Author's Note Yadda Yadda Yadda . . . Don't own any of the characters
besides Bast . . . Blah Blah Blah . . . making no money of this story . . .
not affiliated with J.K. Rowling or any of her affiliates . . . and so on
and so forth.
This story was written because of a deep seated and most likely unhealthy obsession with fairy tales. Ever since my English 102 class I've been in love with fairy tales and all their inherent meanings, especially Grimms Fairy Tales, which were never meant for children.
Bast is the name of the Egyptian goddess of women, children, and cats. I chose her instead of Hesita, her Greek (or Roman?) counterpart because, lets face it, Greek Gods and Goddesses for character names, especially in HP fanfiction, are overdone. And besides, I made her Mary Sue-ish enough on her own without some flowery, ancient Greek name to go along with it.
Anyway, someone needs to flame me the next time I post without proofreading. I reread this morning what I posted yesterday afternoon and it's hideous. This is, therefore, "Hey There Little Miss Riding Hood" v. 2.0. Hope you like it.
Once upon a time there was a sweet young witch named Bast who lived just outside of London in a wooded neighborhood full of witches and wizards of all ages. None in the entire neighborhood was like Bast. Where she was kind and gentle her neighbors, her brothers, and even her father were cruel and hardhearted, and were prone to drinking and celebrating when they ought to have been working.
Bast had never been able to go to school formally, as her parents had never had the money to afford books or wands, and Bast had been forced to learn magic in the most rudimentary of ways. Her books had been passed down to her from her grandmother, who lived almost a whole day's journey to the north, and who had taught her how to do magic without any wand.
Bast loved her grandmother, her mother's mother, very much. Even more than she had loved her mother herself. It was hard, she found, to love someone who had died so early. She didn't even remember her mother. In fact, the only memory she had of the woman was in the form of a small picture, which she kept in a locket around her neck at all times. It was her most prized possession and one that she had had to keep hidden from her father and brothers many times, lest it be pawned and the money used for more ale.
One day the mail boy, who left the post in that neighborhood up to the owls unless he had urgent news for a witch or wizard he knew he could trust, came running up to her door, knocking loudly and yelling to be let in. Afraid that he would wake her father or her brothers, and afraid of the consequences that would befall her for letting someone disturb their sleep, she quickly opened the door and let him in.
"What is it, Quincy? What brings you running so quickly and yelling so loudly to my door? Don't you know what will happen if you wake my father? He was out with my brothers all last night and he surely would beat me within an inch of my life if you disturb him. Calm yourself and tell me, what news is there?"
Panting and tumbling into a seat at the table, Quincy dug into the depths of his bag and produced a small, folded letter with her grandmother's seal upon it. Bast took the letter and opened it, reading it quickly.
"She's very ill. She told me to make haste, as she didn't know how much longer she would be alive without help. And that was a full day's journey past. You must hurry, Bast, before she is gone and you left with no way to see her ever again. We will take my horse as far as the next town. You can take her after that and I will wait there for you to return."
"Right you are, Quincy. Thank you for your kindness." In her haste, Bast packed a day's worth of food as well as some wine and cheese for her grandmother, hoping that the spirits would revive her. Then she pulled on her traveling cloak – a robe of burgundy velvet, and a cap and gloves to match. She rode with Quincy into the next town, giving him also a bottle of wine and some bread to sustain him for his stay, and then began to ride into the woods that led to her grandmother's house. It was a sunny day and, luckily for her, Quincy had arrived in the early morning. She thanked the Gods she didn't have to ride through these woods at night, for she had heard stories of the evil spirits that make themselves present when the sun went down upon this place.
The poor horse that Quincy had given her was an old gray mare, and hardly up to as much work as she had been put to in the last few days. The quick journey from Bast's grandmother's house to her own had nearly broken the animal, and she was nearly down from exhaustion now, as they entered the woods. Turning round in circles and panting heavily, the horse made it known that she hadn't the strength for the new journey.
"Okay, dear creature. It's alright." Bast dismounted and gathered up her things. Removing the horse's bridle and hanging it on a nearby tree, she set the horse loose in the field outside the wood, telling her that she would return in a few days to collect her. The horse nuzzled her fondly and then lay down in the pasture, watching Bast walk out of the sunlight and into the shade of the woods, a lantern held out before her to light the way when the woods became especially thick.
Once inside, it didn't take long for Bast to find the path that made a direct route to her destination, however, remembering several trips with her grandmother back and forth, Bast passed up the well-trodden path in favor of a scantier one a few paces farther away.
