Dream 4th February 2017

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


This was the first dream for many years, I thought they had left me for better or worse.



My partner at the time immediatelly ordered me behind the laptop to write it down, and later to publish it for others to comment.

Submitted: August 13, 2018

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Submitted: August 13, 2018

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I dreamt of a muscular man in a time over a thousand years ago. He was dressed only by his waist and down. He had recently escaped captivity from an advanced civilization, possibly Rome?

His wife and children were out there somewhere, he has to find them.

While making his way northeast, towards the great forets of his home, he is once again taken captive. Only this time by an unknown tribe and expecting to be sacrificed or otherwise brought of his life.

A priestess who gives a christian impression and with an obiou influence over the tribe gives him two options. Either spend the night with her, if she is pleased she might allow him one more night with her up until she is no longer pleased. When she is no longer pleased, she will no longer protect him in this tribe. Either way, he will never be regarded as a tribesman and thus must rely on her protection.

The other alternative is to flee. He will have until dusk to make his decision, during the meantime he is allowed to move freely as long as he stays within eye sight of the camp.

He walks around the camp, trying to map it out when he comes to a streaming river surrounded on both sides by cliffs stretching 3 men tall above the water.

Downstream, the river divides in two. Immediatelly after the divide is a small beach on the other side of the river, once again followed by the cliffs.

The priestess appears behind him.

"This is the only escape route available to you, it is the only route where the tribe will not hunt you down".

He informs the priestess that he intends to escape.

The priestess responds.

"When you get to the other side of the river, cut your hand and hold it up in front of your eyes and let the wolf smell it".

He looks over the river again, memorizes a few spots where sharp rocks are protruding from beneath the surface, he'll have to take care not to hit them.

After that, he throws himself over the cliff.

He struggles in the rapids, in the beginning he seems to be sucked back to whence he came, but after a push of effort, he is soon on the other side of the river floating with the stream.

Before he reaches the small beach, his body takes an autonomous decision and grabs a steep slope made from a fine, dark grey sand that briefly interrupts the cliffs.

"No, the sand here will not hold me, I will slide down into the rapids again if I try to get ashore here" he thinks. His body does not obey, it pulls itself up the slope while the sand hurtles beneath him.

Just as his feet manages to leave the water, his vision fades from the effort. His last thoughts are how his senseless body will be pounded by the rocks in the rapids, he will drown unless he cracks his head first.

 

After some time, he wakes up under a heavy grey sky. There is no way of determining wether it is day or night, but he senses that he has been out for quite some time.

With effort, he starts to crawl up the sandy slope, the sand rustles down and for every meter he ascends, he slides back half a meter. Eventually he heaves himself the crest.

As he stands up, he notices a wolf drifting about. The wolf does not seem to mind him, and continues drifting about seemingly without a purpose.

He thinks of the priestess words and cuts his hand. He puts it up and approaches the wolf with his hand stretched out in front of his face. The wolf smells his hand, and it seems to become bigger, more powerful.

The wolf sets off in a determined tracking, the man follows him in a double paced march. Something inside him tells him that this wolf is tracking for his family, that his blood was sufficient for the wolf to know what to look for.

After a long time of tracking through the grey landscape, the cross a hill with a big rock. Below the hill stretches a vast field of grass.

The man sends a grateful prayer to the holy maiden.

Instantly, the wolf stops tracking, it seems small and pitiful as it starts aimlessly drifting about again. Almost as if it wanted to disappear, find a place to hide.

The man cuts his already cut hand and stretches it out towards the wolf again, nothing happens. He remembers that he was supposed to hold it in front of his eyes first.

In silence he prays to the holy maiden for this to work. When the man puts up his cut hand to his eyes, it is as if his hand was not there. He sees straight through it, next to the big rock is a small child.

The child lacks an eye, instead there is only a black hole. Menacingly the child bares its sharpened teeth towards him.

Terrified, the man put down his hand, but there is nothing there. The wolf is shivering pitifully a stones throw away with its head turned towars the stone.

Whispers are making themselves heard in the mans head, iracible, quick and quiet. The man only manages to interpret a few of the words.

"Sifa, is...

Ifa is the father and the fisherman

Siva is the one who torments and destroys

Iva...

Tifa is the one who...

Tiva is the wealth and..."

 

The man realises that the christian gods and saints have nothing to do with what is happening here. He lifts his hand and sees the child standing where it stood before, teeth no longer bared but with a mysterious look on its face saying "now you understand".

The man thinks about the whispers, it seems he will have to be careful with his prayers in this domain. All the names in the whispers were so similar, they are easy to mix up.

He reall only caught the function of three of the names. Siva did not sound like someone he would like to encounter, on the other hand Ifa was the father and in front of the man is a child. Tiva was for riches, but also something else, that could be anything, benign or malevolent.

"Ifa?"

The child does not smile, but it seems less threatening now.

A whisper comes through inside the mans head.

"You have to be careful with what names you invoce around here. You do not belong. Now carry on".

The man takes down his hand and the place where the child stood is once again nothing but grey grass next to a grey rock, under a clouded, heavy grey sky.

The wolf no longer looks puny and afraid, it ha recovered its former bauty and strength.

It leads the man down the vallet and up to a cave. By the cave, the wolf takes another direction although the man understand that he needs to enter this cave.

As the wolf takes off, he appears smaller and not as powerful as just before, but still very big for being a wolf. It heads up the valley with a determined walk.

The man enters the cave and he is met by a gate with the painting of a human-like creature so evil and violent that the mere image sends cold shivers up the mans spine.

The man brings his hand up towards his face again and prays to Ifa, the father, the gate opens. The man takes down his hand in order to go through the gate, but it is once again closed. As he brings up his hand again, the gate is once again open and so he walks through the gate with his hand in front of his eyes.

