perceiving another sign of life, Sy let go of all caution and rushed into the midst of it.
229 Grabbing the shoulder of the creature, Sy’s shriek followed. The mouth, which panted its nasty breath straight into his nostrils, drooped like the withered branches of a tree in summer. The eyes, which stared sleepily into his own, shone with a pale, marshy glow. The nose, which twitched as it drew in all the smells of its curious visitor, loomed massive and crooked in the middle of its shadowy yet cheery face. Sy tore his hand away from the arm which, like the rest of the body, was a slimy limb of goop, hard, slick, liken to what a child feels when he finally catches the elusive frog.
230“Shnock, is it Sy Sycordus Symapsimus Synowherinlificus? Shnal, or should I say, No-cu-lus? Shnock, I have been expecting you,” the beast drowsily crackled. The whole island began to gleam with ranks of shadowy eyes. Sy fell backward.
231“Uh…what…what are you?!” He cried.
232“A snorgoblin, of course!” the snorgoblin croaked incredulously. “And I’ve been expecting you…” He repeated, his sniffer twitchin’ faster than an escaped pig at the fair. Sy began to feel the eyes creeping closer and closer, their presence awakening a fear in him which demanded action, movement, anything to ward off their approach. So, he stalled.
233“Mr. Snorgoblin, thingy, um, you like games?”
234“Shnock, yes! And you can call me Shnorwit,” He held up his claw. “Boys, halt!” The mass of looming eyes on the borders of the fire ring froze.
235“Well, then, Shonorwit, are word games your thing? Perhaps, er…a riddle match?”
236“No, what sort of stupid, shnab, idea would that be, shnark! No one would ever do such a thing. No, something else. Let me see, shnike!” Shnorwit swiftly hobbled off, exited the fire ring, waded through the swamp of eyes, and faded up a tree. The large hole through which Shnorwit entered, five knobs up the tree, was his home. Creaking open a vapory chest, he rummaged through its contents until he found the object of his search; a rude piece of bark with inscriptions on it. He read the verses over a few times with glee, ran out the hole, double-checked his penmanship, and then scurried through the mud back toward Sy. Many mumblings of “Shniker, I am such a poet!” and “Shnipe, some verses, Shnorwit!” sounded from the monster. Waving his art in Sy’s face, Shnorwit declared, “Shnock, let’s play at rhyming, little Sy. Read these, please.” Sy took the paper from Shnorwit and examined it. To his dismay, the verses written on that sheet were just plain horrible. It made the young boyclops feel pity for the hunched-over critter. If this was the pride of his life, well…Sy didn’t want to finish the thought. He was to cheerful for all that cruel nonsense. In his most poetic voice, he read, 
237“Shnork, goblins mighty are some,
238But boy, what a pint is snorgoblin rum!
239Mixed white, boiled with snot,
240Thrown together in a melting pot,
241Rubbed in a bit a muddy patch,
242Brewed right, have a good batch,
243Crisply seasoned, right down the throat,
244	A mighty snorgoblin is strong as a goat!”
245	If I were to make a logical proposition about Shnorwit, he would fall into the category of things that can rhyme, as opposed to poets, which are things that can rhyme well. Nevertheless, Sy, having read through the curious poetry, asked, “Why did you give me this, Shnorwit?”
246	“We will have ourselves a shnick, rhyming game. I give you a line, you make a line that rhymes, you give me a line, I make a rhyme. Shnak, we go until one loses.”
247	“But what happens if you lose?”
248	“Shnarg, I let you go without a scratch from my shnirking friends, Mr. Shnarclops.” The snorgoblin grinned.
249	“Call me Sy, please. And, what if I lose?” Sy replied. A gleam fell over Shnorwit’s eyes. 
250	“Let’s just put it this way, Syshnol…” He paused to listen to Sy’s trembling breath, rising faster and faster, then continued, “The snorgoblins will be washing down a substantial meal with their rum tonight, shnock!”
251
252	“Why’d the boyclops, huff, have to get lost right, huff, right when we were on top of the cliff! Couldn’t he ‘ave picked the top of the mountain to disappear?” Cobnoggin complained.
253	“We’re on flat ground, Cob. Why are you puffing?” Bascarp pried.
254	“Because, the stretch down that mount is exhausting!” Exasperated, the hunky cyclops began to teeter this way and that, trying to demonstrate how completely depleted of all energy he was; Bascarp saw this as a useful opportunity, and, with great glee, gave the blubbery cyclops a good shove toward the bog.
255	The moment lasted only a moment, but it stretched out to an eternity. First, the laughter of Marjimop, Kriltin, and a few others, filled the air. Next, Boil’s hand made a shredding sound as it snatched at Alihorn’s shoulder. Alihorn’s crackled bellow crashed through the bog: “CATCH THE CYCLOPS!” A swipe at the air from Nikkogre, who was closest to Cob; and lastly, the hard splat, as the colossal body hit the mud. A silence proceeded.
256	Bascarp broke the calm: “And what’s the problem? Cob could use a little more muck, don’t ya think?” Boiling, Alihorn rushed over to the fallen creature. He shook him, unaware that Bascarp had spoken a word. His full attention was on Cobnoggin.
257	“Boil! Give me some of your bark jerky!”
258	“But—” Boil objected.
259	“This is an emergency, Boil! No complaints!!!” Boil tossed the bag at Alihorn, who caught it and quickly rubbed all over Cobnoggin’s scalp. 
260	“Ew! What on earth are you doing, Ali?!” Alyster shrieked.
261	“This ‘bark jerky’ of Mr. Boil’s, here, is actually a root known as clifbloomer, which grows in the lands to the East, where Man dwells. It’s healing powers are remarkable, known for bringing beings out of the clutches of dark imagination, which, I might add, Bascarp the Illustrious Imbecile has sent Cobnoggin into!” Motioning to Boil, who took over with the clifbloomer, Alihorn’s iron grip fastened around Bascarp’s enormous sniffer, and he dragged him a few yards off, away from the rest of the group. 
262	“What’s the big deal?! Hey! Stop, stop, you’re gonna rip it right off!” As Alihorn released his grasp, Bascarp dropped to his knees, massaging his nose with all his might. The wizardlike mask which was Alihorn rolled over the cyclops like a raincloud on a summer day. His voice was a low whisper: “Bascarp, what is your motive?”
263	“What do you mean?” Bascarp was shocked, for he had expected an angry, harsh Alihorn, but had received instead a calm one. He knew not which was the better.
264	“Why do you relentlessly tease others? It makes you less of what you are.” After some thought, Bascarp responded,
265	“I, guess…I guess I don’t have any place in this company without it. You see…everyone else here has skills-except me. Boil can cook, you have wisdom, Nikkogre’s good-natured, Kriltin has muscles, and I’m just, well, the nasty mouthed guy.” Bascarp looked across the landscape, the dreary, transparent everything rapping him in depression. “If only, if I could figure out how to be something more…that’s what I want. That’s why I can’t help but insult and jeer.” Alihorn quietly stared into the young boyclops eyes, while his mood swung swiftly down. After eons of this, the wise cyclops spoke. 
266	“I see you in me, Bascarp. I was young, wild, trying to fit in. Back in my childhood, an elderly ladylops lived right across the street from me. All the boys cursed her, thought she was an evil witch, and beriddled her in every way possible. She was always silent; that I remember well. Every time she tried to go for a stroll, a volley of acorns, or rocks, or sometimes our broken teeth, would smack her blessed self. But she persevered. She never stopped disappearing into the mountains; she told folks simply that it was an important practice of hers. 
