The Butcher's Ring: Episode Eleven

Introduction
Welcome to Dreamwalker’s Diligence, a biweekly, bite-sized fantasy serial about a magical antiques shopkeeper with a penchant for mysteries.
If you are new to the serial, here is Episode One. You can also check out The Complete Guide for episode and character lists.

This time, Faolán stays back to observe. He is cloaked in the inherent darkness of the dream. From this vantage point, he can tell how small the confines of it really are. The fog obscures the lake, but even though he can’t see through it yet, he can sense that there is not much on the other shore. Behind him, the forest may loom threateningly with claw-like tree branches, but this is a glorified stage, and everything in it is a prop. In a dream of Faolán’s own making, the dreamer might be be able to travel as far and wide as they desire. It would adapt and expand if Faolán told it to. This dream would not. The dreamer is an actor replaying a fixed script. There is only one acceptable course of action, one narrative that takes place in this limited space. Though if the ring were on Faolán’s finger and not William’s, he is certain he would be able to defy the rules just as he is now simply by being here.

The butcher is standing with his back to Faolán. He looks around, and his body language is that of an uneasy and confused person. He does not remember the dream. As absurd as it seems when they were discussing it only a minute ago, such are the rules here. He will not realise it is a dream, and he will certainly not recall ever having been in it before unless Faolán makes himself known and reminds him. But William will have to go through the motions on his own. The dream has started over, and Faolán is not here to comfort or enlighten him. He is here to solve the problem.

The trees around them move ever so slowly, creeping closer to the dreamer. Faolán watches them stretch their branches towards the butcher. Whoever made up this nightmare must have a complicated relationship to nature. Faolán almost laughs at that thought.

William begins to walk. The mud clings to his feet and makes wet sucking noises with every heavy step. His breathing is laboured, a hitch like a sob hiding in his throat. He stumbles, flails his arms, and comes to a halt. Once more, he looks around. Faolán catches a glimpse of his face this time, strained and anxious. He shakes his head and begins to move again.

Given his dreamwalker nature, Faolán feels a pang of remorse. No, he doesn’t do dreamwork for a living anymore, but he is acutely aware of the mental state of any dreamer he visits. He simply can’t not sense the emotions saturating other people’s dreams. This one is ripe with fear and dread. But he mustn’t interfere. He simply cannot swoop in to remind William that they went through this nightmare together before. That will alter the dream, and he won’t be able to do what he came to do.

So he walks in the man’s footsteps. He does not have to worry about noise or anything else that might alert the butcher to his presence. A dreamwalker will not be noticed if they do not want to be noticed.

The eerie howling from beyond the fog cuts through the air. William jerks to a halt, but he only stands still for a moment. Then he moves again, picking up speed. And as the dreamer continues his doomed trek, the fog clears before him. This time, Faolán notices how absolutely horrible it looks. It simply pulls aside like a curtain and looks nothing like water particles evaporating. And it keeps hanging at the edges, framing the view of the dark water neatly.

Faolán rolls his eyes. He can clearly hear the oddly specific woman calling for the dreamer now. Will he ever know whom the creator of the nightmare based her on? Probably not since there is no connection to William. He can’t help being a bit curious, but it is hardly important. The only important thing now is locating the anchor.

At the edge of the water, the butcher stops. He listens to the painfully badly scripted encouragements from the construct who looks like a human woman and will turn into a monster the moment he is close enough to be devoured.

Well, no one is getting devoured this time or ever again if Faolán has a say. He steps up to William and stands next to him. The butcher’s gaze is fixed and glassy, his expression not his own.

Faolán takes a deep breath. He can almost forgive himself for being so rash the first time because the sense of the anchor does indeed feel as if it is coming from the woman. She is the focal point of the nightmare. But since she is not the anchor ... He steps off the shore once again.

It has been a while since he did any ice skating, but instead of walking, he skims across the lake this time, barely touching the surface, to make sure he gets there well before William.

The woman on the shore stretches out her arms and looks right through Faolán. Like the butcher, the construct does not register his presence at all.

Behind Faolán, William screams. Faolán does not know what exactly is happening to the dreamer, but chances are he is attempting to cross the lake. Since the monstrous nature of the woman makes absolutely no sense if he does not make it to her, however, chances are that William will be pulled through the lake by scary skeletal fish or, given the creator’s relationship to nature, slimy vines in the water. It matters little. What matters is that Faolán locates the anchor, preferably before the butcher startles awake when the woman eats him.

He comes to a halt by the edge of the water. His rookie mistake is obvious now that he is searching for the anchor elsewhere. The dream feels heavy here. Not unlike the force of nature that will pull a falling person to the ground in the waking world, Faolán feels the force beneath the woman’s feet that keeps her in place. It is the anchor. The tether between the ring, the dreamer, the construct, and the true heart of the dream.

He will have to dive. The water beneath his feet obeys his command to let him through. And so he plunges through the surface of the dream and begins to sink.

It is only a matter of heartbeats, however, before he meets resistance. The water is no longer water. It is thicker than blood, a jelly-like substance that feels alive as it presses in on him from all sides and closes above his head.

Continue to Episode Twelve.

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