Dream 2: Panic in Shadow
I am afraid. All around, I am enclosed in darkness. Never have I dreamed of nighttime in this place. The scraping of branches against bark, the crunching of leaves in the distance. I wonder if animals also live in my forest. Right now, it does not feel like the forest I know. I stumble through the dark, tripping on fallen saplings, becoming tangled in vines. My hands are stretched before me like a blind person though my eyes are wide open. I come against a large, rough tree and cling to it, pushing my cheek against it. Tree, I say, what is happening? The tree shudders, angry. I stumble back. What's wrong? I say. Death, it says. I turn at the sound of breaking wood. It came from some distance away, but I have never heard it here before. They are ripping, the tree says. They are killing.
I try to become still, breathing slowly, and notice that I can sense this, too. The trees at the edge of the forest are crying. The sound tightens my throat. My eyes have adjusted enough that I can walk slowly without fear. I walk toward the noise.
A cold is sifting through the trees. I shiver as I walk, hugging my arms. I tell the trees I can't see very well, and they move their roots and branches out of the way. I pause at a stream to drink, trying to ease the burning in my throat. I immediately feel better, and my vision improves. I begin to walk quickly to the forest edge. I can hear more than the cries of trees, now. There are shrill calls and coarse cries. I do not know what is causing such a disturbance, but it is hurting my forest.
I draw closer to the sounds, and I can hear voices. They are rough and angry.
"More wood, you cowards!" a voice shouts. The sound is more of a growl than speech.
"Go on, hack it all!" another voice says. "Who's afraid of a forest?" There are growls and screeches and the thunking of axes on wood. I feel sickened.
I slip through the trees and scraggly brush, walking silently with the help of the forest. I hear one tree whisper caution, another murmurs for help. I touch them as I pass. I know all of these trees.
A glow has grown in the darkness, and I know a fire has been started. I can smell it. The trees shake with fear. I am shaking, too. Besides the smell of smoke, an oily, filthy stench is permeating the air. It reminds me of locker rooms, if the lockers were next to a dump. I freeze as I spot figures moving. I am very near to the edge of the forest.
There are perhaps a dozen figures I can see, lit by a growing bonfire. Some of them are hacking at the smaller trees at the forest edge, others are throwing fresh branches on the fire. The trees around me take up a wail that wrenches at my heart. Our friends are dying. That tree being splintered, is that the tree I lied beneath yesterday? My fingers dig into hard bark as I watch. The murderers are odd, hunched creatures. Humanoid, they had two arms, two legs, but they were not men. I wondered if I was going to start having night terrors again, if this was the destruction of my mind attacking itself.
"Hear that, lads? He says he's hungry!" a creature yells. He is answered by a wave of humorless laughter that clatters through the forest.
"The only thing worth eating around here, boy, is you." the creature says. "So, shut it!" The creatures continue to grunt in amusement. I crouch and sneak forward.
"Why don't we?" another creature asks. "Why don't we eat him and be done with it?"
As I come upon the edge of the forest, I get down on my stomach and inch forward. The bonfire is about thirty feet from the forest, and it silhouettes the creatures that walk or sit in front. I marvel at the strange things my mind has conjured in my dreamworld. The creatures are all wearing what I assume to be armor, but the quality is low, and their garments are dirty rags. A few of them have nicer looking scabbards or daggers, swirled with decorative metals and embossed leather. Some have stringy hair hanging in dirty clumps. Every face I can see is grotesque, some vaguely porcine. In the light of the fire, their strange skin is mottled and dark. I have dreamed up monsters.
Flung in the midst of the dirty company is a human, a boy, from what I can tell. He is huddled with his hands tied, head hanging low.
"There's barely any meat on 'im, but he'll do," says the creature.
"Then you can tell Groner what happened to his hostage when we get back to camp," the first creature, the one who seems to be in charge, sneers. The other creature growls but backs away, grumbling. He picks up an ax and walks toward the woods, toward me. I start to inch back, curious about this story unfolding before me and not wanting to interfere. The trees call out to me in warning.