It wasn't long that she had been walking before she heard an unfamiliar voice from somewhere in the wilds just off the path.
"Good day, miss." It was a deep, dark, but somehow soothing and velvety voice. She looked all about her to find where it was coming from and saw a man appearing out of the darkness of the surrounding woods. She regarded him with narrow eyes and a bit of suspicion at first, though he looked very stately and well mannered. He was nothing like the dregs she was used to encountering on her daily excursions about her neighborhood, from which she rarely roamed.
"Good day, sir," she answered, holding her parcels closer to herself and quickening her pace just a bit. However, she felt somewhat intrigued by the stranger and, since he seemed to present no danger, was happy for the company and offered no protest when he made to walk with her.
"What brings you into such a deep wood on such a lovely day," he asked, stepping over the brambles and briars with an efficiency that only a denizen of the forest would possess. Bast tripped and stumbled her way forward, never losing a thing from her basket, and answered him as she went.
"My grandmother is ill and has written me to come and care for her. I'm on my way there just now. She lives just over that next hill," she said, pointing to the north.
"Why hasn't she called for your mother instead? Surely she would be more able to make this journey than a young woman such as yourself, and much more versed in the art of healing than one so young as you."
Bast stopped where she was and regarded the stranger carefully. He had long blonde hair that cascaded down his back like a waterfall of flax and glinted in the minuscule rays of sunlight and the light from her lantern as if made of gold. His skin was very pale, and made even more so by the dark green color of his cloak, which was held together with pure silver clasps in the shape of serpents. He carried with him a walking staff with a silver serpent's head at the top as well and his eyes were icy blue. He looked regal and prince-like, and he seemed to have no place in such an obscure corner of the woods.
"What brings you into the woods, sir," she asked, trying not to get too haughty or above her station. She was still just a poor witch and, in the presence of such an obvious gentleman, felt compelled to voice her suspicion of him politely and as much like a lady as possible.
He laughed. "I fear that you don't trust me," he told her, drilling into her with his eyes. "You're a very intelligent young witch," he said, touching the tip of his stick – the serpent's head – to her temple for emphasis on the word intelligent. "Your mother must have told you never to talk to strangers in the wood."
"I don't remember my mother," she told him firmly, no longer wanting to walk with him. She turned forward again and continued to stumble, faster this time, up the path. He followed, barely having to put any effort into keeping up with her, even at her quick pace. "She died before I was old enough."
"How regrettable," he gasped, stepping in front of her and cutting her off. "But you must have a father at home who would miss you terribly if something were to happen." He offered his arm to her and she stepped back a pace, looking at him with suspicion. "Oh come now." He scolded her gently, like a child. "I mean you no harm. However, I understand your position and, if you wish, I will leave you alone to continue your journey and will take this other path here to my destination." He pointed to his left and Bast saw a second, even less pronounced path leading off to the west.
"Forgive my forwardness, sir, but I would prefer that arrangement. Thank you," she said, hobbling off still farther up the hill.
"Very well," he said, bowing and backing into the darkness. He tipped his hat. "Until we meet again." And with that the black forest enveloped him. All that she saw was a piece of green satin slithering away into the trees. She thought she heard him whistling some small tune as he faded into the distance, but she couldn't be sure.
Gathering up her things and her cloak she pressed on and was halfway up the hill before she had to stop for a bite to eat. The journey this far had lasted half the day, and she knew it would be another three hours before she reached the home of her grandmother. So she laid out her cloak and ate a bit of bread and drank a bit of wine. The sun was shining as hard as ever in the afternoon and more sunbeams broke through the canopy of the forest now. It was pleasantly warm and Bast saw a clearing full of lupine basking in the rays. Fire bugs flew in and out, uncaring in this dark place whether it was midday or midnight. It was still dark enough for their green little lamps to shine. Feeling full from her lunch, and unwilling to take up the task again just now, Bast went forward into the bed and plucked a handful of the flowers. Her grandmother had always loved them most out of all the flowers on this path, and Bast fancied a few might raise her spirits just a bit.
An hour later, after a respite in the garden, Bast gathered up her things once more and continued on her way. It was nearly dark when she reached the cabin on the hill and she was utterly exhausted. She dropped her cumbersome parcels and leaned back on the gate before the yard, breathing heavily and undoing the bun that her hair was in. A black river of curls cascaded over her shoulders and streamed, liquid, down her back. Nothing had ever looked so beautiful or welcoming than the cabin before her. But the air was different than the last time she remembered it. It seemed somehow thinner and colder, and the sky, though full of sunlight on the way up, was now pocked by black clouds. Thunder was blowing in from the west and everything smelled of rain. Behind the cabin the mountains loomed, ominous. She felt as if she had just climbed one herself. But she was here. And if she didn't hurry and get indoors she'd soon be drenched.
