Dreams of the Oracle

Chapter 22

Lista pulled her broken down old cart over yet another hill. The ramshackle wooden contraption clattered against rocks and stones in her path. Her old clothes hung from her loosely and dragged across the ground like mangy dogs. She breathed heavily from the exertion and slimy sweat ran down her face.

She spat a patch of stringy spit to the ground and heaved forward with renewed determination. Almost. Almost there.

She looked up with two bloodshot eyes and saw her destination. She forced a small, pathetic smile as she ambled forward. It was not the smile of joy for no joy welled up inside her. She felt no gladness at seeing her destination. She didn't feel anything just a grim, unrelenting, emptiness. An emptiness that would never leave her. An emptiness that was now both her companion and her master.

She trudged up to the couple of warped wooden steps and dropped her cart to one side. As she walked through the slanted wooden door she glanced up at the faded sign hanging from the roof, Old Goat Tavern. She had though it a stupid name the first time she had come. Now it was just another gray part of her life.

She sauntered through the door and to a far table. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor. She didn't want to catch anyone's attention. She didn't care who they were. She was here for one reason and one reason only.

Finally at the table she collapsed heavily into a bench. Leaning forward, she waited for the bartender. Coughing, she pulled out her long pipe. A handful of worthless people were barely visible in the dimly lit room. The bartender was walking over. 'Bout time.

Hal looked down at her with open distaste. Dirt and stale liquor splotched his apron. He folded his arms across his large belly and waited. He knew why she was here.

Lista pulled out a shiny coin and placed it on the table,

"Water first, and a light" she held up her pipe. "Then the usual."

Hal swept the coin off the table and shook his head. "Only just started coming in here and you're drinking yourself to death, woman."

"What a start eh?" she grunted. "Get to it Hal."

He turned and walked back to the bar, still shaking his head. A short time later he was back with a metal cup full of water, a lit candle, and a large black bottle. Lista gulped down the water, lit her pipe and turned to the bottle.

Her wrinkled, asymmetrical face leered back at her in the glass. She sighed and poured a cupful. No magic. No life. The emptiness was always with her, always nagging at her every thought. Always, when she was sober.

She forced a smile again and downed her first cup. She had barely survived losing her magic like that. She had shivered and cried herself out. Any emotions she had ever felt seemed to bleed out all at once. She had woken up one morning to find that she was no longer sad. Not anymore. She was much worse than that. She was an empty shell. She was a woman without a soul.

She had sat for an entire day staring at nothing. Then she had gravitated to a place where purposeless people could find momentary shelter in oblivion. She had known of the Old Goat. It was next to the only trading post for miles and she had passed it by often enough on her way to get monthly supplies. Now it was her home, more or less. She spent money she had hoarded over a lifetime, and there was nothing else for her to do. She was pouring her fourth cup.

She puffed her pipe before taking a swallow. The stuff was Hal's own making, and it was terrible. She swallowed the thick liquid and felt it burn all the way down her throat. The taste was nauseating. Hal's brew was for one thing and one thing only and that was to cloud the mind.

Only her mind never quite clouded, not completely. The emptiness was never gone. The drink just took the edge off it for a while. She downed another cup and poured herself another. She was building up a tolerance fast. The first time she had been bleary eyed by the third cup and out shortly after. The last time it had taken almost the whole bottle. She cursed quietly and wondered if Hal was watering it down. She was still vainly trying to drink herself into a stupor when the man sat down across from her.