"What's this, then?" a gravelly voice says behind me. I move to stand, but a weight drops on my back, pushing me down. "A spy?"
"What you doin' over there?" the leader shouts from beside the fire.
"I think I just found dinner!" says the one whose foot has be pinned. My hands scramble over the grass. I turn my face out of the leaves and grass and grit my teeth. I want to wake up, but I don't know how. Usually, it just happens. I've never had to will myself out of my dreamworld before. I hope that it will not be too long before my alarm goes off. The foot is pressing hard on my back, and it is hard to breathe.
"One of the horsemen out here?" the leader says.
The foot holding me down shifts. "Horsewoman!" he says. A few members of the group by the fire whoop and rattle their weapons.
"Let's have a look," the leader says. I'm hauled to my feet, but my knees have gone weak. I stumble back down when I'm pushed.
"On your feet, horsewoman." I look over my shoulder at the creature shoving me to the fire. His hairless skull is marred by scars, and he is missing a chunk out of his nose. In the weak light of the fire that can reach us, I see his black eyes threaten to swallow me whole. He grins blackened teeth at me then growls. His leather and chain mail armor clinks and shakes. A monster, I think again. I can hear the trees wailing. Creatures by the fire are laughing, clanging their swords and spears together, calling for sport. Some have gone back to sinking ax heads into trees. I can hear them cry. The rest of the forest bristles and groans, but the creatures ignore it. Outside of the trees, they are safe. My forest is so very angry.
"Get moving," the creature missing part of his nose says as I stand. The trees continue their siren-like wail of anger and pain. I forget that I am dreaming. I feel a bruise on my back from the creature's booted foot. I feel roots going deep, connecting me with the forest. I smell sweat from the creature's body and see the rust-colored stains on his armor.
I hit him quickly, without thinking. I am surprised by the force with which my fist strikes the side of his jaw, how he turns, staggers, and falls. I've never hit anyone before. I am a lover of books and art, of my trees in my dreamworld. Drinking from the forest streams always made me feel more solid, stronger, maybe that was my dream's logic.
The creature crawls a few feet, disoriented, then sits up with a hand holding his face.
I notice that there is a silence hanging in the air, and I turn toward the fire. The other creatures are staring. The ones who had been sitting are now on their feet, weapons drawn. Swords and daggers and spears catch the shimmering light from the orange flames.
"Tha' scum bwoke my jaw!" says the creature beside me as he wobbles to his feet and staggers away. The group of creatures snarl, growl, and shout as one and charge. My hands go cold, and I turn to run. The creatures who had been cutting wood are behind me, cutting me off from the forest. The trees wail. My heart hammers in my chest as I spin around, looking for an escape. Not knowing what else to do, I drop to the ground and jump into the legs of the front-most attackers, bowling them over. It may have been comical if I wasn't so frightened. I knocked three to the ground who in turn knocked over two more. I stand and bolt through the hole I created in their line. I duck under an arm that flings out to catch me, but as I stand, the shaft of a spear slams into my chest and puts me down. The creatures recover their feet and are upon me in an instant. I curl up, protecting as much as I can. Blows fall on me, many feet and the butts of weapons.
I wish my alarm would take me away.
I don't remember my night terrors ever being quite like this before. The details are so sharp: the pebbles in the trampled grass, the forest and fire, the smells. Have I ever smelled things while dreaming? I've felt pain in dreams before, but the experience was always short and vague. The hard wood and heavy hilts crashing down are not dulled by a veil of dreaming. My pummeling probably doesn't last that long, but I don't remember being thrown beside the boy, now with my hands and feet tied with rough, fibrous rope.
Now things are muffled and dull. The voices are still coarse, but I can't understand them. Through the smoke, beyond the light of the fire, I can see the pinpoint of stars spinning above me, or perhaps I am the one spinning. A face appears above me. It is the boy, and he is saying something to me. He doesn't look so young from this close. He looked smaller next to the creatures. He has maturing features, looks to be in his twenties.
Exhausted and aching, I close my eyes. I recognize the shrill call of my alarm.