267“One day, as she rose to continue her routine of suffering, I halted the boyclopes in their advance, saying I wanted to ambush her myself at the top of the mountain. My real intention was just to discover what she did.
268“After much climbing, the twists and turns of the dusty mountain road led us to heights where no being dwells. And there we stood, each pursuing something, both longing; she folded her hands in silence, I sat observing, trying to figure out what she was doing. The rock behind which I hid could not contain my curiosity. I approached her, hesitant, afraid her witchlike atrocities would break through her silence, but no. She gently turned around to face me, and said, 
269‘Son, what do you seek?’
270	‘What are you doing?’ I blurted out.
271	‘I am trying my best to be quiet,’ was the short reply.
272	‘Why?’ I persisted.
273	‘Because, son, when you are quiet, sometimes you are given a hint at who you really are. Things which seem a complete mystery are discovered in the midst of real silence. It redirects us. And it can redirect you.’ She pointed a large finger at me, not a furious, fiery, enraged hand, like that of a witch, nor the hand of shame, accusing its object, but one that filled my heart, and froze that moment in my heart for all eternity. I know you were one of the last one’s to cross the threshold to the Dream World. It’s because you, me, all, must embrace the quiet more often. Never will I forget to be silent.” Bascarp pondered this for a moment, and, with a new voice, one of quiet contemplation, he mouthed the words,
274	“Nor will I.” Alihorn patted him on the back and left him to his reflections. “How is our friend, Master Cobnoggin?” he inquired of Boil. Boil shook his head nervously.
275	“I don’t know where he went! After I rubbed him with the clifbloomer, he has been walking around fine and all, but he acts as if we are all different people. He called Marjimop a vision of his beloved Pennlopey, and commanded Zilhunk and Dordot to chart the course from Olus’ courts, and by no means to touch the ‘bag of winds.’ I’m freaking out! What’ll we do?!” Alihorn caught the cyclops in mid-meltdown.
276	“We have not reacted fast enough to his condition. Our friend, poor Cob, has fallen into a dream.”
277	“What dream?” Boil questioned.
278	“He thinks Marjimop is “Penelope,” and he is leaving Aeolus’ courts with the bag of winds. Essentially…he thinks he is Odysseus of the Suffering Sphere.”
279
280	“Shniburk, I’ll start, I’ll start, Syshnol.” The eager Shnorwit waved his claws frantically in the air, as if at any and all costs he must be first. The ring of eyes tightened around he and Sy, all ears awaiting the start of this battle of wits. “Shnalk, give me a word to start with, give me one!” Shnorwit protested.
281	“Um…tree?” Sy offered.
282	“Tree, tree…shnige!” A few moments, and the snorgoblin had his line: “Roots sprout from earthen tree-”
283	“Twisting, turning, round with glee-” Sy easily continued.
284	“Ants go over it, ants go under,”
285	“That very tree watches the thunder,”
286	“That very tree watches the rain,”
287	“And lifts its leafy arms to hold the pain,”
288	“A tree listens, a constant ally.” And here Sy was stuck. He fumbled around, looking for what could rhyme with ally. Tally? No. Gally? Doesn’t make sense. Folly? Ugh! Every second that past, Shnorwit grew a little closer, a little nearer, licking his lips hungrily. 
289“Shnock, are you tongue-tied now, Syshnol? The boys are mighty hungry…” 
290At the point when Sy’s brain seemed utterly emptied and worn out, a word floated into his microscopic intellect and boosted his reply out of his mouth. He blurted:
291“AND constantly our hope does rally.” Disappointed, Shnorwit moved back to his former position. 
292“Another rhyme.”
293“What?”
294“Let’s start another rhyme, shnod! You start, this time. Your word is…snorgoblin.” He hopped up in down in delightful satisfaction. Sy stood for a moment, asking himself how to form the beginning of the poem. He finally began as follows, even including a title:
295“The Critique of A Snorgoblin
296A hunchback and snorgoblin are similar in nature,”
297“They…both have a mane of dignified fur,”
298“They both are plump, globular round,”
299“And they munch little critters down.” Shnorwit retorted threateningly. Sy had to choose his next words wisely.
300“But what…what’s the difference? What makes them distinct?”
301“One is glorious, the other a skink.”
302“But the skink spends his days making poor people snore,”
303“And the skink will send cyclops right out the door,” Shnorwit produced another threat.
304“As yet, though, the ‘goblin is lover of moon,”
305“O, how the cyclops embraces the goon,”
306“Yes, a snorgoblin’s good, a sweet little pest,”
307“And history only can give us the rest.” Shnorwit wished to start a new rhyme. And so, they continued in like fashion, each struggling at times, but overall showing spectacular poetic capacities. In the back of his head, Sy wondered how he would ever get back, what would be the verdict of this battle, and why the Angel had chosen him. The last question hurt him the most. Thus far, he had been a failure. He had barely crossed the portal to Dream World, he had gotten lost, he had been nothing but a drag and pain to his companions. 
308And that is when it struck him. Something mysterious hit him on the head, and somehow, it inspired confidence in him. Sy Se-Sa-Su-So Sycordus Symapsimus Synowherinlificus could, no, would, conquer and escape the clutches of the hungry snorgoblins and life to tell it! What a hero he would make…and yet, as Sy thought these things, he could not help but feel that he was not the hero, but rather someone else was pushing him. His victory would come from another.
309“Shnalg! Wake up, boyclops! Wake, wake, and answer us, Shnird!” Coming back to reality, Sy stared sleepily into the face of the excited Shnorwit.
310	“What?”
311	“I just said, ‘As on the globe, sic semper tyrannis,’ and know you, shnod, must give another line! Rhyme with tyrannis, as it is pronounced in Latin! Do it, No-cu-lus!”
312“I much prefer ‘Sy,’ please!” Sy cried.
313“No-cu-lus it is.” The snorgoblin replied with a peculiar growl.
314“I-never mind.” Sy gave up on arguing and racked his brain to find a word rhyming with “tyrannis.” He knew the Latin Shnorwit had used meant something like, “Tyrants are always sick,”* but he could not find something that rhymed. Bandis? Fanis? Landis? Ranbis? The stench of the snorgoblin grew closer, closer, until the critter’s claws almost clenched Sy’s throat.
315“Help me chap, I can’t…ranbis? I don’t know! I-”
316“Then you have sealed your fate as our next meal!” Snorwit hollered. Sy fell backward just in time to avoid being slashed across the throat by Shnorwit. His back slammed against the dirt, but he was up in a moment. His little legs carried him at a velocity he had not reached prior to this event. “BOYS! Time to feast, SHNYDERK!!!” The hunting cry rose among the hosts of eyes, toward which the unfortunate cyclops rushed headlong. “SHNYDERK! SHNYDERK! SHNYDERK SHNOGGLE SYSHNOL SHNIV!”
317Although he had never learned the “Shnockish” language, Sy reasoned that these words meant definite trouble. He quickened his pace. With the wall of eyes ahead and Shnorwit behind, one could say that Sy was between a rock and a hard place. At that instance, only two options were before him; one, brave the muscular shredding of the snorgoblin; two, vault over the barrier of eyes.
