Crystal Dreams

This was meant to be a PG-13 Mummy action/adventure/supernatural story, but I can’t write PG-13 to save my life so it never really got off. I like this start though…

Fandom: The Mummy
Rating: F13
Genre: gen
Characters: Ardeth Bay, original characters
Warnings: choose not to warn

The full disc of the moon hung high in the sky; its bluish light and the cold twinkling of the stars illuminating the barren wasteland and the lone rider crossing it at a breakneck speed.

The rhythmic thunder of hoofs beating the ground and his own panting, frantic breathing filled his ears as he urged the horse to an ever-faster pace. The animal responded, whether to his movements and words or the smell of controlled fear that permeated from him, he didn’t know, or care. All that mattered was that the animal lunged forward with fresh vigor. Putting distance between him and it.

Twisting in the saddle to glance behind him again, the man nearly unseated himself and tumbled to the ground. The seemingly endless wasteland stretched as desolate behind him as it did before him, bathed in varying hues of blue and gray. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for thousand kinds of fool – he wouldn’t see it coming until it was upon him; and by then it would be too late. But he couldn’t stop himself from looking back anymore than he could stop breathing.

Narrowing his eyes, he studied the expanse of land in front of him, the powerful strides of the animal beneath him closing the distance to the edge of the plateau and the trail that lead down to the valley that was his destination.

Damn scientists. Always putting their noses where they didn’t belong. Poking where they had no business to be poking. As, or more, dangerous in their curiosity than the lowliest murdering scumbag. Waking things that should be left well alone. Damn me for letting them, he thought as he thundered on. Again he narrowed his eyes, trying to discern the pattern of the terrain before him – he’d rather not plunge over the edge of the plateau to crash hundreds of feet down to the ground in a wet splash.

Wet splash. Warm on my skin. Red. Look of surprise on Sanderson’s face. He’s trying to speak. No words come out. Then he’s falling forward and down. Taking me down, too. Sanderson on top of me. Not breathing. Dead. He was a large man. Curl beneath him. Hidden by his body and the bedding. Damn coward. Took the easy way out. Can’t use him now. The bastard.

Play dead. Maybe it won’t see me, and I can get away. My lips are moving but no sound comes out. I am… praying?

Never have believed in God, any God. I do now. Doesn’t matter. God never helps; not people like me. But still, I pray. And play dead.

It, the thing they awakened, death living. Prowling about. Looking for… what was it they said? A vessel, yeah, that’s it. Am I the only one left? No way I’m going to be anybody’s vessel.

Pray. Play dead.

Why’s it chilly in here? It’s not even afternoon yet.

Pray. Play dead. Maybe it won’t find me.

Yeah, right.

The memory went as quickly as it had come. He’d gotten very good at it, ignoring the memories, during this mad dash towards the nearest village, and safety. Only survival mattered.

Another twisting in the saddle, another glance behind. Nothing but emptiness.

He strained his eyes. What was that…? A landmark loomed out of the darkness; his mouth pulled in a grim, mirthless smile as he recognized it. The first indication of the beginning of the final stretch to his destination: a fist shaped formation of rocks, their height about that of an average man. The edge of the plateau was about a hundred feet beyond the formation, and the start of the trail down to the valley – maybe five hundred feet to north.

Passing the rocks, he steered his horse to north and pressed on, soon reaching the plateau’s edge and riding parallel to it. A little more time, and he would be safe. A grim sort of hope and elation were mixing with fear in his gut; he was so close now he could taste it.

Another twisting – again he nearly tumbled down – and a glance at the desolate desert behind him. Maybe he had lost it.

Yeah, right.

He slowed down to trot, fearing that he would unknowingly ride right past the trail. Everything looked different enough in the darkness; even though he had been back this way a couple of times and thought he would recognize the spot, he didn’t want to take the chance. Not now. Not with it chasing him. Death living. Wasn’t that what Sanderson had called it? It didn’t matter. Getting down to that valley, and the Bedouin village, that mattered; it was survival, it was safety.

There! There it was, nestled between two large outcroppings of rocks, the start of the trail leading down to the valley below. Reluctantly he slowed the horse down to walk; the trail was steep but quite wide and illuminated by the full moon. It was foolhardy, yes, but if he was very careful, he could ride the trail two thirds of the way down before he’d have to dismount for the rest of the way. The bottom part of the trail was narrower, just wide enough for a horse to go through, winding between tall outcroppings of sharp rocks and solid mountain wall, ending in a small cave. The village lay only minutes beyond the cave.

Beginning the descent, he could see light twinkling in the darkness below and he imagined he could discern outlines of houses and tents.

Suddenly, the air around him turned from cold of the nighttime desert to freezing. That was his only warning, and the fine hairs in the back of his neck prickled even as he frantically twisted around in the saddle – his eyes widening when he saw it coming.

The air itself seemed to ripple towards him with the speed of lightning. He blinked and opened his mouth – to beg, to bet, to trade – but it enveloped him and began to feed on his life force before any sound could come out. And then, talking wasn’t an option. And what trade, or a bet, could he possibly have offered? He had already lost the most precious thing he had ever gambled – his life.

For that was the gamble he had made with it: if he reached a village, any village, before it tracked him down, it would take whoever was in that village in his place; but if it caught up to him first – it would get him and the village.

The horse was still moving, undisturbed by the thing that had enveloped its master.

Growing lethargic and colder by the second as it drained his life energy, he started to become aware of another consciousness. Cold and alien and insidious; hungrily seeping into his mind and body. Changing him. Seeking control. A word was supplied; it racketed in his mind, echoing. Becoming.

In a not yet subdued part of his mind, he rebelled. He hated loosing. And no damn thing was going to use his body.

He looked down over the edge of the trail. He hadn’t made it even halfway down the trail – the drop was more than high enough to kill. He made a last half challenging, half-disgusted sound at himself. And then, he plunged himself off the horse. Right into the abyss.

All the way down, changing. Evolving into something else. Becoming.

All the way down, silence.

Mind, no longer his. Will, no longer his. Eyes, no longer his. Inhuman. Fathomless, ageless, black as death.

Impact.