Dreams

by Lucas Rivera

The Ranger shifted in his sleep, muttering slightly. The trio had stopped for the night on a barren hill surrounded by miles of clear ground. Any party approaching the camp would be seen minutes before they were even within slinger distance. What's more, the moon was bright and there was plenty of light for the lookout, at the moment it was Jolene's turn, to see. Total safety. But in spite of all this Tom was tense, his teeth ground against each other, he tossed and turned when he was supposed to be resting. For him, there was no safety, not in his dreams. Dreams play by different rules than the waking world, and things that are powerless when the sun rises are all powerful in the twilight landscape of dreams.

Tom slowly stalked through the high ferns, brushing them aside with his outstretched hands. On and on he walked, parting the tall blades of grass for what felt like hours. Something at the edge of his consciousness told him this maze of foliage continued forever, no beginning or end. Just grass and wind, and nothing else. Tom had never before sensed such an... emptiness. It truly felt like the world was hollow, just him, the ferns, and the wind. But then he heard them. First nothing more than a faint change in the wind, then it began to take shape. Similar to how one's eyes adjust in the darkness, Tom's ears soon began to pick up sounds that had until now been hidden by the wind. All around him he heard whispers. Of what or who he could not say, but he was certain of it. He was being watched. Unseen eyes stabbed at his back so incessantly that he began to feel an itch between his shoulder blades. He was surrounded, and yet he was totally alone.

Slowly, Tom began to increase his pace. He started to jog, a quick but disciplined pace he could keep for hours on end. But the whispers didn't fade. They came closer, and closer. He began to move faster, perhaps they would go away given time. Then when they didn't, he went faster still. He began to claw at the ferns wildly as the whispers became louder and louder. Perhaps he was mistaken, everything had to have an end, even this infernal field of weeds. If he could just reach clear ground he could see clearly what was following him. What was hunting him. Faster and faster he ran, all discipline gone, but as he ran the whispers only grew more insistent. Soon he was no longer moving the ferns out of the way, he was simply sprinting through them as quick as his feet could carry him. His face stung as the grass whipped into his face but he wouldn't stop, he continue his mad dash deeper into the infinite plain. He had to outrun these eyes. The whispers grew louder still, he could almost pick words out of the formless river of noise that surrounded him. And the louder the voices became the more Tom became convinced they were getting closer, closing in on him. What would happen when he was caught he did not know, but he did know he was terrified. Suddenly Tom fell into the grass. No, not into the grass. Through it. The ground had swallowed him, and down he fell into darkness. As he fell the whispers became hisses and he heard one word, "Murderer!".

The ranger tumbled helplessly through the void, unsure if he was even spinning or remaining completely still. The dark was such that Tom felt as though he had his eyes closed, though he knew for a fact that they were open. Midnight itself whimpered and ran with its tail between its legs in the face of this darkness. Suddenly a small point of light came into existence, somewhere in the space. A small beacon, yes, but it made the void around him seem less... indominable. The dark was no longer omniscient, all encompassing. It could be breached, and Tom clung to that breach like a lifeline. Slowly the light grew, and Tom again fell, hitting the ground but not feeling pain. He took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly rose from the ground. The view that met him was a painfully familiar one, the view of his home, although he had not been there for seven years.

He was on a slight hill that overlooked a small but prosperous village. The grass here was greener and more full than he had seen in all his time since leaving for the frontier. Trees grew tall and strong, with arms outstretched to the sky swaying softly. Birds called to one another in the distance, singing for no reason at all. Perhaps it was simply to generate beauty and for no other purpose. Tom's heart retched at the sight, and he wanted to look away, but he found himself unable to. His eyes meandered through the streets, drinking in each detail that he had once found inconsequential when he lived there. The wagons in the streets carrying every conceivable product from one end of town to the other. The small curls of smoke leaving the couple dozen homes. His legs, seemingly of their own accord, began to move. He found himself taking short, halting steps closer to his lost life. Although he knew it would break off a piece of his soul he looked at the tall manor near the center of the town, and suddenly he stood right in front of it. It stood tall and proud just as he remembered, and it seemed just as intimidating as ever. Slowly he lowered his eyes and sighed deeply, wondering why he had dreamed this of all things, after all these years. He turned quickly, thinking as he walked through the town. He had tried to convince himself that he had left this all behind, become harder and stronger. But he knew he was lying. Even now his heart seemed to be pulling against his body, pleading, begging even, to turn back 'round and run back to the manor.

The ranger blinked as he found himself staring at the stream, gentle and quiet as it had always been. He tried to remember, had he walked here? Or had the dream simply brought him here against his wishes? He did not know but he couldn't move, not even an inch. His feet were stone no matter how he tried to lift them. His breathing became shallow and he felt sweat begin to form on his face. Why here? Of all places why had he been dragged here? Everything was exactly as it had been, every stone, tree, and fern. It was so familiar it burned. It felt like he had returned to a life he no longer deserved. A life he was no longer fit for. Now all that was missing was her.