318Pacing out his steps, the boyclops pushed, faster, harder, until his lungs were about to explode. Listen, I don’t know if there exists a being that can read my thoughts, but if there is, please give me strength! Nearer and nearer grew the spot on the ground he had marked with his eye as his launching point, and nearer and nearer came the gluttonous Shnorwit, gurgling, “SHNYDERK!” from the depths of his gut. And then his foot slapped down on the spot; he pushed up with all his might. Something seemed to hoist him from behind, some invisible force. Now he was sailing through the air! Panic and fear surrounded him, but a presence stronger than all those wrapped him tight. The cow who jumped over the moon was put to shame that day when a 3-foot, eight-inch impish cyclops bounded some ten feet through the air over a hoard of open snorgoblin mouths. 
319Sy’s foot landed atop something squishy for a second, and then he pushed off again just before a jaw closed shut on his leg. Again he soared over the heads of the fiendish critters, but this time he landed in the arms of a very-welcome friend.
320“Ali!” Sy gasped with joy.
321“Sy!” Alihorn briefly hugged the great leaper, for he truly was overjoyed to see the boyclops. However, they were not safe yet. “Now, get behind me. We have a little fun before us,” the horned cyclops told his friend.
322“Mo poor the kegs! Today the bar is squeakiest sprite hairs!” Nikkogre instructed.
323“Translation, please!” Kriltin called as he dashed toward the enemy.
324“I think he said, ‘Go for the legs! They are the weakest right there!’” Bascarp translated solemnly. Everyone but Alihorn stared at him in bewilderment. “What?!” He protested, half-grinning. All the Dreamwatchers faced the snorgoblins again. Alihorn, who by now was unquestionably the leader, tossed large nets to each of the cyclopes.
325“Use these to capture them. By no means are you to cut an inch of their skin, for they are an important (if slightly unnecessary) part of the Dream World.”
326The battle which ensued was more a retreat than an advance for the company. Personally, Sy’s former glory of fording the enemy faded in the face of his inferior fighting skills. To sum it up, Sy spent his time running in circles and hiding.
327Thus, Alihorn, Kriltin, Dordot, and Bascarp waged most of the battle for the cyclopes. Because of his gargantuan build, Dordot struck fear into the hearts of all his opponents. His massive fist itself was a club, which he effectively swung back and forth, sending senseless snorgoblins into sorry states. Alihorn and Kriltin each beat back the enemy with their large sticks. Bascarp, the calmest in the group, slung nets this way and that, his aim perfect. Marjimop and Alyster also contributed by spraying the oncoming hoards in cyclops perfume (which smells…undesirable). 
328Poor, poor Cobnoggin. After being drenched in the marshy waters of the Dream bog, all reality had been transformed into the Greek world of the Odyssey. Each snorgoblin was a suitor of “Penlopey” in his mind, and therefore a target of his wrath. A pan he had found lying on the outskirts of the island became now his mighty sword, and he sallied forthwith unto the enemy to bring them to the threshold of destruction. The bulky warrior kept attempting to reach for Marjimop’s hand, calling her “fair maiden,” to which she would slap him and command him to wake up. This he took to be teasing love, and he, with passionate heart, did verily charge down all the surrounding enemies with as much ferocity as may issue forth from the heart of a fat, idiotic cyclops. 
329Sy decided he preferred not to watch the dim-witted dreamer, and so turned his gaze toward Alihorn, who by his leadership was changing the sway of the battle. He, along with Dordot and Kriltin, had managed to tighten the ranks of snorgoblins on their right flank, drawing them in the direction of the water’s edge. Unfortunately, this pushed Marjimop and Alyster further and further down the shore, until the water almost lapped against their feet. Kriltin tried to smash through the ranks to save his sister, but to no avail. The snorgoblins were just too great in number! Zilhunk, in the desperation of the moment, frantically spun around in circles, struggling to find any way to save the girllopes from their impending doom. Frustrated, he rained down his anger upon Sy. 
330“Stupid, stupid No-cu-lus! Don’t just curl up in a ball like a baby! Use that glass of yours for something other than hiding your tears! Maybe if you make some dumb poem about it, all our enemies will vanish! Dimwit!” As Zilhunk continued his rant, a lightbulb activated in Sy’s mustard seed of a brain. Gradually, it sprouted into a plan to conquer their enemies. He called Nikkogre to his side, and, running up the hill toward Shnorwit’s tree, Sy reached the trunk as the snorgoblins “shnished” (pushed) the girllopes onto the sandy beach. Shnorwit hobbled after those two with glee, and when he had them cornered he growled, “Shnorgillter! Please do the honors!”
331Shnorgillter, a colossal, troll-like snorgoblin with no teeth, twisted his gloppy skin between his fingers, cracked his neck, and slowly lumbered forward as his companions cheered on.
332“WAIT!” cried Sy. On the hilltop, our hero waved a handful of parchments above the heads of the snorgoblin force, which watched on fifteen feet below. Nikkogre stood at his side, his breath literally steaming; he had demolished a whole sack-full of Boil’s Pop-Yer-Eye-Out Blazin’ Bark. Wielding his glass in his other hand, Sy had aimed it in such a way that Nikkogre’s venting heat passed onto his glass and was starting to create a flame on the ground. All eyes focused on this device. “If you dare throw my friends into the water, shnocking Shnorwit,” Sy shouted, “then your precious poems meet their end. Shnyderk!”
333“NO!” shrieked the unpoetic critter. “You can’t do that! SHNYDERK!” But, seeing that he was defeated, Shnorwit gave in. “We, shnidner, surrender. Now, don’t hurt my poems!” At that moment, Alihorn and his men tossed their nets on the surrendered snorgoblins. However, Shnorwit managed to escape and raced up the hill toward a boat stored on the left-hand side of the isle. This was an unfortunate move on his part. To the great dismay of the miserable creature, Cobnoggin, still buried deep in his dream, took his grand “sword” (frying pan) and brought it crashing against Penlopey’s accursed suitor. That ended the matter.
334Once all the snorgoblins had been put in their right place by Alihorn, the wise old wizard pulled Sy aside. 
335“‘There is more to this boyclops than meets the one eye on the front of my face,’ I told myself. And I was correct. I think you have proven yourself to the others. And to me.” He grinned. Sy smiled.
336“Thank you, Ali.”
337“You know, I actually prefer Alihorn.”
338	“Alright, Ali,” came Sy’s reply.
339	“Alright, Syshnol,” said his friend, ruffling his strings of hair. Sy then walked over to the defeated snorgoblin artist. 
340	“Shnorwit, I guess you won’t get any cyclops for dinner tonight!”
341	“I apologize for trying to eat you. I want you to have this as a token of my praise of your elegant poetry. Take this, Syshnol.” He thrust a small sword into the boyclops hands.
342“No, I really couldn’t, Shnorwit.” 
343“Take it.” The young one was shocked by the goblin’s persistence.
344	“Why? What is it?”
345	“I see you are a wise, shnife, little fellow, and I want to help you, shnorg, even if I can’t have you for dinner. Shnot! Shnee, keep it as a token of my friendship.”
346	“Ok…” Sy took the weapon.
