The Tale of Nosboddy and Bly

In the Andromeda Galaxy, on a blue and green planet with different land masses but animals similar to ours, was a road built a long time ago to reach a city or god now gone.

In a village of hundreds of nearly identical beige, mushroom-shaped, white-chimneyed homes lived a community of olive green-hued ogres who were as sociable as humans and a hundred times more likely to be merry. They loved playing sports on rolling stretches of grass, having picnics, and going to the open air market. In rainy weather, they stayed cozily indoors, near fire pits, where soup and ale were plentiful.

Most of the ogres ignored the road, since they had no business with the city or god to which it once led. They taught young ogres not to set foot on it, and posted signs imploring tourists, traveling peddlers, proselytizers, and other outsiders to keep walking, as they didn’t trust the outside world.

But one twelve-year-old ogre named Nosboddy Snew asked his parents, two prominent members of the Village Council, about the road as often as he dared without annoying them.

Every time, they reminded him that a few community members in the distant past had walked off on the road, but never returned.

“We have no choice but to suspect that a terrible fate befell them,” his Mom said.

“Not only is the road none of our concern,” his Dad said, “but what we know makes us believe that it’s best avoided.”

Nosboddy wouldn’t have said so to his parents -- only to his best friend, Bly -- but he personally wondered whether maybe no one had ever returned because it was better down the road.

Bly seemed doubtful about this. “The village is perfect,” he said, pushing up his thick glasses and looking birdlike.

“I know.” Nosboddy paused. “Even so.”

Then Nosboddy’s Granny Snew fell ill. She’d always occupied a shining presence in their home, despite having been silent by choice (not even writing notes) for the past 50-odd years. Now she seemed to grow more shadowlike by the day, which Nosboddy watched with dismay, as she was his favorite person, though they’d only communicated through the exchange of facial expressions.

One day, Nosboddy’s parents left the room for five minutes to consult with a doctor, leaving Nosboddy and Granny Snew alone together. He picked up her hand and stroked it, trying to commit it to memory.

Suddenly, her eyes burst open. She leaned forward, gripped his arms, and peered into his face as though she could see straight through to his soul.

“Travel the road,” she whispered. “Just be careful. It doesn’t like being understood.”

With that, she let go, ragdoll-like again, and lay back with her eyes shut. Shortly afterwards, she passed away.

***

As family and friends poured into their home to offer condolences, Nosboddy ran to Bly’s house and rapped on his window (a distinctive set of taps and knocks they’d made up when they were six). Bly opened the window almost immediately.

“I heard about your Granny,” Bly said. “I’m sorry.”

Nosboddy told Bly about her last words. After a pause, he asked, “How could a road dislike being understood?”

“Was her mind clear?” Bly bit his rubbery lower lip.

Nosboddy thought. “No knowing. We have to find out.” He took a breath. “Are you in?”

“Of course,” Bly said. “Every enterprise needs an accountant.”

***

Granny Snew had had a will, in which she’d left Nosboddy a purse of over two hundred small gold coins.

“How odd,” his parents said. “None of us have a need for money. It’s probably meant to be a collection, to examine for your amusement.”

Nosboddy and Bly packed carefully, including the purse of gold coins and jars of clean water, of which they hoped they’d find more along the path. They wrote notes to both sets of parents.

“They’ll be so mad,” Bly said.

“They’ll come around,” Nosboddy said, chewing the clean end of his reed dipped in sap-ink. “They raised us to follow rules, but also, to take risks, be curious, and honor where our curiosity takes us.”

“Hope so,” Bly said. “Hope we don’t just end up grounded.”

Then, fully packed, they waited a few days until the beginning of the colorful, chaotic Harvest Festival, rich with singing, dancing, gourds, foliage, bonfires, baking, and feasting. While their parents were busy with festival related duties, they set off.

The sky was awash with fluffy pink clouds, like cherry blossoms strewn across a cerulean standard. The road’s cobblestones sparkled, showing their colors: pink, blue, orange, yellow, brown, cream, and white.

