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Pom warily examines the new environment. “What kind of practice did you have in mind?”
“If Maxwell doesn’t know how to put Mom into REM sleep, I’ll have to get to her via the subdream again. It occurred to me that we can practice some skills that might help us survive in that scenario.”
Pom’s ears wiggle slightly. “How would that work?”
“I’m making this up as we go. For starters, do you think you could somehow realize a subdream is a subdream and tell me?”
His ears droop and take on a beet color. “Every subdream looks like this, yet I don’t realize it. Too lost, like your clients before you tell them they’re dreaming.”
“The same happens to me. Maybe if we hang around here long enough and keep reiterating that this is where subdreams take place, something will stick?”
He perks up. “Maybe. Also, you’re a more powerful dreamwalker now. Maybe that’ll help you the next time.”
I sigh. “I hope so.”
“So we just run around here?” His ears take on a carrot hue. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“You know how you’ve been turning into weapons for me when subdreams happen?”
His fur turns brown, and he lifts his chin. “I do it instinctively. It’s what saves our lives.”
“Exactly. And you’ve been all kinds of different weapons. But I think my preference would be a katana.”
Pom leaps at my wrist and becomes a bracelet, as if this were the waking world. He then extends and turns into a furry blade.
I touch the edge of the Pom katana, and my finger starts bleeding. In this form, my symbiont is surprisingly sharp.
I slash the furry katana through the air a few times. “This is awesome. Let’s practice you doing that. Hopefully you’ll get so used to it you’ll do the same in the subdream.”
Pom separates from my wrist and expands until he becomes his cute self again. “To make it more fun, we need something for you to slay.”
Genius.
I manifest a creature that attacked us in a subdream once. It looks like twenty ant mandibles grew to the size of a truck, then sprouted antennae and legs.
Pom shudders. “Creepy. Could probably also work as exposure therapy.”
“Less talking and more turning into a katana, please.”
With a grin, he leaps onto my wrist again, then extends and becomes the blade I favor.
I jump up and slice the mandible creature’s head clean off. As it evaporates, I remind myself that monsters plus black ocean and fiery skies means a subdream. I want it to become a strong enough association that I might think of it when in a real subdream.
Pom transforms back into himself. “That was fun. Let’s do it again.”
This time, our opponent resembles a giant spiral worm—or syphilis bacteria, but with centipede-like legs ending in knife-sharp talons.
As soon as Pom becomes the katana, I behead the spiral worm with a flick of my wrist.
My looft is right. This is kind of fun.
Wait, almost forgot to remind myself that this is what a subdream looks like.
Before Pom can stop being a blade, I bring forth another monster from our subdream past—a ten-foot-tall monstrosity that reminds me of a tardigrade, a micro animal that lives in water, has no discernible eyes or nose, a hole for a mouth, and eight limbs that end in claws attached to a fat, sea-cow-like body.
Leaping off the water, I somersault in the air as I swing Pom.
Tardigrade’s head separates from its body.
This is a subdream. The thought pops into my head almost on autopilot this time—a great sign.
As I’m landing, I create the next target: a hairless and earless humanoid figure with one huge mouth where the face should be. It’s got a sword-like claw growing out of its right index finger, and I make it take a swing at me. I dodge the strike, then behead it like the others—while reminding myself of subdreams.
Now I’m really getting into the spirit of this exercise.
I recreate another monster I’ve met in subdreams, a pair in fact: a mount that looks like a warthog crossed with a spider and its rider, a giant naked mole rat with tentacles.
I leap off the water and swing my sword once, twice.
Both the warthog mount and the mole rat rider lose their heads at the same time.
“Subdream,” I mutter.
Pom morphs into a talking version of himself. “These are so scary, yet I’m okay.”
I grin at him. “The exercise is working. Now if only it were this easy in the real subdream.”
Shrugging, Pom becomes a katana again.
I make our next opponent a turkey vulture, only skeletal and covered in pustules, with a featherless body and claws. Feeling bold, I let the monster fly at me while I wait in a samurai stance, with Pom above my head.
The vulture dives. As I wait, I think the magic word: subdream. Just as the vulture’s claws are ready to rip into my flesh, I slice.