347	“Only use it, shnibglop, in your shnilking hour of need. When that hour shnak-comes, remember this verse: ‘Veritas te consternet.’ It will help you, Sy Sycordus.” Sy awkwardly promised to remember this. As the company walked away, Sy couldn’t stop glancing over the tiny weapon, scanning over its features like the pages of a book. Why would Shnorwit have given it to him? Did the snorgoblin know something he didn’t?
348	
349
350Burning in the fury of Polyphemus after Odysseus escaped him, Starzak’s one eye almost burst. He grumbled, gripped, and kicked a fat stick into the wispy forest into which the company had entered. A corrupted crackle resounded from within. In fright, the rotund redhead rushed behind a rock to hide. As he peeked out to discover the cause of the noise, a Black Wisp floated out toward him.
351“Hello, son of Malus. You, my friends and I have some pressing matters to attend to. The White Wisp shall never reach Wikjay’s Imagination.”
352
353
354“Silence, we are now entering the Wisps’ Territory.” Boil breathed into Sy’s ear. The scenery around him began to bloom color, though the darkness still prevailed. Nothing appeared, but Sy could sense the stirring of Wisps, good and bad alike. Just then, they came out of the woods into a large field filled with brilliant lights. Purples, reds and whites zipped around the field, illuminating millions upon billions of various trees, some sickly, some strong, all of which stretched on for miles and miles. The trees were stringed with vines of various degrees, some sprouting flowers and grapes, others thorn-coated and shriveled. The grass seemed to leap up to great the Wisps, for it was a good three feet tall. Sy’s bottom lip barely reached over the top of it. 
355	“Reeled of Teamers,” Nikkogre whispered, still chewing on that cockroach.
356	“Field of Dreamers,” Sy correctly echoed him, overtaken by wonder. Even Alihorn paused to embrace it before waving Sy over.
357	“Do you see that oak tree over there?” Alihorn pointed.
358	“Yes.”
359	“That is Wikjay’s imagination. You will stand near the third root on the left. Start singing once you are positioned.” Sy nodded. All he could think about was how glad he was that Cobnoggin was in his right mind again. The journey to the Field had been very long, filled with Cob’s poor attempts at flirting with Marjimop. After about fourteen slaps to the face, he returned to reality and then received one more slap for falling in the water. His countenance looked redder than all the tomatoes, strawberries, and watermelons combined.
360	“Don’t get lost again,” Bascarp cautioned Sy playfully. Kriltin gently punched his shoulder, and Marjimop and Alyster both padded him on the back. The small boyclops faced Dordot, hoping to receive a smile; all that he did receive was a gruff scowl. He quickly looked away.
361	Wordlessly, the Eleven moved toward the oak tree that magnified in size as they approached. This light show is greater than Ol’ Dullduck’s firecracker, Sy declared to himself. Ol’ Dullduck had essentially exploded a stick of dynamite on accident and every wool-brained cyclops in Sycalm Hamlet had thought it so beautiful. Dullduck had received an ash-covered face as a result.
362	Meanwhile, the good Wisps swirled around in spiteful bluster. Sy and the others stationed themselves on all sides under the monumental branches. Sy looked at the trunk and knew he could never wrap his arms around it. It was much too thick. Like a bee to the hive, a Purple Wisp weaved under Sy’s arm and around Wik’s tree to another tree. Unfortunately for Sy, the Black Wisps were coming, and he had forgotten to start singing! The hovering terrors brought a wave of crushing mental confusion down upon Sy. My friends hate me. The Angel has wings. Maybe I should grow a mustache. Death comes to the foolish swifter than it does to the wise. Turn back! Run! Doom! Destruction! My glass is ugly. It makes my eye look like a satellite dish. How will any of those cute girllopses at school fall for me with this?! Sy was able to gain control enough to say, 
363	“That is not me at all. Girllopses, ew! Makes me want to barf.” He made gagging noises for emphasis. While he spoke, his train of thought cleared, and he recalled how Alihorn had warned him to sing. Boldly, with wild enthusiasm, he burst out, 
364“A journey down the barren path! 
365That’s not the road for me,
366Under waterfalls a bath,
367To that set me free.
368O change, set me free,
369O change, let me free,
370O change, I will be, free as the fruitful tree!”
371	Once he had reached the third verse for the second time, Sy spied his first Black Wisp. Formless like all other things in this world, it had two demonic, triangular eyes that roamed from side to side, the hunter seeking its prey. It looked like a black goblin except that its bottom half was missing. Frozen with fear, Sy forgot the words he was supposed to chant, and kept singing. Nikkogre, astonishingly, chanted the words perfectly.
372	“Bonseed, terra nube altra ambulatur!” Buried deep in the ground, a male Bonseed burrowed out and sprang across the air toward the Black Wisp. Brandishing its tiny sword, it cut skillfully at its opponent. The other hissed and produced miniature fangs which sung painfully into the Bonseed’s chest. Turning from this singular battle, Sy became the spectator of many of these battles. Sometimes the Black Wisp fell, and occasionally the Bonseed sacrificed itself for Wikjay’s future. The consistent singing of the Dreamwatchers contradicted the violent atmosphere.
373	The swarm thickened. The other ten worked tirelessly, chanting the same five words over and over. Sy tried to help, but whenever he spotted a Black Wisp, someone else alerted a Bonseed before he could speak. Sweat dripped down Alihorn’s forehead. Boil clenched his teeth. Nikkogre grunted. The battle between good and evil wore on, and Sy, feeling utterly useless, was considering quietly slipping away. Just as the disappointed boyclops resolved on this action, he noticed another shadowy being standing motionless on the edge of the tree. He carried a club in his hand.
374	“Starzak!” Sy cried in recognition, not heeding Alihorn’s counsel. “They need help, you came just in time!”
375	“Yes, yes indeed,” A deviously familiar voice responded. Starzak began chanting what seemed like nonsense, and suddenly a legion of Black Wisps poured forth from around his body, revealing Darweed, the fat, redheaded, evil chief of the Fortress of Dreams.
376	“Darweed? How…” Sy muttered, stunned.
377	“Actually, The Future Lord Darweed of Sycalm Hamlet. Malus has promised me full power over those lands; all that stands in the way of the fulfillment of this promise is that tree;” he jabbed his thumb at Wikjay’s Imagination– “You; and, your companions.”
378“Wait!” Sy was struck with realization. “You led me to the snorgoblins!”
379“Indeed, indeed,” Darweed chuckled. “It was really easy, seeing as how you can barely see, No-cu-lus! But enough chit-chat. So, without further ado, let us begin!” Lifting his club and chanting in a ferocious, blood-thirsty, and wicked dialect, he dashed at the nearest cyclops and smashed his weapon down upon the defenseless mortal, who crumbled.
380	“Darweed! Do not do this!” Alihorn yelled weakly. “Malus’ promises are empty and void.  He will discard you as soon as you become useless!”
381	“Alihorn, you wise fool, Malus has revealed your secrets to me. Yes, I know your inward mystery. The question is, do your puny friends know?” The confused countenances answered the query for him. Alihorn grimaced. “Then they shall fall knowing that their ‘friend’ didn’t trust them enough to tell them the truth!” In blind madness, Darweed charged Clopsin, who put up a feeble struggle before being subdued by the power-hungry lunatic. Sy noticed that each time a Dreamwatcher was defeated, the remaining ones were filled with more strain. But they had to halt the wave of Black Wisps. Sy did not know what to do; he couldn’t move, but his friends were dropping like fruit flies. Where is the White Wisp?! The boyclops had to make a move. He was determined.