The raindrops began to fall with soft a soft 'pat, pat, pat' on the wooden veranda and Bast caught a flash of lightening out of the corner of her eye. Why were all the windows dark? Surely grandma had strength enough to light a lamp? Panic suddenly fell over her. What if she was just sitting in there, in the dark, all alone awaiting Bast's arrival? What if she had fallen? What if . . . What if she wasn't there at all? Or worse yet, what if someone else was?
Knocking demurely on the glass panes of the door and receiving no answer, Bast rapped a bit more loudly on the wood. When that too elicited no response, she felt a new wave of fear spread over her. Trying the knob and finding the door slightly out of its track, she pushed it open and proceeded inside. Rain was now clattering down the window panes in the kitchen, sounding like hail or pebbles being tossed against it. The wind began to howl through the crack under the door when she shut it.
"Grandma," she called timidly, looking around the kitchen to find nothing really alarming. Except the atmosphere that seemed to smother the whole house. "Grandma," she called again. The silence stifled her.
Bast peeked around the corner and into the small sitting room. Nothing there but a flash of lightening in the window. The sun was going down behind the clouds in the west. And then she heard it. The slow, deliberate, 'wheeze, wheeze,' of someone breathing. Behind her. She turned slowly, clenching and unclenching her hands as she did. Building power that she would never have a chance to use.
"Grandma?" But when she turned around she could see that her grandmother appeared to be safely tucked inside her bed, fast asleep. A light breeze blew in the window – had the storm abated? Outside, the night seemed to have come on fast – she could see stars in the sky already, obscured by only a few clouds. She looked around. There seemed to be no sign of anyone else about. She sniffed the air. She detected something she hadn't remembered from the last visit. Vanilla. It reminded her of something, but –
Stepping forward into the bedroom she reached out a hand to touch the old witch's shoulder. To wake her. Under her night bonnet Bast thought she saw a flicker of the eyelid, but it could only have been the shadow of the curtain rippling over the woman's face.
She leaned in close. The smell of vanilla was overwhelming. And then it happened. A pale hand flew out from beneath the covers and had a tight hold of her obsidian curls. A moment later she had been pulled forward, beads of sweat popping up around her temples and her cheeks growing red, her eyes wide and pupils dilated in fear.
"What big eyes you have, my dear," he hissed from beneath the covers. And then he stood, pulling her up with him. It was the man she had met in the woods. The man with the blonde hair and the voice like crushed velvet.
Her mind reeling, Bast tried to back away but was held fast by his crushing grip. He reached forward with his free hand and pulled her arm to bring her closer. His face an inch from hers, he leaned down with his lips and brushed the sensitive area just behind her ear. "What smooth skin."
In one more deft gesture he had tossed her down upon the bed and pinned both of her hands above her head. Though she struggled against him she was no match. He reached over between the bed and the nightstand and withdrew from the shadows his silver headed walking stick. Using it to snap open each one of the clasps down the front of her cloak and lay it to the side, he hissed at her to be quiet in that satin-clad voice.
"Hush, my dear," he crooned in her ear. "It will be over before you can say –"
"Avada Kedavra." He sat up straight, staring at the framed picture above the bed, the silhouette of a man in its reflection moving closer to the foot of the bed from the doorway.
Slowly, deliberately, the attacker turned to face the newcomer and Bast peered out around him to see what she felt sure was a ghost. The ghost of a wizard with long black locks, like hers, and black, oil spot eyes to match. His mouth was pulled down into a serious, grim frown and he held before him a wand with the word "Ollivander's" carved into the side. She thought she could smell just the faintest hint of burnt hair as she closed her eyes and lost consciousness, falling hard against the headboard.
When she awoke, Bast found herself still on the bed but no longer restrained. Her arms hung freely at her sides and she had been tucked tightly under the covers with great care. Her black curls fanned out beneath her head and when she opened her eyes the image before her swam a bit. There was the man – the ghost – the wizard who had saved her, standing at the foot of the bed and lazily paging through a book.
She tried to sit up, but found the task to be far too trying of one. Hearing her stir the wizard marked his place, laid the book down upon the nightstand, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her nostrils flared as she swore she could smell fresh apples. He brushed a curl off her cheek and looked at it, pressing around what Bast could tell was a very large developing bruise.
