Dreaming Beneath the Sky - Chapter One -
Story by Cederwyn Whitefurr on SoFurry
Patrick, a human, climbs a cliff face, but when fate conspires and he falls - certain it's to his death, he finds himself rescued - by creatures he's never dreamed imaginable...
Dreaming Beneath the Sky
Chapter One
20th June, 2019
All Rights Reserved.
Clinging to the sheer rock face, Patrick took a moment, testing the crack in the wall just above him. With a grunt, he reached up and sunk his fingertips into it. Levering himself up a little further. Adrenaline flooded his body, but he remained calm and concentrated.. This was living he thought, as his fingers sought out another crevice, brushing away tiny rock flakes as he gripped it and pulled himself up.
Suddenly, he felt movement, unexpected, unwanted and panic inducing. His blood turned to ice, before the rock parted, pattering down on his head and he screamed as he fell. His futile efforts to save himself, as he began to slide, then free fall. Agony gripped him, as his fingernails tore from the fingers as the were abraded away by the rock at which he scrabbled.
It was going to end, he as certain of it...
*
Voices...strange...alien...speaking a language he did not know. Something touched him. Here. There. Somewhere else. A pungent aroma filled his nostrils. More voices. Indistinct. Something placed on his head, pain quickly numbing. He felt himself lying on something soft. It's warmth reminding him of something...something elusive his mind could not grasp.
Other touches. Gentle. Probing. Careful. He gasped, feeling what felt like claws lift his penis up and his drug addled mind whirled as something – cold – washed his body.
I'm dead – this is some sort of afterlife...
Pain suddenly lanced through his right wrist to the elbow, as he felt it gently moved and then more pain – pain beyond measure as his wrist was pulled down and twisted. Then come the feel of wood either side of his lower arm.
Pain, unbearable pain, this can't be the afterlife...
It was bound, and he was barely aware of some sort of tying sensation. His mind struggled towards consciousness, before his head was lifted up and a bitter liquid washed into his mouth. Gagging, he choked and coughed. Something rubbed and caressed his throat, impulsively, he swallowed the bitter liquid.
After a few seconds, the pain diminished little by little, then eased completely – he felt like he was floating, disconnected from the real and the physical – a creature without pain, without thought, without...
Consciousness left him, carried away on the potent drink he had been fed.
*
Time passed, how much, he did not know. Had it been mere seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? He had no reference to draw from., but when he awoke, his head was filled with what felt like clouds, his speech was slurred and the pain was a dull ache.
“Whur?” He croaked, eyelids feeling like they were weighted down with lead.
A cold cloth placed over his eyes, as he was carefully lifted up, and a bowl was placed to his mouth. A few drops of water touched his parched tongue, and he greedily drank, gulping at it. With a snort, something took the bowl away.
“Rest child - “ Come a voice, human-like, but not quite, as if the speaker was not familiar with english.
“Where – am - “ He moaned.
“Safe - “ Come the response, before he was laid back down, then a strong smell assaulted his nostrils, the smell filling him and once again, taking him from the physical plane.
*
Days turned to weeks, he was kept drugged and his eyes covered, until he had started to heal from the fractures and broken bones. Late one night, he felt a warm fur against him and he moaned in his drug induced slumber, a hand reaching out and rushing against the fur.
A low, pleasing sound come from it – but in his state – he wouldn't remember, wouldn't know...
*
Patrick was cared for, fed, bathed and at all times, was he kept blindfolded. His strength grew day by day, until at last, he could sit up – and a week later – he could stand, and with the help of a crude wooden crutch, hobble a few steps. He did not know who had saved him. Why they had saved him? Even, who they were. He was thankful to them for their kindness and help. Yet he knew nothing about them. Other than they healed the broken bones, fixed his fractures and kept him calm and restful, He assumed, it was with some sort of mixture of intoxicants made from some plant.
Sitting up one morning – he thought – beneath the thick blindfold, he truly had no reference for night and day. It -felt- like morning, but he couldn't be sure. A warm fire nearby was lit and cared for twenty-four-seven, keeping him comfortably warm.
A bowl was pressed into his hands, and his fingers felt over the strange contents. It felt and smelt like meat, but meat he ha never eaten before. A few strange vegetables were also present – but he fell too with a relish. Even though it was under cooked, he thought it was the finest meal he'd ever eaten.
“Is...good? Come a quiet voice, that strange inflection and sound.
“It...very good, yes!” He answered, swallowing a particularly raw like meat. “Thank you.”
“We, we find you – out near cliff.” It spoke, as if struggling with english, obviously not a native speaker. “You foolish child!”