382	“Legiones Bonseedum, terra Darweedo, servus Mali, ambulatur!” Valorously, a whole legion of Bonseeds arose and swarmed the villainous Darweed just before he could bring down the trembling Boil. Pinned to the ground, Darweed unsuccessfully tried to escape. He was trapped.
383	With Darweed no longer a problem, Sy focused his attention on his friends. Alihorn, Nikkogre, Zilhunk, and Boil were the last ones standing, each looking at the brink of exhaustion. For the first time since Darweed had appeared Sy stopped singing and shouted to Alihorn,
384	“How much longer until the White Wisp comes?”
385	“I do not know. Bu the four of us cannot take them on. Be the hero, Sy the Dreamwatcher. Make us proud. You can change the tide; it shifts, but you can overturn it; call out the Bonseeds.” 
386At these encouraging words, Sy chanted, 
387	“Bonseed, terra nube atra ambulatur!”
388	“Are you a Dreamwatcher?”
389	“Peace is the key,” Sy recited.
390	“Ok, you are. So, what seems to be the trouble, sugar?” A female Bonseed grinned on his left side. Sy looked at her in disbelief.
391	“I’m just joking, darling. Into battle!” She screamed and crashed headlong into the Black Wisp nearest the tree.
392	IF he had been able to peer back at his companions at that moment, the young creature would have visually seen the little bit of relief they felt at the fresh reinforcement. One, while passing by, might have thought a Latin teacher had punished her students by making them recite the same Latin phrase redundantly. It cannot be said that this was never the case at EyeLearn Elementary.
393	Just as Boil and Zilhunk were about to collapse, Alihorn pointed to the horizon and proclaimed,
394	“The White Wisp is coming! The White Wisp is coming!” Strengthened by this news, Boil and Zilhunk pulled themselves off the ground and vigorously continued the struggle. The brilliant star heralded in hope. Their mission was drawing to its end. Rejoicing, they had to restrain themselves from hugging each other. Happiness captured their diligent souls. Tears of joy rolled down their jolly, brainless cheeks. Although they did begin to wish the Wisp wouldn’t take so long. Even my Great-Grandclopsma could run circles around that creature, Sy thought.
395	In desperate revenge, the torn and shredded Darweed, still cloaked in Bonseeds, ominously chanted,
396	“Servi obscuri terrae, resurrexite et vastate hostes hos vestros!” (This can be translated to mean, “Dark servants of the earth, rise and prey upon these your enemies!”) A howl mounted from the edge of the forest. Faint outlines were all Sy could envision, yet these were enough to inform him that these creatures were liken to the Black Wisps, only larger, meaner, and fouler. At the sound of the howling, Boil dropped in agony, and did not even try to get up. Zilhunk swayed and fainted. The hideous goblins swiftly flew toward the final three obstacles evil had to overturn.
397	“I do not see them, but I certainly hear them. Where are those monsters?” Alihorn said in a puzzled voice. 
398	“Fly scant be them neither!” Nikkogre piped up.
399	“You can’t see that they are right over there?!” Sy inquired incredulously.
400	“No.” The two Dreamwatchers retorted in unison. The advance of these monster Wisps never ceased.
401	“Well, they are headed straight for Wikjay’s Imagination.” Sy quickly grabbed the attention of the first Bonseed he had awakened.
402	“What’s your name, lady?”
403	“My name is Violet, dumplin’,” The Bonseed giggled.
404	“Ok Violet, I need you to rally all your friends and charge down those monsters that are surrounding us. And please don’t call me ‘dumpling.’”
405	“But darlin’, none of us can see them, much less fight them! I’m sorry, but I can’t do onelops worth of stuff.”
406	“We have to do something! Alihorn, what can we do?”
407	“I am afraid we have granted all the help we can grant.” The wise cyclops was at a loss.
408	“Then I know what I must do.” Sy focused hard, more than ever in his entire life. His thoughts spoke thus: Everlasting, give me strength, courage, and bring me victory. With your help, I fight! Images of a great lord standing on the edge of a cliff flooded his mind. The lord pointed at the storming legions, handed a sword similar to Shnorwit’s, and gently placed his hand on our hero’s shoulder. Suddenly, an unknown resolution filled the newest Dreamwatcher, transforming him. And with that, he drew Shnorwit’s sword, ran over to Darweed, and picking up his club, sprinted headlong into the ranks of the wretched servants of Malus.
409
410	This portion of the narration may cause the reader to have a strong desire to grab the author by the neck and give him a good strangling. For now, I will drag you away flailing, kicking and screaming from Sy’s fearless confrontation of these foes back to the village of Sycalm Hamlet. In a wild rampage, the whole town demanded to be let into the Fortress of Dreams. Poor Gorgie the Porter shook in terror as the crowd threatened to smash the beautiful stained-glass windows of the Hall.
411	“Bopbelly, I can’t hold ‘em back! What should I do?!” He bawled.
412	“Just let ‘em in. Then we can offer ‘em some of Boil’s miraculous blueberry tarts and they’ll calm right down,” Bopbelly advised.
413	“But Boil ain’t here.” Gorgie whined.
414	“Then I’ll go make some myself, and you stall them for about two hours and fifteen minutes. Good? Good. Bye now, Gorgie.” He disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.
415	“Boy, how’ll I ever make it two hours!” Gorgie moaned as he grasped the chain to lower the drawbridge. In a frenzied stampede, the Lord Gildope and his family, followed by the upper-class citizens and finally the commoners, stormed in.
416	“I request; no, I demand to see Darweed immediately!” Gildope commanded with glee; he did so enjoy using the word, “demand.”
417	“Yes sir, I’ll set gomeone, I mean, I’ll get someone to go retrieve him, M' Lord.” Simple Gorgie stumbled over his words before such authority. “Clopsin! Go fetch Master Darweed!”
418	“Of course!” Clopsin jogged off toward Darweed’s quarters. Ten agonizingly awkward minutes ticked by.
419	“Well, won’t you come sit down in the Lounge?” Gorgie broke the painful silence with these words. 
420	“Ok, that sounds good,” Gildope responded, a little frustrated at the length of time that passed as they waited. Shuffling into the spacious Lounge, Gorgie found lush couches and wide tables for the wealthiest to be seated at. The commoners stood in the entryway and corridor.
421	“Would anyone like to play checkers with me?” Gorgie asked.
422	“No! We simply want to see Darweed about this silly nomination of No-cu-lus to Dreamwatcher. Do you see how ridiculous we’ll all look to the rest of the world if they find out that garbage ratty, raticious, er, rat has been chosen for one of the most prized positions in all of the Cyclops World!” Gildope and the rich men pompously clamored.
423	“I think I will play,” said little Gildra, Gildope’s five-year old sydaughter.
424	“Ok, let’s play!” Gorgie said, ignoring the complaints of the others. 
425	“But I don’t know how to play.” Gildra informed Gorgie.
426	“Well, I’ll teach you, but don’t feel bad when I beat you the first couple of times. It’s hard to get use to at first…”
427	“I have cards. Why don’t we play hearts?” One of the younger gentleclops suggested. And soon a few card games had begun, and small Gildra beat Gorgie in her first game of checkers, to which he retorted,
428	“Beginner’s luck.”