"He hit you with that infernal cane of his when he fell. Sorry about that." She blinked.
"You're the one who –"
"Saved you. Yes. Well let's don't make a big issue out of it. I didn't come here to be some sort of knight in shining armor and all that rubbish."
She blinked again. "Who are you?"
"An authority."
"Authority?"
"Yes."
"Authority of what?"
"Never mind of what. Just know that I've come to serve justice. You'll be fine in a few days. Take some of these if you need them. Owl for help." The man pointed toward a great snowy owl that sat upon the windowsill and a bottle of some sort of tablet on the nightstand. "But only if you need it. Please. I can't be bothered to come up here and check on you every day." He stood, and the scent of apples lingered for a while before fading away.
"Wait," she called after him. She had no desire to stay all alone in this house, to never know what had happened. The man made no move to stop, but put on a pair of black gloves and a black cloak and was just about out the door when she called to him one last time. "Please wait," she asked softly and in her very sweetest voice. "Couldn't you just wait a while? I will be better shortly. I just need a moment to collect myself. And then I can walk down the hill and won't have to spend my night alone in this cabin." He stopped, half over the threshold, unable to resist the sound of her voice. It was like an angel's.
"Please," she asked again. "You can tell me what happened. Where is my grandmother? Who are you?" Unable to turn away from her he returned to the house, to her bed, and sat beside her.
He told her that he had killed the man that had attacked her. That he was a fugitive from their home in the East and that he had been sent to capture him under the order of a great wizard of the land. That this wizard had not always been accepted but that he had finally won over the love of the people and that in these dark times, with men like those roaming the lands, he had called for his soul to be delivered to him as retribution for his crimes and to make an example to all those that might try to emulate him.
"But you killed him," Bast said after the story had been told. "How can you take his soul if you've killed him?" The dark man reached into the pocket of his robes and with one gloved hand pulled out a small glass vial. Inside it, what looked like a fire bug swirled and floated about. The only difference was that this particular being's lamp was a dark, almost black, forest green. The color of an apothecary's bottle from many years ago. It flashed its lamp on and off, but seemed to be disparaged. Again and again it flew hard into the side of the jar, obviously trying to break free of it. Failing.
"It's a secret," he told her, watching her eyes grow as wide as saucers. Then he quietly replaced the bottle in his pocket with one smooth gesture. "Do you feel well enough to walk," he asked, standing and offering her his arm. Suddenly catching himself being chivalrous, he quickly punctuated his action with the statement, "It's just that I don't have time to sit here and tell fairy stories all day long."
Bast replied that she did and when she swung her legs over the edge of the bed she saw beside her feet one large, red, ominous stain on the wooden floor. She gasped. Remembering her grandmother she quickly asked this stranger where she was. He hung his head and led her into the kitchen, where he handed her her red cloak and cap.
"I'm afraid I was too late to save her." Bast sat down upon one of the chairs at the table, crying into her cloak. "Come come," he told her, uncomfortable with her sobbing and unsure of what to do to stop it. "I'm sure you have a whole family to go home to. What's the loss of one old woman? Eh?"
Bast sobbed and told him all about her father and brothers, and how to go home would be to devote herself to a life of caring for them like children. She wept as she put on her cloak and cap, unhappy about the prospect but willing to do it.
"Why is it that you don't just run away," he asked her as they stepped out of the door. The moon was shining bright down upon the yard but beyond the tree line the woods looked very dark and dreary. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled one long, solitary cry.
"I couldn't just leave them. They are helpless without someone there to care for them. I shall bear the burden, until I have a family of my own to care for." Sniffing back the last few sniffles and wiping away her last few tears and basically resigning herself to her fate, Bast began to walk down the hill toward her path.
The wizard watched her go, his heart full of pity and desire to right her situation. There she went. So full of compassion for her family that she was willing to forsake her own freedom for them. And they, most likely drunk and asleep at home right now, not even concerned where she was or if she would return. It just didn't seem fair for him to let her go, especially into the woods alone. At night.
"Miss," he called after her. "Come back again." She did as he asked, walking back the way she had come and stopping just in front of him.
"I haven't much to offer you," he told her seriously, staring down at the ground as he spoke. "But I do have a comfortable home in the East. With a very powerful wizard who could protect us for a long while. And if you wanted that family of your own that you spoke of," he said, taking both of her hands in his, still looking at the ground, "well, I could try to give you that as well."
