( The Voice of the Pendant )
II.
I was dreaming, I am sure.
Tucked into a hardscrabble bunk in the Lobster, the worst tavern in the harbor, I lulled myself to sleep as crowds of immature mages fought mock battles with warriors downstairs in the inn’s fight pit. Thanks to a druid in the tavern, sleep came quickly, slipping past my tongue inside a tea he had made for me for a measly plat piece.
I remember holding onto the pendant. You never can tell about those little lurkers, those little halfling rogues that sneak about the harbor with nothing better to do than pilfer jewelry from grog-happy drunks in the inn. But somehow, I was sure, sure as the nose on my face that the pendant would not allow anyone else to touch it but me.
“Yes,” the voice said as I skipped throw a dream-field of flowers. The sun smiled above me, and my my dream-eyes didn’t hurt, not like in the real sun. Butterflies by the dozen scampered into the air, and a cold breeze prickled the skin on the back of my neck. Turning, I saw her. The lady in the pendant.
“Yes,” she said again, “you are right, child. I wouldn’t let anyone else but you have me.”
“You?” I said, mind trying to frame the question correctly. “You are the voice?”
“I am your protector, my dearest. And you, you my pure soul are my favored.”
She was drop dead gorgeous for a witch. Witch, yes, I knew what she was. Who else could bind their own soul into the heart of a gem and thus live on forever in some strange magical stasis. I instantly wanted nothing more than to do her every whim. Beauty, at times, is dealt upon mortals with a curse. So it was with my patron. I could care less about her name. All I wanted to do was stare into those wizened, black eyes– to walk forever in her grace, her shadow, her wisdom.
“We are bound together,” she said as she strolled towards me. Her long purple skirt traced evenly over the nodding daffodils, leaving cankers and dead patches in her wake. I knew then that the coldness that emanated from her would forever change me, change dreamland, change the powers I controlled in her name as her favored one.
“You would do anything for me, sweet one,” she said, running her long, cold fingers in my hair.
“Yes,” I stammered. I would, I would, I am sure I would die for her.
“I need you to obtain something for me in the depths of the halfling village. In the crypts to be exact.”
” Of course, my domina. What must I gain for you?”
“For us,” she said, placing a finger on my lips. “Search the crypts for this artifact,” she said, pushing thoughts, pictures, images in my head.
“I see it,” I said back to her, but not with my lips, with my soul. Turning before me was an artifact, a bauble of great power, something so powerful that it made my blood race, my pulse quicken.
“Rest now,” the witch said, turning from me. “I will watch over you.”
The field faded from view, and a dark void opened in the corner of my heart and swallowed me whole.
I slept like the dead until the next day.