429	About nine rounds of hearts and five games of checkers later (all of which Gildra won), Clopsin returned with a handful of other cyclopes and a glass jar in his hand. He looked worried.
430	“Darweed isn’t here,” Clopsin reported. An outburst of angry voices shattered the peaceful room.
431	“He fled.”
432	“I cannot believe he made that miserable No-cu-lus a Dreamwatcher and then ran off.”
433	“What a fool!”
434	“So atrocious,” the ever-capricious Miss McMildew declared, though she had previously loved the unattractive traitor.
435	“Wait! Let me finish!” Clopsin screamed at the top of his lungs. Now that he had mastered their attention, he continued, “But we did find this in his quarters.” The Dreamwatcher exhibited the case which was a sickly black color. “As well as this.” Another cyclops displayed a book of curses written in a vile tongue.
436	“So, he is in conspiracy with Malus!” Gildope gasped, horrified.
437	“Yes, and we also discovered his notebook with ‘Starpickle’, ‘Stardust’, ‘Starwars’, ‘Starveggie’, and ‘Starzak’ scribbled in it. All were scratched out except Starzak.”
438	“Oh no! Starzak is in league with Darweed! Starzak is a traitor also!” The pea-brained mob exclaimed.
439	“We must call the Angel. Only he can save Wikjay’s Wit and the Twelve Dreamwatchers!” Gildra shrieked.
440	“Honey, that’s a silly suggestion. Leave this to the profess-y-onals,” Gildope hushed the girllops. Then he addressed the younger commoners.
441	“Run to the Horn and call the Angel! The fastest one to do it wins two hundred fiftyclops! He must be alerted!” A scramble out the door was made. A passerby at that moment, if he were to look up, would perhaps believe a loose herd of young bulls had escaped captivity and were rampaging wildly toward the Bell Tower in the center of the town. About a dozen cyclopes fell on the bell rope at once, causing a terribly unpleasant clang. Immediately, The Angel appeared.
442	“What seems to be the trouble?” He questioned the pile of cyclops’ bodies.
443	“Chief Gildope! Chief Gildope wants to see you!” A jumble of voice shouted, each one trying arduously to be heard above the other. Swift as the whistling arrow, the Angel swept across the aroused town toward the Fortress of Dreamwatchers.
444	“What troubles Sycalm Hamlet?” The celestial gently pried the flustered creatures. Gildope and the Dreamwatchers hastily showed him the clues.
445	“So you see, Starzak and Darweed are working for Malus!” Gorgie cried.
446	“Actually, simple ones, it is worse than that,” the Angel said, having guessed what the lower-intellectual beings had missed. “Darweed is Starzak. But I must admit, Starwars would have been a better disguise name. A great ring to it, you know. Anyhow, I will send my best soldier to aid them, before it’s too late. Farewell. Oh, wait! I need a few of you ready at the opening to the Dream World. Gorgie, Clopsin, Fernya, Mesmerald, Agathatha, Corsydin.” Then he vanished.
447	
448	I do hope I have successfully annoyed you now, because we are returning our focus to our hero, Sy. As he dashed at the nearest Black Wisp, he swung the spiked club with profound strength and cried,
449	“That’s for my Clopsma!” He slashed again with the sword, downing another wretch. “That’s for my Clopspa!” A third time he conquered. “And that’s for ol’ Sykick!!!” And this one’s for that cute Mareyea, so dreamy, one of the monsters taunted him inwardly, grinning.
450	“Silence!” Sy slew the bothersome goblin. Although the tinier Black Wisps kept biting and stinging him, the gallant mortal never ceased his assault. Behind him, Nikkogre and Alihorn lay on the ground, their strength waned.
451	“Sy, do not give up! The Angel is coming! I know it!” Alihorn called out.
452	“But where, huff, is he,” Sy called back nearly overwhelmed with the endless wave of foes. Circling around, he despondently searched for any sign of The Angel, but found none. “He’s not here!”
453	“He is coming! Trust me, Sy!” Alihorn called again.
454	Sy nodded, glancing quickly toward the White Wisp. It was now fifty clopards (yards) from the tree, but he was losing ground. Every ten seconds, he was pushed back five clopards. Nevertheless, he fought all the harder. A deadly gash was opened in his head. His leg was torn. His mind fogged, all its will power and thought mechanically honed in on protecting the tree. He peered at the White Wisp. Forty clopards now. He was less than a clopard from the great oak. Thirty clopards more for the White Wisp. Unfortunately, he was but two feet from the huge plant. His arms ached, his head throbbed, and his legs swelled from the poison. He swayed and fell backward against the bulwark of bark. His cudgel was posted in a defensive position, and he prepared for the end.
455	Out of the darkness, a blinding light split the black barrier with incredible force. Sy looked on in terror, as did Alihorn, Nikkogre, and the Black Wisps. It was an angel. Not the Angel, the one who calls all Dreamwatchers, but a smaller angel, more youthful, and yet immensely fierce, a lion protecting her cubs. A voice as fearsome as the roar of many lions bellowed in a language too beautiful and pure for anyone in the fallen land of Magiterra to utter. As the words trickled from his lips, the wretched servants of Malus began to disappear, dematerializing into nothingness, yet not before issuing a blood-curdling cry of fury. Sy and his friends averted their eyes, but Darweed ran forward with a hunting knife and threw himself at the tree, screaming, “Lord Darweed will reign!”
456	“Stop!” Sy warned, but it was too late. The frivolous cyclops stood no chance, for this angel sent a beam of light straight into the cyclops’ core. He lay on the ground, lifeless.
457	By this time, the White Wisp had arrived at the oak. Nimbly, it split apart and passed in through openings in the bark. As it entered, part of its body engraved words into the bark, which read,
458	“Marked be this one; perils he will face; the world will spring flowers in due time.” 
459	As the angel finished destroying the last Black Wisps, the brightness receded, and he picked up Sy. As the other Dreamwatchers he had brought with him began helping their friends and attending to their wounds, the vivacious angel stared down at Sy, and said,
460	“Here is a true hero. Well done, little fellow.”
461	“Who are you?” The boyclops asked sleepily.
462	“I am Fidenil, one of the lesser servants of the Everlasting, who have come from his kingdom on the Mountain to lend you all a hand. That was some brave fighting you did there.” He put the Dreamwatcher down so he could get a chance to see his face without being blinded. All was won; all fear was none; all dark, was gone. One thing still floated around in Sy’s mind and disturbed him. Looking to Fidenil, he asked, 
463	“What happened to poor Darweed? Did you kill him?” The angel smiled.
464	“Well, you might look at him now and see what became of him.” 
465	Confused and curious, Sy peered at the spot where Darweed had been. But no longer was the traitorous cyclops there. In his place, there lay a large, fat, miserable snorgoblin! It kept going on and on about how wretched it looked and how life would be such a drag from now on. Sy could not contain his mirth.
466	“Behold, the king of the Snorgoblins!” Fidenil proclaimed. And so Darweed, being the largest snorgoblin, became their king, and ruled for many long years until he became too old and fat to cause anybody of any sorts to snore.
467	With many wounds to attend to, Fidenil and the other cyclopes were kept busy. Alihorn limped over to Sy. “How is my brave friend? How do you fe—cough, cough, cough!” He stumbled, and would have fallen to the ground if Sy hadn’t caught him.
468	“You ok, Ali?!”
469	“Don’t worry. I just…sense something. Stay close.” His short sentences surprised Sy.