Bast smiled. She nodded silently in favor of his proposal and allowed him to kiss her gently on the forehead. The two were married and lived happily ever after.
This story was written because of a deep seated and most likely unhealthy obsession with fairy tales. Ever since my English 102 class I've been in love with fairy tales and all their inherent meanings, especially Grimms Fairy Tales, which were never meant for children.
Bast is the name of the Egyptian goddess of women, children, and cats. I chose her instead of Hesita, her Greek (or Roman?) counterpart because, lets face it, Greek Gods and Goddesses for character names, especially in HP fanfiction, are overdone. And besides, I made her Mary Sue-ish enough on her own without some flowery, ancient Greek name to go along with it.
Anyway, someone needs to flame me the next time I post without proofreading. I reread this morning what I posted yesterday afternoon and it's hideous. This is, therefore, "Hey There Little Miss Riding Hood" v. 2.0. Hope you like it.
Once upon a time there was a sweet young witch named Bast who lived just outside of London in a wooded neighborhood full of witches and wizards of all ages. None in the entire neighborhood was like Bast. Where she was kind and gentle her neighbors, her brothers, and even her father were cruel and hardhearted, and were prone to drinking and celebrating when they ought to have been working.
Bast had never been able to go to school formally, as her parents had never had the money to afford books or wands, and Bast had been forced to learn magic in the most rudimentary of ways. Her books had been passed down to her from her grandmother, who lived almost a whole day's journey to the north, and who had taught her how to do magic without any wand.
Bast loved her grandmother, her mother's mother, very much. Even more than she had loved her mother herself. It was hard, she found, to love someone who had died so early. She didn't even remember her mother. In fact, the only memory she had of the woman was in the form of a small picture, which she kept in a locket around her neck at all times. It was her most prized possession and one that she had had to keep hidden from her father and brothers many times, lest it be pawned and the money used for more ale.
One day the mail boy, who left the post in that neighborhood up to the owls unless he had urgent news for a witch or wizard he knew he could trust, came running up to her door, knocking loudly and yelling to be let in. Afraid that he would wake her father or her brothers, and afraid of the consequences that would befall her for letting someone disturb their sleep, she quickly opened the door and let him in.
"What is it, Quincy? What brings you running so quickly and yelling so loudly to my door? Don't you know what will happen if you wake my father? He was out with my brothers all last night and he surely would beat me within an inch of my life if you disturb him. Calm yourself and tell me, what news is there?"
Panting and tumbling into a seat at the table, Quincy dug into the depths of his bag and produced a small, folded letter with her grandmother's seal upon it. Bast took the letter and opened it, reading it quickly.
"She's very ill. She told me to make haste, as she didn't know how much longer she would be alive without help. And that was a full day's journey past. You must hurry, Bast, before she is gone and you left with no way to see her ever again. We will take my horse as far as the next town. You can take her after that and I will wait there for you to return."
"Right you are, Quincy. Thank you for your kindness." In her haste, Bast packed a day's worth of food as well as some wine and cheese for her grandmother, hoping that the spirits would revive her. Then she pulled on her traveling cloak – a robe of burgundy velvet, and a cap and gloves to match. She rode with Quincy into the next town, giving him also a bottle of wine and some bread to sustain him for his stay, and then began to ride into the woods that led to her grandmother's house. It was a sunny day and, luckily for her, Quincy had arrived in the early morning. She thanked the Gods she didn't have to ride through these woods at night, for she had heard stories of the evil spirits that make themselves present when the sun went down upon this place.
The poor horse that Quincy had given her was an old gray mare, and hardly up to as much work as she had been put to in the last few days. The quick journey from Bast's grandmother's house to her own had nearly broken the animal, and she was nearly down from exhaustion now, as they entered the woods. Turning round in circles and panting heavily, the horse made it known that she hadn't the strength for the new journey.
"Okay, dear creature. It's alright." Bast dismounted and gathered up her things. Removing the horse's bridle and hanging it on a nearby tree, she set the horse loose in the field outside the wood, telling her that she would return in a few days to collect her. The horse nuzzled her fondly and then lay down in the pasture, watching Bast walk out of the sunlight and into the shade of the woods, a lantern held out before her to light the way when the woods became especially thick.
Once inside, it didn't take long for Bast to find the path that made a direct route to her destination, however, remembering several trips with her grandmother back and forth, Bast passed up the well-trodden path in favor of a scantier one a few paces farther away.
It wasn't long that she had been walking before she heard an unfamiliar voice from somewhere in the wilds just off the path.