Behind him he heard a voice as gentle as rain whisper, "Tom, you returned. How foolhardy.".

Tom's eyes widened and he felt the blood drain from his face. What was she doing here? How was she here? Silently he looked to the side and saw her, clad in a white dress and a stony face she seemed to float as she walked to his side and coldly eyed him. "Why did you come? Have you not done enough damage?"

"Evelyn", Tom began weakly, unsure of what he was going to say, but sure he must say something. She looked at him as though he were a rotting corpse, repugnant in every way.

"You're too late!", Evelyn hissed venomously, her tone and words completely at odds with her cool face, "You left me, and now you come back?"

"No!", Tom screamed, "I didn't mean for this to happen!"

"You think that makes it better? You think that atones for what you did?", Evelyn sneered and turned away, "Goodbye Tom, I pray you find your way to the deepest pits of hell. It would be a small price to pay for what you did."

And with that Evelyn disappeared. No flash, no fading, no warning. She had simply vanished. He could do nothing but stare at the spot where he had last seen her, unable to say or do anything. Nothing he could do would change what had happened seven years ago. As he turned back 'round to look at the creek again he flinched when he realized he was back in the damned field again. The whispering began around him again and again he began to run. This time he ran even harder than ever, because he understood whose eyes were watching him now, and why they were whispering. The specters of the townsfolk chattered behind him, fell down on him, and drilled their way into his head. He could feel their presence like they were breathing down his neck. He could sense their anger, their contempt, their disgust roiling behind him, threatening to engulf him if he slowed for even a second. Tom ran from the voices, and his past. Then something amazing happened. He heard a voice. Not a whisper, but a voice. It called out to him with a tinge of concern, "Tom? Tom!". And then before him Tom saw, through the weeds and grass, an end to the field. Almost weeping with joy he began to tear at the foliage and pumped his legs even faster, running towards the voice, and freedom. The grass grew thinner and easier to run through, and there was more light than ever surrounding him, almost as though dawn was breaking. Finally he crashed through the last layer of leaves and...

Tom awoke with a start and a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. For a moment his confused mind saw the face of Evelyn staring down at him, betrayal in her eyes, but as he blinked he saw Jolene with a worried look on her face calling his name.

"There you are partner, are you all right?", Jolene asked, her keen emerald eyes seeming to cut right through Tom in a way that made him feel like glass.

Tom stared at her for a moment longer, still recovering from the run through the ferns. He could feel his legs aching, feel his chest heaving from the exertion. "Fine... I'm fine, my turn for watch?".

Jolene completely ignored his question and said, "You sure? Look like you saw the devil himself." suddenly she pressed her hand against his forehead. Gently, but suddenly nonetheless, "You better not get sick on me, I ain't carryin' your sorry ass to the next town."

He quickly jerked away from her hand and muttered,"It was nothin' woman. I ain't sick, though I'm not sure why you'd care either way.". Tom quickly donned his hat to obscure his face and stood to walk away, but before he could Jolene grabbed his wrist to stop him, "I care cause I owe you, you saved my life so I lead you to the next town. That simple.".

Tom yanked his arm out of her grip and turned away, "Look, thanks for the help, but I don't need a doctor, so quit your nagging". He strode away and sat at a rock outcropping where he could see 360 degrees all around him with only a tilt of his neck. It was there that he gathered his cloak around him for a sense of security and took deep, calming breaths to try and calm his heart, which still thought he was running for his life. As much as he tried to convince himself he was safe however, he maintained a white knuckle grip on his slinger the whole rest of the night.

From his tent Cook looked out to see the ranger sitting stony faced on a rock, scanning the horizon slowly, and the gambler walking back to her tent. It was clear even from a distance that she was furious. Though he had no idea what words had been spoken, he knew those two had just had a spat. He sighed and ducked back into the tent. Young people were always so touchy, and he knew he was going to have to be the one to keep them from biting each other's heads off. Those two had no idea how much faith he was placing in them, riding together with them as he was. Rummaging through his saddle bags the cook carefully pulled out the medallion he carried with him everywhere and slowly settled it around his neck. Even touching it terrified him, it felt cold as ice and heavy as lead, though he knew that was all his imagination. Slowly Einar tucked the thing under his shirt and ensured it was completely hidden. No matter how frightening it might be, he must keep the thing as safe as possible, and that meant never letting it out of his grasp. Even one slip from this group could have disastrous consequences, but he saw no other way. This had to work. The old cook laid back in his cot and closed his eyes, but it took a very long time for his worried mind to settle enough to find its way into the world of dreams, and even then they made the rangers dreams seem downright pleasant.