“I – hey!” He grunted, as he got defensive. “I'm no child, thank you!”
“Foolish child, no man climb White Stag Cliff, many die!”
“I – don't disbelieve that, I only made it...I think – about a third of the way up - “
“Spirits favour you, child – they guide us to you, we take you, bring you here.”
“I..thank you – truly...”
With a snort, the speaker stood up and began pacing back and forth, as if annoyed and agitated.
“Foolish child!” It snapped at him. “Spirits save you, not know why, not ask – they tell if they tell.”
“How long - “
“Three moons!” Come the voice from further away, as if it was standing near the door or something. “We speak to the spirits, ask them if they save you, they save you, you thank them!”
“I...thank them, and you! Now, please...can I...”
He reached towards the blind fold, then a low growl come from something.
“Wait, I speak with spirit woman, she tell.”
“I – who...?”
Silence greeted him.
*
He was led by a rope around his neck, tugged this way and that, as he stumbled and hobbled. He felt dirt and grass under his feet, and the warmth from above told him he was in sunlight. As the breeze blew and chilled him, it occurred to him he was as naked as the day he'd been born. He heard voices, human-like, speaking some tongue his mind had no idea what to make of it.
A soft thump was heard, like something cast aside, and the rope pulled him forwards, as he found himself feeling enclosed, like he'd walked into – something -
Strong smells assaulted his senses, pine, rosemary, others his mind couldn't decipher, before the rope was tugged.
“You, sit, here - “ Come that low voice.
He sat, tucking his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. He had no idea where he was, who had saved him, or what they wanted from him. Above all, he was ashamed, his nakedness visible for everyone to see, yet there had been no comments – at least none he could understand – no laughter, no cruel jokes...
Again, that voice spoke in the foreign tongue, his mind not grasping a single word, before there come three sharp thumps – like a stick or a staff thudding the ground, then an older voice – powerful, resonant, ancient...
It spoke, using words he didn't comprehend, before thumping whatever it was again, and he suddenly gasped as it felt like padded gloves gripped him by the side of the head. He squealed helplessly, as the blindfold was torn off and his eyes, so accustomed to the darkness, immediately watered and ran.
He rubbed at his eyes with his hands, before he timidly opened his eyes, keeping them downcast. He saw a fur rug – more a blanket – from, he assumed, a mule deer, judging from the markings. Just ahead, was a small campfire, hot, glowing coals in it. As he lifted his head, his mind whirled – for he thought he saw furred feet. He shook his head, thinking he was still drugged, but he wasn't dreaming...they were real...
Furred feet, greyish white, turned into legs, into hips, a body...as his eyes travelled up, he saw the muzzle and distinct features of a wolf, its muzzle white with age, as it flicked one ear – the other half-torn off, as it gazed back at him from eyes so intense, he swore they could see his very soul.
“You, silly child - “ Come the voice behind him, then it cuffed him across the back of the head.
A guttural command issued from the ancient human-like wolf who sat on a crude chair, then it banged the staff it held in one paw on the ground.
With a snort, the one who held the rope dropped it, and retreated, leaving him alone with this withered old wolf.
“Sitsi, is right, you foolish child, climb White Stag Cliff? Foolish, many die climb great cliff. Spirits favour you, they tell me so -” It spoke, its voice soft, yet commanding power and respect. “Why spirits save you? We not know – you have purpose, child, I seek to know purpose.”
“I – no, this is a dream, I'm in a coma, in hospital – I'm...” He stammered.
Her paw moved and she cracked him on the head with her ornately carved staff, then laughed, a weak cackle. “Feel dream now?”
“You're...” He moaned, rubbing his head. “You're a – a - “
“We are the Children of Rugaru!” She grunted.
“Forgive me...the...”
“Rugaru!” Grinned, the wolf revealing long, sharp canines.
“I – I'm sorry, I'm not familiar with that - “
Nodding, the wolf waved a withered paw and shrugged. “It is me, us, Children of Rugaru, Spirits save you man child – I ask, they not answer. Such is the way of the Spirits. You, foolish to try climb White Stag Cliff – be grateful that Anikawi not kill you for your blasphemy!
“I, forgive me, please, who is..Anikawi?”
“Pah, child! You know nothing!” Again, it whacked him on the head. “Anikawi is Great Deer Spirit, he is both friend and enemy of Rugaru! You, ignorant child, why spirits save you, I know not, much you need to unlearn!”
This, Patrick agreed with this strange, enigmatic and withered wolf – who obviously was great with age, yet still remarkably spry and wise beyond its years.
To Be Continued...