"Good day, miss." It was a deep, dark, but somehow soothing and velvety voice. She looked all about her to find where it was coming from and saw a man appearing out of the darkness of the surrounding woods. She regarded him with narrow eyes and a bit of suspicion at first, though he looked very stately and well mannered. He was nothing like the dregs she was used to encountering on her daily excursions about her neighborhood, from which she rarely roamed.
"Good day, sir," she answered, holding her parcels closer to herself and quickening her pace just a bit. However, she felt somewhat intrigued by the stranger and, since he seemed to present no danger, was happy for the company and offered no protest when he made to walk with her.
"What brings you into such a deep wood on such a lovely day," he asked, stepping over the brambles and briars with an efficiency that only a denizen of the forest would possess. Bast tripped and stumbled her way forward, never losing a thing from her basket, and answered him as she went.
"My grandmother is ill and has written me to come and care for her. I'm on my way there just now. She lives just over that next hill," she said, pointing to the north.
"Why hasn't she called for your mother instead? Surely she would be more able to make this journey than a young woman such as yourself, and much more versed in the art of healing than one so young as you."
Bast stopped where she was and regarded the stranger carefully. He had long blonde hair that cascaded down his back like a waterfall of flax and glinted in the minuscule rays of sunlight and the light from her lantern as if made of gold. His skin was very pale, and made even more so by the dark green color of his cloak, which was held together with pure silver clasps in the shape of serpents. He carried with him a walking staff with a silver serpent's head at the top as well and his eyes were icy blue. He looked regal and prince-like, and he seemed to have no place in such an obscure corner of the woods.
"What brings you into the woods, sir," she asked, trying not to get too haughty or above her station. She was still just a poor witch and, in the presence of such an obvious gentleman, felt compelled to voice her suspicion of him politely and as much like a lady as possible.
He laughed. "I fear that you don't trust me," he told her, drilling into her with his eyes. "You're a very intelligent young witch," he said, touching the tip of his stick – the serpent's head – to her temple for emphasis on the word intelligent. "Your mother must have told you never to talk to strangers in the wood."
"I don't remember my mother," she told him firmly, no longer wanting to walk with him. She turned forward again and continued to stumble, faster this time, up the path. He followed, barely having to put any effort into keeping up with her, even at her quick pace. "She died before I was old enough."
"How regrettable," he gasped, stepping in front of her and cutting her off. "But you must have a father at home who would miss you terribly if something were to happen." He offered his arm to her and she stepped back a pace, looking at him with suspicion. "Oh come now." He scolded her gently, like a child. "I mean you no harm. However, I understand your position and, if you wish, I will leave you alone to continue your journey and will take this other path here to my destination." He pointed to his left and Bast saw a second, even less pronounced path leading off to the west.
"Forgive my forwardness, sir, but I would prefer that arrangement. Thank you," she said, hobbling off still farther up the hill.
"Very well," he said, bowing and backing into the darkness. He tipped his hat. "Until we meet again." And with that the black forest enveloped him. All that she saw was a piece of green satin slithering away into the trees. She thought she heard him whistling some small tune as he faded into the distance, but she couldn't be sure.
Gathering up her things and her cloak she pressed on and was halfway up the hill before she had to stop for a bite to eat. The journey this far had lasted half the day, and she knew it would be another three hours before she reached the home of her grandmother. So she laid out her cloak and ate a bit of bread and drank a bit of wine. The sun was shining as hard as ever in the afternoon and more sunbeams broke through the canopy of the forest now. It was pleasantly warm and Bast saw a clearing full of lupine basking in the rays. Fire bugs flew in and out, uncaring in this dark place whether it was midday or midnight. It was still dark enough for their green little lamps to shine. Feeling full from her lunch, and unwilling to take up the task again just now, Bast went forward into the bed and plucked a handful of the flowers. Her grandmother had always loved them most out of all the flowers on this path, and Bast fancied a few might raise her spirits just a bit.
An hour later, after a respite in the garden, Bast gathered up her things once more and continued on her way. It was nearly dark when she reached the cabin on the hill and she was utterly exhausted. She dropped her cumbersome parcels and leaned back on the gate before the yard, breathing heavily and undoing the bun that her hair was in. A black river of curls cascaded over her shoulders and streamed, liquid, down her back. Nothing had ever looked so beautiful or welcoming than the cabin before her. But the air was different than the last time she remembered it. It seemed somehow thinner and colder, and the sky, though full of sunlight on the way up, was now pocked by black clouds. Thunder was blowing in from the west and everything smelled of rain. Behind the cabin the mountains loomed, ominous. She felt as if she had just climbed one herself. But she was here. And if she didn't hurry and get indoors she'd soon be drenched.