Together, they put their feet onto the path, and sighed with relief when nothing happened. They both looked back to where they’d come from -- the town was still visible -- then forward, at the path. They set off in the direction of the sun.

For three hours, they didn’t encounter anyone. They walked quietly, pausing occasionally to remark on a flower or tree they’d never seen, or to listen to a bird’s sudden melody.

Repeatedly, one or both of them felt very hot or very cold, and sometimes each felt the opposite. If the cold one bundled up, he soon felt blazing hot. If the hot one managed to cool down, he was soon teeth-chatteringly frozen.

At times, it felt to each of them like one or more small creatures had scampered up their legs -- but they couldn’t see anything on themselves or each other. Sometimes the trees to both sides seemed to laugh at them through the rustling of their leaves.

The road meandered where it didn’t even have to, taking extravagant figure eights through a field of green and golden grain rather than cutting straight through.

“We could save time and walk straight across,” Bly said.

Nosboddy frowned. “I kind of want to stick to the path.”

“Okay.” Bly shrugged. “Fine by me.”

The path curved around spectacular rock formations, passed two waterfalls, and coiled through a vast, dark cavern, which at its lowest point, turned into a tunnel through which they had no choice but to crawl, and they ended up in a beautiful valley.

Suddenly, they heard music and talking, and realized they had stumbled upon a tavern and inn.

Gratefully, they went inside, and were greeted by a motley group of faces.

A colossal salamander in an apron approached them. “You got money?” he asked, his yellow eyes blinking rapidly.

“Yeah,” Nosboddy said, opening the purse of gold coins just a crack.

The salamander looked in and positively leaped. “You sure do!” He looked around. “I’m Erl and I own this joint. Be careful with that purse. Don’t flash it around. Sorry I had to come at you like that, but can’t be too careful. The road must like you to have let you travel with gold. So, then. Two ales, two stews with rolls, a room?”

Nosboddy and Bly nodded.

“Great.” He gestured around with four fingers. “Sit anywhere you can find room.”

Nosboddy and Bly squeezed into the only two spare seats they could find, at a circular table, between a fox and a cassowary.

“What a scam,” the fox (wearing a crimson jacket with matching gold-feathered cap) said to the cassowary. “Rather than requesting money for your church, you should buy me my next ale. Your church displaced my family from the town where we’d always lived, and built that colorful glass monstrosity with the dome. You don’t even have any holy relics, since that miracle-causing worm thing of yours went missing. Come, then, buy me an ale if you’re honorable.”

The cassowary (wearing something akin to an abbess’s dress in embroidered dark fabric that covered all parts of her but her face) made a slight yet booming rumble. “Sir,” she said. “Regretfully, I'm unable to proffer such a thing. It's not within our religious -- that is --”

“Figures,” the fox said, turning to Nosboddy and Bly. “And you are?”

They made introductions.

“Goldfeather,” the fox said.

“Dorovane,” the cassowary abbess said, nodding.

“Do either of you know where the road goes?” Nosboddy asked.

“Everywhere and nowhere,” bleated a lavender goat with a green headscarf seated across from them.

“The road goes to my church,” Dorovane said. “That's all one could ever need.”

“It goes to many more places than that,” the fox said. “Buy me an ale, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Nosboddy turned to Bly.

Bly frowned. “As your accountant…” he whispered. “However, we do need information and friends. Just one.”

They turned to Goldfeather and said “Okay.”

When Erl came with their ales and stews (and rolls, which they pocketed for later), they ordered Goldfeather another ale.

When it arrived, Goldfeather took a long sip. “The road doesn’t go anywhere.”

“How can that be?” Bly asked.

