Pastoral 1

I was dreaming; a good dream this time. I walked tirelessly, surrounded by huge, huge trees, and I liked it. If nothing else, THAT would have tipped me off. I'm not a tree person. I do not leave the safety of paved roads, not willingly.

The woods smelled good; clean, fresh and full of life. The ground underfoot was soft with leaf litter and moss, and the immense trees filtered the light, softening it, cooling it, making it easy for me to see.

In fact, I could not remember it ever being so easy to see in full daylight in all my life. I made a note to my waking self, find a forest someplace a real one, with trees this big and see if it was still true.

Meanwhile, I watched me as I walked under the trees, enjoying the sweet, soft air, the filtered light. There were no paths here, but the tree cover kept the bushes and undergrowth down, so walking was easy.

Birds sang over my head, little animals scurried about. I could see squirrels, and I passed a dozing deer without disturbing it.

I did not get tired as I walked. The sun slid up overhead, crested, and began the long slide down. The forest had no ending I could see, and my dreaming self agreed this was correct. I kept going. I felt no particular urgency in my trip; I'd arrive when I arrived.

Idly, my dream self considered the coming night, assessing and dismissing probable sleep spots. This one was too exposed, that one would not protect against rain, the next was too rocky, another was too close to water.

In my dreams these decisions came easily; as did others. I had a backpack; a lantern, a couple of torches, some cooked food, a cloak. I was not carrying water, did not plan to make a fire, but I had passed streams, and there was a river not far away if I needed water. I marveled as I went, amazed and impressed at how easy being in the woods seemed to be.

I noted a laurel hell, the plants old, the stalks thick and strong with age, the foliage so thick the ground in the heart of the hell was dry. This, I thought, looked ideal.

The tightly woven branches meant I need not worry about large predators, and I was too large for the smaller ones to care about. The tangle was dense, but I rather doubted rabbits or other small prey would find it to be enough protection, so I expected to have the space to myself.

Accordingly I wiggled and twisted my way into the heart of the thicket. I ate a bite of my food, licked my fingers and wrapped my cloak securely around me. I curled up small, a tight, contented ball, and let sleep take me.

Of course, I was still watching. I saw as my sleeping self did not, that rabbits came and snuggled close A fox wandered in and the rabbits scattered. It did not chase them; instead it curled up close, and some kind of large, striped cat came and snuggled in at my back. I slept, unaware, but warm.

The stars wheeled overhead, the moons rose, their cool light filtered by the thick leaves of my shelter. It did not rain. The night grew still. The cat at my back woke abruptly, then ran. The fox did the same, baring its teeth before it made its stiff-legged retreat. I had not wakened at their arrival, I did not wake as they left.

The ground before me heaved up, like a molehill rising, but bigger, bigger until it broke surface. A spine, the vertebrae dark as onyx, and then the shoulder. It heaved itself out of the ground, black, skeletal, no clothes, no flesh. Two bone hands pressed on the ground as it pushed itself up and free of the clinging earth. The thin moonlights washed over it, making it shine.

Still, I did not waken. I was afraid, very afraid, I had to wake, to run, to escape the thing heaving itself up out of the ground like a swimmer rising from a pool. I did everything I could to wake me, I opened my eyes wide, I pinched me, but my hands had no substance, my voice made no sound..

I could not move, I knew it, but I did not know why.

It had been human, and large, much larger than I. It stared down at me, and even in all my clothing, wrapped up in a heavy cloak, even so, I looked tiny as I lay at its feet. It was impossible to read an expression on stone-black bone.

It opened its mouth, and all of its teeth were intact, ordinary teeth, human, flat. It said, "You came to me."

How could it speak with no lungs, no tongue, no lips, how could it? I donÕt know. I don't know, but it did. It did, and even that did not wake me.

It stooped, reached into the ground at its feet and pulled chains up, old, dark, weighted with years, I watching, knew they were time as much as they were metal.

By now, I was awake, awake, but still unable to move so much as a muscle to save myself. I could only watch as it secured me to the earth. I could not fight, could not object, could only move as it pulled my limbs and fastened the chains to my wrists and my ankles.

They burned. Iron always burns me, it always has.

Its feet sank into the ground a little. Some crumbs of dirt fell over the foot bones. Suddenly, flesh began wrapping itself around the feet and up the legs. Well, not so much flesh as muscle, sinew and skin. It covered the bones, but did not look any better.

He, not it, he. and his manhood jutted from between his legs like a weapon. He stood over me, bright pinpoints of light gleaming in the depths of his eye sockets, his mouth spread in a smile no one could call reassuring.

I fought the chains, struggled to free my hands, my feet. the iron bit into me, a dull, burning annoyance, and I felt no hint of give.

He bent and slid one massive hand under my waist, then he lifted. My body bent like a bow, the chains pulling me back to the ground, forcibly stretching me. I might have been made of feathers for all the effort he exerted in lifting me. with his free hand, his right hand, he stroked himself, getting bigger, thicker, too big for me to even contemplate.

I struggled and he laughed.

He slid two fingers inside me, hard, unyielding, then he laughed again. "You want this," he said, the words a low growl.

He pulled me closer, pulling me onto his shaft, splitting me open on him.

I could not scream. I could not breathe. He pushed deeper into me, forcing me t let him in, sliding deeper into me, opening me more. His hands gripped my hips, holding me suspended as he ravaged me.

There was nothing in my world, just the sensation of him slamming me onto him over and over. He didn't tire, he didn't change. His hands bit into me, and the chains pulled me open. His eyes blazed, I could see them even with my own eyes shut. My wrists burned, my ankles were in agony, and I didn't care, All I really knew was his pounding, driving rod, splitting me open again and again.

Pleasure roared through me, shocking me. He growled and the burning in my wrists and ankles eased. Bone, the shackles changed from iron to bone. I stared in horror, still watching. I was aroused as I watched myself be taken, aroused and horribly embarrassed.

He lifted his head and stared over my body into my eyes. Mine, where I watched the dream as it unrolled.

"Mine now," he told me, and he thrust into me harder. I felt him, both the me in the dream, and the me watching, felt him take possession. I moaned, jerking in his grip, convulsing as he filled me.

When I woke, the chains were gone. He was gone. I felt sore, my body tender and abused. There were birds singing, and the sun was just peeking into the laurels. I watched me get up and look around, puzzled. There was no sign anything had happened.

I wiggled out of the thicket an to the nearest stream. I washed the sleep from my eyes, and pulled off my boots to rinse my feet.

My right ankle had black marks, so I washed it carefully. The marks didn't come off, so I dried my feet and put my boots back on.

The dream shifted then, the ways dreams can, and became less coherent.

I woke up for real, in my own bed, curled on my left side, just the same as always. I crawled out of the bed and padded into the bathroom to clean up.

I stared down at my right ankle in horror. A chain had been tattooed there, a chain of bone.