The whispers starts coming through into his head once again, this time stronger and more intensive. Multiple voices whisper threateningly the same rhyme and words as before, the words are difficult to differentiate and the names so alike that it confuses.

Sifa, is..

Ifa is the father and the fisherman

Siva is the one who torments and destroy

Iva...

Tifa the one who...

Tiva is the wealth and...

 

The man enters an empty room, with his cut hand in front of his face, he searches the room, but there is nothing but a door in the other end of the room. One visible even without the hand.

In the whispering, he starts hearing another whisper, but it drowns out in the sheer amount of voices whispering in his head.

He focuses on the door and starts approaching distinctively. He really does not know anything about these whispers or to whom they belong, but he has it in his head that straightforwardness and courage can impress whatever holds power in this cave.

Behind the nex door is another identical room. Except this room is not empty. In the middle of the hall is a bed of burning coals.

The man reflects over the simplicity of walking around the coals, but decides on crossing them. They are there for a reason.

His feet burns, but he grits himself through the pain and over the coals. All the way with his family on his mind.

When he manages to cross, the whispers change their character, new whispering voices break in. They seem encouraging but they are blended together into an incomprenehsible mass. The man is not even certain that they are speaking the same language.

"Will he succeed?"

"Will we be free?"

"He has made it so far..."

"Can HE help us?"

One voice makes itself heard over the rest of the whispers.

"Your family... ...here..."

This makes the blood in his veins freeze, he didn't really know what to expect, but that his family would even be known by the powers at play here worries him deeply. Urged by the whisper and the will to find out more, he pushes onwards.

The next hall he enters is covered with the mural of a battle.

A demonic being rises up over the battlefield. He is superior to all else on the battlefield, but he seems to be fighting both sides of the battle at the same time. He is a third faction in a battle between two warlords. The sky is depicted with red clouds and the two hosts are fighting both eachother, and the huge being in the center of the field.

By the feet of the enormous being is a door.

The man pots a hand on the door, but hesitates. He has a bad feeling about this door, although he is a true warrior on the battlefield, but back then it was men, horses and war hounds. Whatever lies beyond this door makes his stomach twist and turn.

At the same time, the bare thought of turning around makes his heart drop. What says he will be allowed back into these halls a second time?

He looks at the mural again. If the next room means what he thinks it does, he will not be able to do it on his own regardless. He decides to turn back and get help, but from where? he only place known to him is the camp from where he just escaped. Will they not kill him on sight? Maybe he can talk to the priestess, after all she did seem to have some insight to this domain.

Was she not the one who had shown him how to get here in te first place?

The man decides to turn back, a feeling inside him assures him that he will have the help he seeks. The whispers offer no clues, they seem disappointed that he is turning back - but there are only a few whispers that can be heard among the others.

"He is too weak"

"He is a human"

"He is a coward"

He comes out of the cave, the clouds are heavy and grey in the now even darker night sky. The wind lies dead. He has memorized the road back to the camp and starts back tracing his steps. Every so often, he feels an urge to turn around and make sure noone or nothing is following him. A panting sound, an occasional rock tumbling down a hill. Could it be his own weary breathing? Was it he who knocked over a rock without noticing? He pushes away his fatigue, here is no safe place to sit down for a rest on this side of the river - that much is certain.

The sound of running water meets his ears when his eyelids are as heavy as they could get. He has found the rapids, now he needs a way to come across. What then? How is he to find warriors to accompany him? Even more important, how is he to get to the priestess without being found by the sentries first? Would she even help him? There was no such words spoken and much less a promise made.

---

He is walking at the head of a group of 6 men. They are hardened men, much like the ones he once used to live and fight together with before his first capture. As they approach the cave, the whispers started in his head once again.

"Oh, another militia."

"I wonder how long we will have to wait for the next human..."

"They are all the same, weak, cowardly..."

The man weighed the words, whatever these beings were, they seemed to be held captive. They seemed to know something of his family, or at least that he is looking for them. He did not seem to be the first to get here, nor did the whispers seem to think he would be the last.

He glanced at the men following him, they did not seem to hear anything. The confusion would have shown in their faces. The would have gotten afraid, just like he was himself the first time he heard the whispers. Why was it only he who could hear the whispers?

They arrived at the gate, the man cut a fresh wound into his old one and wondered how many times he would need to do that, the wound had started throbbing and an infection was starting up. The last thing he needed now was to get feverish and weak. The priestess had given him an ointment, but it would only last for so long.

Through the blood in his hand he saw the door open, by the reaction of his menn, they did not seem to see the same thing. They looked at him with with not so little doubt and skepticism - why should they not? After all, all they could see was him standing with his self maimed hand in front of his face, turned towards a closed gate.

The man walked through the gate, which for him appeared as open. He told the men that the door was not real and ordered them to go through it. At the same time he wondered if he had really needed to cut his hand, or if he too could just have walked through it.

With great hesitation, the men approached the gate, they felt at it and when their hands were just passing through the gate they all jumped back terrified, they were watching a gate that did not exist, and yet it stood there. They started backing up to flee, but the man roared at them to continue forward.

The warriors faced a decision. They could desert here and now, leave this foreigner on the other side of this terrifying gate and be home by dinner. They could claim that he was slain, or even better that he succeeded and continued on his way, no longer requiring their assistance.

On the other hand, he had arrived as a foreigner, been captured and was about to be slain if not for the priestess who had had a good eye for him. He had after that fled over the rapids, to this cursed domain that noone entered. He had found the cave and come back to take his previous captors and use them as his personal warband.

All with the help of that mysterious priestess that had always been in the tribe as long as they could remember, and yet she never seemed to age. Everyone back at the camp feared her, and although she was not the chieftain, she held almost the same influence if not more in some matters.


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