“Maybe it makes a circle eventually somewhere, who knows?” Goldfeather said. “Or anyway, some other chaotically fantastical shape that connects. No one has ever proven that it actually goes anywhere. Another weird thing is that some say the same town keeps reappearing along the road, but different each time -- the first time, lovely. The second time, a hundred years older, and so on. There’s a town where people routinely have their shadows liberated, and sometimes those shadows go on to lead long and productive lives apart from their original, you know, owners. As for the road’s end, nobody can say. Kings have sent surveyors with compasses, and they’ve never reached an end. Some people who’ve walked off down the road never return, or they return much older than they should be. But that’s the road.”

“What does that mean?” Bly asked. “What’s ‘the road’?”

“Everything and nothing,” the goat said.

“True,” Goldfeather said. “I have to agree. It’s vital not to stray from it, as that usually proves fatal. However, just walking on it may also prove fatal. I'm sure that the road, which is sentient, has already shed memories upon you.”

“What do you mean?” Nosboddy asked.

“Did you feel any things climbing up your legs?” Goldfeather asked.

Nosboddy and Bly, wide-eyed, nodded.

“Those were dreams,” Goldfeather said. “The road collects them from travelers, and imparts them to other travelers. We’re not sure why. We think it finds this amusing.”

“Well, that thing you described happened to me a lot,” Bly said. “Like, maybe ten or twelve times.”

Nosboddy nodded. “Same.”

“Try not to be alarmed by your dreams tonight,” Goldfeather said. “You may have murderous dreams, romantic ones, traumatic ones, and everything in between. Hopefully, you won’t die in any of them, as that could prove deadly to you in real life. Even if not fatal at that moment, the dreams drive many madness. There’s nothing you can do about it now, so try not to worry about it. But you should wear preventative socks and shoes the next time you set foot on the road.”

“Where can we get those?” Nosboddy asked.

Goldfeather laughed. “Probably not here.”

A yak with golden wings flew to their table and hovered over them, his wings vibrating like a hummingbird’s.

“I'm Biblot.” His voice boomed like a church bell. “I couldn’t help but overhear, as it’s my blessing and curse to hear everything. In this case, you’re lucky, because my lifelong partner, Uuna, is a seamstress who makes such socks and shoes.”

“Which one is Uuna?” Nosboddy asked.

Biblot pointed his hoof at a vulture, seated several tables away.

Nosboddy paid the yak a gold coin for shoes and socks for each of them.

“They won’t help you tonight, though, I’m afraid,” Biblot said. “Nothing can be done about the dreams that are already attached to you.”

“I hope you don’t go insane tonight,” Goldfeather said. “Or die.”

***

That night, Nosboddy and Bly lay, each on his own small bed, side by side, too gripped with fear to fall asleep.

Finally, both dozed off.

Nosboddy dreamed he was a snail-like creature who’d been told he would grow up to be an immense, winged, fire-breathing, cloud-puncturing creature. In the dream, he was being told that this lifelong expectation and hope of his wasn’t true, that he would remain a snail, that he was in fact doomed to live a short life, and probably would be dead by nightfall.

Bly dreamed he was a turquoise colored lady who lived in a swamp, who was very vain, as well as unforgiving of those with bad manners.

Then Nosboddy’s dream changed. He was a tiny fish, pursued by several larger fish, about to be eaten. He felt teeth closing on his tail.

Bly’s dream changed. He was dashing into a fiery barn to save someone. He felt flames licking his skin.

What would have happened next was unclear; they were woken by insistent pounding on their door.

Both fell out of their beds and opened the door, to find Dorovane, the cassowary abbess.

“Take this,” she said, thrusting a wooden box at them. “Deliver it to the domed glass church seventeen towns down the road “

“What is it?” Bly asked.

“No time,” Dorovane said. “I’m being hunted. But it doesn’t matter what happens to me. They must never find this, our precious holy relic. Please. I am entrusting it to you. With this relic in your care, you shall have no more bad dreams.”

Before Nosboddy or Bly could reply, Dorovane bolted down the hallway into darkness.

Nosboddy and Bly examined the wooden box.

Bly whispered, as the holy relic's presence made him feel a need to be extra respectful. “Can you imagine what our parents would say? ‘It’s none of our business. No affair of ours.’”

