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As I crawled through the dark, I could see a light up ahead. I heaved a sigh of relief, even though my heart rate increased with anxiety. Would this be another spirit-rending dream, or would this be real?Part of me understood that none of what I had seen had been real. I focused on that last encounter--The look in his eyes had filled me with pain. Unspeakable anguish that, even now, tore at my soul.
I broke out of the darkness into a world of white light. So bright, in fact, that I was forced to close my eyes against it.
"Katja?" the voice was familiar, but it held none of the warmth I remembered.
I looked up into his smoke-grey visage, croaking his name, "Bast."
He extended a hand, which I reached out and took into mine. As he took my hand, a smile spread across his features. This smile held no joy, however, only some strange madness. His hand that held mine began to squeeze until I gasped in discomfort. He pulled me so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek when he spoke.
"You always were a trusting little idiot."
Part of me crumbled slightly. I looked at him and was aghast when I saw amber eyes staring at me.
No. . .
"You trusted me. You trusted those fools at the Green Dragon Inn, and look where it has gotten you.
You are a failure and a disgrace to your kind. The world would have been better off had you never lived at all."
I put my hands over my ears, unwilling to listen. The words were not Bast's. I would not believe them. As I looked down, I saw the silver Amulet of Bast crumble to dust. I very nearly wept.
This cannot be.
I shook my head, closing my eyes against the madness that I could feel welling up within me. As I blocked it, another emotion came surging to the surface. Anger.
The magic came without being Called, it leapt through me, dancing like some demon dragon as it consumed Bast. Flame crackled violently as the smell of seared fur and burning flesh came to my nostrils.
As the flames died and the remains blew away on a wind, I collapsed, in tears.
Please, let this nightmare end.
© 1999 E. Angeli Mansfield
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