The raindrops began to fall with soft a soft 'pat, pat, pat' on the wooden veranda and Bast caught a flash of lightening out of the corner of her eye. Why were all the windows dark? Surely grandma had strength enough to light a lamp? Panic suddenly fell over her. What if she was just sitting in there, in the dark, all alone awaiting Bast's arrival? What if she had fallen? What if . . . What if she wasn't there at all? Or worse yet, what if someone else was?
Knocking demurely on the glass panes of the door and receiving no answer, Bast rapped a bit more loudly on the wood. When that too elicited no response, she felt a new wave of fear spread over her. Trying the knob and finding the door slightly out of its track, she pushed it open and proceeded inside. Rain was now clattering down the window panes in the kitchen, sounding like hail or pebbles being tossed against it. The wind began to howl through the crack under the door when she shut it.
"Grandma," she called timidly, looking around the kitchen to find nothing really alarming. Except the atmosphere that seemed to smother the whole house. "Grandma," she called again. The silence stifled her.
Bast peeked around the corner and into the small sitting room. Nothing there but a flash of lightening in the window. The sun was going down behind the clouds in the west. And then she heard it. The slow, deliberate, 'wheeze, wheeze,' of someone breathing. Behind her. She turned slowly, clenching and unclenching her hands as she did. Building power that she would never have a chance to use.
"Grandma?" But when she turned around she could see that her grandmother appeared to be safely tucked inside her bed, fast asleep. A light breeze blew in the window – had the storm abated? Outside, the night seemed to have come on fast – she could see stars in the sky already, obscured by only a few clouds. She looked around. There seemed to be no sign of anyone else about. She sniffed the air. She detected something she hadn't remembered from the last visit. Vanilla. It reminded her of something, but –
Stepping forward into the bedroom she reached out a hand to touch the old witch's shoulder. To wake her. Under her night bonnet Bast thought she saw a flicker of the eyelid, but it could only have been the shadow of the curtain rippling over the woman's face.
She leaned in close. The smell of vanilla was overwhelming. And then it happened. A pale hand flew out from beneath the covers and had a tight hold of her obsidian curls. A moment later she had been pulled forward, beads of sweat popping up around her temples and her cheeks growing red, her eyes wide and pupils dilated in fear.
"What big eyes you have, my dear," he hissed from beneath the covers. And then he stood, pulling her up with him. It was the man she had met in the woods. The man with the blonde hair and the voice like crushed velvet.
Her mind reeling, Bast tried to back away but was held fast by his crushing grip. He reached forward with his free hand and pulled her arm to bring her closer. His face an inch from hers, he leaned down with his lips and brushed the sensitive area just behind her ear. "What smooth skin."
In one more deft gesture he had tossed her down upon the bed and pinned both of her hands above her head. Though she struggled against him she was no match. He reached over between the bed and the nightstand and withdrew from the shadows his silver headed walking stick. Using it to snap open each one of the clasps down the front of her cloak and lay it to the side, he hissed at her to be quiet in that satin-clad voice.
"Hush, my dear," he crooned in her ear. "It will be over before you can say –"
"Avada Kedavra." He sat up straight, staring at the framed picture above the bed, the silhouette of a man in its reflection moving closer to the foot of the bed from the doorway.
Slowly, deliberately, the attacker turned to face the newcomer and Bast peered out around him to see what she felt sure was a ghost. The ghost of a wizard with long black locks, like hers, and black, oil spot eyes to match. His mouth was pulled down into a serious, grim frown and he held before him a wand with the word "Ollivander's" carved into the side. She thought she could smell just the faintest hint of burnt hair as she closed her eyes and lost consciousness, falling hard against the headboard.
When she awoke, Bast found herself still on the bed but no longer restrained. Her arms hung freely at her sides and she had been tucked tightly under the covers with great care. Her black curls fanned out beneath her head and when she opened her eyes the image before her swam a bit. There was the man – the ghost – the wizard who had saved her, standing at the foot of the bed and lazily paging through a book.
She tried to sit up, but found the task to be far too trying of one. Hearing her stir the wizard marked his place, laid the book down upon the nightstand, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Her nostrils flared as she swore she could smell fresh apples. He brushed a curl off her cheek and looked at it, pressing around what Bast could tell was a very large developing bruise.