470	“Ali. It’s really ok. The danger’s gone now.” Ali didn’t quite look satisfied with that answer. Shaking, he whispered,
471	“Just need to rest. Stay close, stay close.” Sy let him tenderly laid him down on the battle-worn earth. Unexpectedly, the vapory clay shook on the other side of the large tree. Although he did not notice it, Fidenil would not allow the cyclopes to dwell long in that place. 
472	“Time to go! We must make it out before the dawn arrives!” Two at a time, one injured and one fresh, the Dreamwatchers disappeared to Sycalm Hamlet. Before following his friends, Sy approached the trembling patch of soil. A hand exploded out of the earth and snatched up Sy!!! 
473Thunk! Scrape! Scratch! Bang! Dragged at an unreal speed, Sy fell ever downward, down, down into the dark depths, the cold heart of the Dream World. And then crash! he hit the ground. Before he could even process the fact that he was in a dark cave, a wounded Black Wisp pounced on him. As the two struggled, the wisp screeched,
474“You may have won this battle, Sy Sycordus Symapsimus Synowherinlificus, but you will never life to tell of it! Malus wants you demolished! Obliterated! DEAD!” 
475	Through the crack in the ceiling of the cave, the wrestling Sy saw the light beginning to break through the darkness. He had to escape! His blood was rushing, he was bruised, beat, and now was fighting a crazed supernatural being! In his weakness, he thought of the Everlasting. Give me one last ounce of strength, Everlasting. Help me escape…
476	Pushing with all his power, Sy thrust the monster off his back. His hand, as if it already knew what Sy wanted, fell around his little sword.
477	“Don’t, you, mess, with, a, DREAMWATCHER!!!” Brandishing the sword which Shnorwit had given him, Sy pointed it straight at the slave of Malus and chanted, “Veritas te consternet!” Just as the rays of the sun broke across the plains of Magiterra, our hero destroyed the enemy and in a flash of light shot into the real world. He was safe.
478
479	The breeze blowing through the open window caused Sy to happily awaken. He found himself in a decent-sized stone room surrounded by bookshelves, desks, and closets. The room was by far more luxurious than his own simple abode, although it was the same size. I must be in the Fortress of Dreamers. Sy got up and stretched, the cool Spring weather tickling him outwardly and inwardly. Feeling his head, he discovered only a light bruise where the gruesome gash had been. In fact, few bruises remained on his body. A table to the left of his bed contained a bowl of clifbloomer. He guessed this herb was what had done the magic.
480 With a twist of the doorknob, he had left behind the room and was strolling down the corridor that led to the great Hall. He had failed to notice the row of doors on the corridor yesterday when his friends had sworn him in. Peering into the Hall, he found it empty. Running to the Lounge, which he had seen upon entering the Fortress last night, he again discovered no sign of life. The Kitchen was vacant. Nor did any room of the Living Quarters contain a single Dreamwatcher. Finally, Sy let down the drawbridge in a hurry, scrambled over it and through the town, in hope of some trace of those sworn protectors. Not only were there none of his pals, there was nobody on the streets. Galloping across Clopclop Stables Road, Sy collided head on into Alihorn.
481	“Sy!” He exclaimed.
482	“Ali!” Sy was overjoyed. He threw himself in dramatic embrace around the tall, slender body.
483	“It is good to see you too, Sy,” Alihorn chuckled, his gargantuan horn twitching. “You must come with me. My errand was to fetch and escort you to the courts of Lord Gildope’s Palace. We must hasten there at once!” Letting go of the youngster, Alihorn swiftly jogged of in the direction of the famed palace, motioning Sy to follow. As they ran past chirping birds and buzzy squirrels, our hero recalled Darweed’s words about Alihorn’s hidden secrets, the ponderings of their Palace visit lost in the swirling hydraulics of Sy’s intellect.
484	“Is it true? What Darweed said, I mean?” Without slackening the pace, Alihorn gruffly answered,
485	“It is true.”
486	“Then do tell me some of your secrets,” Sy begged.
487	“I cannot.”
488	“Why? I’m your friend!” The younger Dreamwatcher cried.
489	“It is for your own good, Sy,” the mysterious elder cyclops told our hero. “Sometimes it is necessary to hide secrets until the right light exposes them.”
490	“But can’t you at least hint at them?” Sy pleaded.
491	“There are some things I know about this world of Magiterra, and The Suffering Sphere beyond, but I wish not to disturb you now. You have already suffered enough. If, however, you could witness the future, all that is hidden would be revealed. For the present, let us enter the palace and see what awaits you.” Without slowing in the least, Alihorn bounded up the palace steps and past the guards, having no second thoughts. Sy, bewildered by the wise one’s words, cautiously trotted up the steps and carefully slipped by the guards.
492	Trumpets sounded as our flabbergasted fellow filed in through the welcoming doors. A brilliant red carpet led up to the traditional throne, similar to the one in the great Hall. In a cheerful pack, the whole town crowded around this velvet pathway. Alihorn guided Sy down the carpet, until he was nearly tackled by old Sykick. Both exchanged high fives, and Sykick, without the permission of the suddenly cross Alihorn, marched alongside his friend for a little bit. Next, Sy’s Clopsma and Clopspa attempted to murder him with well-worn hugs and kisses.
493	“Clopson, I’m so proud of you. You don’t know how proud we both are of you.” Clopspa said. Clopsma just continued to slaughter the poor boyclops. Then he paraded by Bullclub, Redpit, and Disksight, who all shrunk as he made eye-contact with them. Right before reaching the throne, a torrent of cyclopes poured over him, Nikkogre and Boil being the naughty ringleaders of this expedition.
494	“Oh, I was so worried about you, crazy boyclops!!!” Boil cried wildly.
495	“Why, thank you, Boil, I worry about you too.” Sy intended this to be a joke, but when he saw that Boil took it too seriously, he did not persist.
496	“I ham slow and bad to see the flu!” Nikkogre gibbered. “I spam krill cheating the lockcoach!” 
497	“Ew!” Sy snorted. “That’s gross! Spit out the cockroach, for crying out loud!” Of course, Nikkogre didn’t, but our hero did not care in the least. All the remaining members of the company patted him on the back or playfully ruffled his hair.
498	When he had shaken off the last arm in great mirth, Sy approached the throne. On a less-glorious chair beside it, Lord Gildope sat alongside The Angel, smiling at the Cyclops of the One Glass. With a wave of his hand, everyone fell silent. He, the queen, the king’s council, and The Angel rose.
499	“On this day, the fourteenth of May, the year 3712, we would like to honor the heroism of Twelve souls who valiantly fought for the future of Wikjay Hillgate, and perhaps, our own. And out of these Eleven, we would like to honor one especially. Will the Twelve please step forward?” They all shuffled up before Gildope. “I would like to award firstly, Mistress Marjimop!” Marjimop came forward and received her award. Then Kriltin, Bascarp, Dordot, Alyster and Cobnoggin each received the same awards. “And now for these two,” he indicated Boil and Zilhunk, “I would like to give a great honor, for they managed to persist in the battle until the advent of the White Wisp.” Boil and Zilhunk were given silver medals. “And now Nikkogre, our lovable idiot, please allow me to award you with this gold medal of great honor for your perseverance to the end. And do get that cockroach out of your mouth!” Nikkogre took it out, put it in his pocket for later, and accepted the magnificent chain.