“We definitely have to deliver this relic,” Nosboddy murmured back. “It’s important to someone’s religion.”

“Agreed,” Bly said softly, touching its fastened lock. “I wonder what it is. I guess to be honorable, we’ll just have to take it to the church, hand it over, and never find out.”

“But Dorovane didn’t say we couldn’t open the box,” Nosboddy said.

“It’s locked.” Bly whispered. “That means we probably shouldn’t.”

Both sighed.

Suddenly, a high, chirping voice screamed, “Air! I need air!”

It came from within the box.

Bly had tremendous strength. He yanked open the lock.

Inside was a gold, spool shaped object; woven around its axis was something resembling an earthworm.

“That is better!” shouted the worm. “It is I, Zespera! Feed me! Serve me! Delight in me!”

Nosboddy struggled not to laugh. “Who are you? What can we feed you?” He looked around and remembered the rolls left from dinner. “Are these okay?”

“Satisfactory!” Zespera screamed. “Tear them into pieces and feed me, if you please!”

Nosboddy found a plate, and he and Bly set to work, tearing the rolls into tiny pieces, which they then took turns shoving into Zespera’s gaping mouth.

“Stop!” Zespera yelled. “Don't overfeeding me! That is if you can even call this food, as I've never encountered a dryer substance. It’s like eating sand! However, now… I am calm. Speak.”

Nosboddy and Bly exchanged a look.

“Are you by any chance a ‘miracle causing’ sort of creature?” Bly asked.

“Of course!” Zespera declared. “Was that somehow not clear?”

“Are you a boy or a girl?” Nosboddy asked.

“Both, obviously!” Zespera shrieked.

“Great!” Nosboddy exclaimed, smiling apologetically. “Could you please… take away the dreams the road gave us?”

“No need!” Zespera shrilled. “No untoward dream may dare to approach the vicinity of one such as me! I’m also a talisman against all evil!”

Sure enough, for the rest of that night, Nosboddy and Bly had nothing but their own familiar, comfortable dreams.

The next morning, they collected their newly created custom socks and shoes to ward off the road’s dreams (though Zespera said that with his-her presence, no dreams would dare to approach them even on the road). Hiding Zespera’s wooden box and their purse of gold coins, they set off.

Happily, there were no more feelings of dreams crawling up their legs.

They traveled into a forest where for most of that day, they were in a dark world of trees in which no light penetrated the canopy. They lit torches to find their way.

When Nosboddy and Bly were getting tired, they came upon an inn in a cave on the side of a mountain.

Nosboddy proffered two gold coins to the owner, a pelican in a long, dark cape and slanted dark hat.

“Alas,” the pelican said. “Although I love gold, I do not love that patrons may arrive here unannounced at any moment.” He sighed. “When I was a ferryman, I knew that I would only get more passengers when docked on land. But I have always been partial to gold. My name is Trageto.”

“We need a room!” Zespera snapped, though earlier, Nosboddy and Bly had begged him-her not to speak.

“Hmmm?” Trageto said.

After shushing Zespera, Nosboddy smiled. “We’d love dinner and a room, please.”

“What a pity,” Trageto said. “You would be both hungry and tired. When does it end? I suppose you may have room four, and we shall send up two bowls of porridge and two ales.”

“Actually,” Bly said, “may we please have three bowls of porridge?”

“Just my luck,” Trageto said. “You’re extra hungry. However, it’s fair for what you’ve paid. Fine.”

The next day, they reached the church, a rainbow hued glass wonderment with a dome that lit up in the sun.

Worshipers, including Dorovane, had been waiting for Zespera, and everyone rejoiced when he-she was restored to his-her rightful place in the church.

Then Zespera asked if Nosboddy and Bly would like a miracle for returning him-her. The miracle he-she granted was that wherever they were, either or both could recite an incantation and knock together their dream-repelling shoes to be back in their own ogre village.

They did return home, and in time, their parents forgave them; so they continued traveling together, and returning home now and then. They never found the end of the road.