"He hit you with that infernal cane of his when he fell. Sorry about that." She blinked.
"You're the one who –"
"Saved you. Yes. Well let's don't make a big issue out of it. I didn't come here to be some sort of knight in shining armor and all that rubbish."
She blinked again. "Who are you?"
"An authority."
"Authority?"
"Yes."
"Authority of what?"
"Never mind of what. Just know that I've come to serve justice. You'll be fine in a few days. Take some of these if you need them. Owl for help." The man pointed toward a great snowy owl that sat upon the windowsill and a bottle of some sort of tablet on the nightstand. "But only if you need it. Please. I can't be bothered to come up here and check on you every day." He stood, and the scent of apples lingered for a while before fading away.
"Wait," she called after him. She had no desire to stay all alone in this house, to never know what had happened. The man made no move to stop, but put on a pair of black gloves and a black cloak and was just about out the door when she called to him one last time. "Please wait," she asked softly and in her very sweetest voice. "Couldn't you just wait a while? I will be better shortly. I just need a moment to collect myself. And then I can walk down the hill and won't have to spend my night alone in this cabin." He stopped, half over the threshold, unable to resist the sound of her voice. It was like an angel's.
"Please," she asked again. "You can tell me what happened. Where is my grandmother? Who are you?" Unable to turn away from her he returned to the house, to her bed, and sat beside her.
He told her that he had killed the man that had attacked her. That he was a fugitive from their home in the East and that he had been sent to capture him under the order of a great wizard of the land. That this wizard had not always been accepted but that he had finally won over the love of the people and that in these dark times, with men like those roaming the lands, he had called for his soul to be delivered to him as retribution for his crimes and to make an example to all those that might try to emulate him.
"But you killed him," Bast said after the story had been told. "How can you take his soul if you've killed him?" The dark man reached into the pocket of his robes and with one gloved hand pulled out a small glass vial. Inside it, what looked like a fire bug swirled and floated about. The only difference was that this particular being's lamp was a dark, almost black, forest green. The color of an apothecary's bottle from many years ago. It flashed its lamp on and off, but seemed to be disparaged. Again and again it flew hard into the side of the jar, obviously trying to break free of it. Failing.
"It's a secret," he told her, watching her eyes grow as wide as saucers. Then he quietly replaced the bottle in his pocket with one smooth gesture. "Do you feel well enough to walk," he asked, standing and offering her his arm. Suddenly catching himself being chivalrous, he quickly punctuated his action with the statement, "It's just that I don't have time to sit here and tell fairy stories all day long."
Bast replied that she did and when she swung her legs over the edge of the bed she saw beside her feet one large, red, ominous stain on the wooden floor. She gasped. Remembering her grandmother she quickly asked this stranger where she was. He hung his head and led her into the kitchen, where he handed her her red cloak and cap.
"I'm afraid I was too late to save her." Bast sat down upon one of the chairs at the table, crying into her cloak. "Come come," he told her, uncomfortable with her sobbing and unsure of what to do to stop it. "I'm sure you have a whole family to go home to. What's the loss of one old woman? Eh?"
Bast sobbed and told him all about her father and brothers, and how to go home would be to devote herself to a life of caring for them like children. She wept as she put on her cloak and cap, unhappy about the prospect but willing to do it.
"Why is it that you don't just run away," he asked her as they stepped out of the door. The moon was shining bright down upon the yard but beyond the tree line the woods looked very dark and dreary. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled one long, solitary cry.
"I couldn't just leave them. They are helpless without someone there to care for them. I shall bear the burden, until I have a family of my own to care for." Sniffing back the last few sniffles and wiping away her last few tears and basically resigning herself to her fate, Bast began to walk down the hill toward her path.
The wizard watched her go, his heart full of pity and desire to right her situation. There she went. So full of compassion for her family that she was willing to forsake her own freedom for them. And they, most likely drunk and asleep at home right now, not even concerned where she was or if she would return. It just didn't seem fair for him to let her go, especially into the woods alone. At night.
"Miss," he called after her. "Come back again." She did as he asked, walking back the way she had come and stopping just in front of him.
"I haven't much to offer you," he told her seriously, staring down at the ground as he spoke. "But I do have a comfortable home in the East. With a very powerful wizard who could protect us for a long while. And if you wanted that family of your own that you spoke of," he said, taking both of her hands in his, still looking at the ground, "well, I could try to give you that as well."
Bast smiled. She nodded silently in favor of his proposal and allowed him to kiss her gently on the forehead. The two were married and lived happily ever after.