500	“Now, my dear friend Alihorn,” Gildope smiled. “You showed exceptional leadership. I have always seen your masked potential, and I and my council have decided that the Fortress of Dreams needs a new Keeper after the, er, change that came over Master Darweed,” he chuckled. “If only we had someone wise, a naturally-born leader, who took initiative when the need arose, we said! After the display of authority, I name you, Master Alihorn Marshguild, Keeper of the Fortress of Dreams and Sole Head of the Dreamwatchers.” He also placed a gold item around Alihorn’s neck, although it was different than Nikkogre’s, for it was intricately carved like a Wisp (a good one, naturally). “Now,” Gildope renewed his speech, “As the new Keeper of the Fortress of Dreams, I request that you present our magnificent hero with his award.” Alihorn nodded. 
501	“I know the ways of the ceremony.” Standing before Sy, the cyclops with the wizardish voice took command in Darweed’s stead. “Sy Se-Sa-So-Su Sycordus Symapsimus Synowherinlificus, I, Alihorn Marshguild, replacement of the late Master Darweed, name–”
502	“Would anyone like some bluuuuuuuueberrrrrry stone-tarts?!” A loud voice interrupted. The nugget-brained cyclops who had cut off the ceremony was Bopbelly. He proudly held out the blackened creations of his baking skills. Everyone cringed.
503	“Yeah…those smell great, Bopbelly,” Boil muttered, as the rank, filthy, and nauseating scent of the fungus-covered charcoals drifted through the once fresh-smelling throne room.
504	“Uh huh, and I made these last week for five hours the night the Eleven went on their adventure, so–”
505	“Uh, Bopbelly…” Boil fumbled around for the right words. “I have this feeling you may have over-baked your blueberry stone-tarts a little too much. Maybe you should leave the chef’s work to me?”
506	“Oh, alright. But what’s your recipe? Can you–”
507	“BOPBELLY!!!” Alihorn blew up. “We have a ceremony to finish, so please, BE SILENT!!!”
508	“Oh, ok…” the distracted cyclops said without any shame.
509	“AS I was saying…” Alihorn resumed in frustration, “I, Alihorn Marshguild, name you, Sy Se-Sa-So, etc., Dreamvision. This shall be your new name among the Dreamwatchers.” Lifting the golden, flashing medal high for everyone to gawk at, Alihorn then gently fixed the chain around Sy’s neck.
510	“Since I am a creature of little care for lengthy rituals, and this event is taking way too long, I say we conclude this ceremony and go celebrate Dreamvision and his Ten Companions!”
511	The hungry crowd had to agree that their stomachs were grumbling rather loudly. Most of them had only come for the reception, anyways. Caught by the stream of cyclopes zombified by the aroma of food, Sy swam through the current to an eddy. This eddy consisted of the vegetable and fruit tables, which were wholly neglected by the starved regiment. Upon finding The Angel chatting with his parents, he felt at home, and began to chatter away and have a good time. Flutes alighted with a fiery zest. Toasts were raised, at first to the heroes, and, after much more wine, toasts were offered to Nikkogre’s digested cockroach. Everyone greeted “Dreamvision” instead of Sy, except for his parents and friends. 
512	Card games began, and Gorgie and Gildra held a checker tournement. The championship came down to Bascarp and Gildra. In one cunning move, the five-year old girl defeated the seventeen-year-old Dreamwatcher, who danced around in mad rage and cried, 
513	“What is wrong with my life?!” Marjimop, Kriltin, Alyster began waltzing in response. Soon a merry dance began, each cyclops bobbing up and down in mirth. Some present, who took dancing as seriously as life, really got down. Lord Gildope especially showed some curious moves that are better left unmentioned. It may be said, however, that young Sy’s hand was snatched up by the dazzling Mareyea, who forced him to dance with her. It may also be said, though we cannot confirm nor deny, that Sy enjoyed this, “just a little,” as he claims.
514	And so Sy, now “Dreamvision,” served as a Dreamwatcher and had many adventures in the Dreamworld with Alihorn, Nikkogre, Boil, and the rest of the Twelve, though they were much more delightful than this one. Bascarp became a much more likable member of the Dreamwatcher team, always talkative and funny but also ever ready to listen and remain silent. Dordot felt discontent with continuing to live in the cyclops community, and ventured out into the world beyond, and played an important role in future events. Marjimop and Alyster never complained about muddy paths again, and in fact, they even begged their friends to go camping more often. Kriltin took up carpentry on the side. Cobnoggin read up on the Odyssey and became a prolific teacher on the subject. Sy’s bullies, Bullclub and his gang, gave up bullying for wrestling, the “less harmful” and “more productive” version of bullying, they said. Sykick remained ever Sy’s best friend, and became braver, never to hide in the bushes again from anything except girllopes. After all of that running from bullies, he discovered that he could outrun any cyclops in Sycalm Hamlet and decided to become a runner. Wikjay Hillgate dreamt his dream, and his adventure awaits to be told, when it has drawn to its completion.
515
516
517	
518	The relaxing view of the Hamlet from Sycalm Hill helped Sy pull himself together before The Angel’s departure. Following to one knee, he tearfully said, head bent, 
519	“Thank you, Everlasting, for granting me the courage and guidance to serve you. I never could have done it without–”
520	“Sy, get to your feet this instance!” The Angel shouted. The puzzled Sy rose.
521	“Huh?”
522	“I am not The Everlasting, Sy. I am merely one of His servants doing His bidding.”
523	“Oh. But, where is The Everlasting?”
524	“He is on the Mountain, which is beyond the Magiterra and the Suffering Sphere. When all worlds are finished, He will return. Do you remember how the Lord Gildope sat not upon the throne?”
525	“Uh, yes!” Sy remembered.
526	“This, my young friend, is a respect all good kings show to the Everlasting, for He is the true ruler of every land. All mortal rulers are not real kings, but rather stewards of His realms. Now I have a question for you.” He paused. “How did you endure?”
527	“Endure what?” Sy was puzzled.
528	“Endure the immense pain of the Black Wisps? That would be enough to kill a weak angel, much more so a young cyclops!”
529	“I suppose it was the image of the lord upon the mount.”
530	“The lord upon the mount?” The Angel exclaimed.
531	“Yes, a lord on the edge of the cliff, I saw it when I asked the Everlasting for help.” The Angel seemed to reflect on these thought-provoking words for a time, until he had had enough. He stared with utmost seriousness at Sy, and with his mystifying address tenderly implanted the words upon Sy’s soul.
532	“Dreamvision, you are a witness. A witness to something few believe, but many reject.”
533	“Well, you don’t have to have twenty-twenty vision to be a hero,” Sy grinned. The Angel ruffled his hair.
534	“Goodbye, Sy. I think you learned well. Remember Wikjay and his dream.” Turning to the sky, he vanished. Alihorn grabbed Sy’s shoulder.
535	“Do not worry, Sy. He will return.” 
536	From then on, every cyclops in the Hamlet found out they all had terrible eyesight, and most needed glasses (a glass, to be precise). And work became easier, play became easier, life in general became easier. A wonderful joy came to all, and friendship remained strong in the village and among its occupants. Sy was a respected member of the Fortress of Dreams, beloved to all the Dreamwatchers. And so peace reigned in Sycalm Hamlet.
537	For a time…
538	The End