The Spirit Well

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Nyx turns to examine both garments before flicking the collar of the green tunic, which has a large stain on the arm. The dark splotch of old food evaporates from the fabric even as the channeler goes back to her own preparations. Closing the shutters, she strips out of her nightgown and digs to the back of her wardrobe. A collection of black pants, worn boots, and red shirts sit behind the dresses and gowns that Nyx wears for work. Long ago, she learned that being in charge of Rainbow Tower means looking the part. It does not help that her casual clothes and youthful appearance cause people to mistake her for an apprentice, which is a fun prank that the channeler pulls from time to time. Her smile fades when she pulls out a crimson tunic that is worn around the collar and has a frayed hole going through it.

  “I wore this when I left for my first adventure,” Nyx whispers as she sits on the bed. Feeling a draft, she puts on her underwear and pants, but continues staring at the shirt. “It all started eight years ago. We weren’t on the road for very long if you think about it. Couldn’t be any more than two years. Feels like our adventures were from a different life.”

  “They are in a way,” Delvin replies, kneeling in front of the half-elf. He wipes a few tears from her cheeks before giving her a kiss on the belly. “All of us retired after killing the Baron, so we’re no longer part of the adventuring world. You and I are instructors while Timoran is a political figure. Sari’s business seems to be doing well too. We’re moving at a different pace these days.”

  The channeler smirks before putting on her shirt, the laces tying themselves as she flips out her hair. “That makes us sound very old. Pretty sure the two of us could teach the heroes of today a few lessons.”

  “That’s technically right since we train casters, channelers, and warriors,” Delvin points out, earning a pillow to the side of his head. He grabs his wife’s feet and flips her onto her back, his thumbs massaging her toes to prevent her from kicking. “You know I wouldn’t change what we have, right? Happily married with a small house near Visindor. Now we have a kid. More importantly, we finally figured out how to grow vegetables.”

  “Did you just put farming above our son?”

  “The tomatoes don’t throw up on me.”

  “They don’t laugh at your jokes either.”

  “In that case the order goes my little buddy, tomatoes, and then you.”

  Nyx has a spell on the tip of her fingers when a loud knock at the front door draws Delvin to the hallway. Thankful for his friends’ timing, the warrior hurries downstairs to let Timoran and Tigris inside. Having come directly from a meeting with the Grand Counselors, the Snow Tiger King and Queen are still wearing their crystal crowns. Timoran removes his circlet and runs a hand through his crimson hair, the barbarian shrugging his thick cape off his right shoulder. He scratches the stump where his arm used to be, a painful reminder of their battle with Baron Kernaghan. Tigris helps her husband with the black and blue striped garment and neatly folds it before removing her own.

  “Please do not ask me about the meeting unless you have a drink in your hand,” Timoran says with a smile. He pulls his old friend into a one-armed hug, his eyes searching for the lady of the house. “I assume Nyx is still getting ready. Being parents slows you down for a bit, but I promise that they will eventually become faster than you. Some days I fear Raynar and Udelia will have to carry me back to Stonehelm when we go on outings.”

  “I can believe that,” Delvin replies, thinking of how his son is already crawling fast enough to keep him on edge. Handing his guests some mugs of ale, the warrior takes a seat on a nearby stool. “Not sure if you heard, but Trinity won’t be able to make it this year. She’s attempting to make trade agreements with a few merchants out of Canst’s Fields. Not to mention Shayd still has an undead problem. Excuse me for a second. You’re beautiful, Nyx, so come down and say hello!”

  “Excuse me, but may I go change?” Tigris politely asks, holding out a bag that holds her casual clothes. “I would feel much more comfortable in my traveling gear. Are you going to do the same, dear?”

  Timoran looks down at his clothes, which are adorned with polished buttons and delicate embroidery. “I only have to take my shirt off. The pants and shoes are easily replaced. Thank you for asking.”

  Removing her crown, the Queen goes into the nearby guest room as wisps of smoke seep from the ceiling. Fearing a fire, Delvin is about to rush up the stairs and check on his wife when she materializes out of the thickening cloud. The half-elf wastes no time hugging Timoran, her rush making him think that she is trying to knock him over. She keeps her violet eyes hidden behind a curtain of hair, but the towering ruler can tell that she is coming to the end of a crying fit that she wants to hide.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone today,” Delvin says, giving the half-elf a hug from behind. He sighs when she turns into mist and switches their positions, her face pressed against the center of his back. “You never do well around this time of year. Nobody blames you for what happened, Nyx. It was the only thing you could do to win. He even asked you to do it, so don’t feel bad anymore.”

  “Still hurts when I let my guard down,” she whispers as a pain grows in her chest. Taking a deep breath, the channeler steps away and gets a pair of scuffed boots from near the door. “I know we won, but everything seemed to go wrong. The Baron took control of Dariana, which led to us having to kill her. Timoran is missing an arm and I can’t use my fire magic without hurting myself now. Aedyn says that’s all in my head, but I still think there’s a final curse that got put on me at the end.”

  “Many believe that guilt is a curse we put upon ourselves,” Timoran and Tigris say at the same time, the blonde barbarian stepping out of the guest room. The rulers smile at each other, their habit of saying the same philosophical phrase in unison always making them feel a little younger.

  “We can discuss this later or, even better, never,” Nyx declares while tossing Delvin’s bottomless pouch to her husband. Her fingers linger on a redwood staff, the emerald topper cracked down the middle. “Lost a lot of loved ones that day. I’m sorry that I keep ruining the mood since this is supposed to be a celebration. I promise I’ll be fine by the time we get to Haven. Sari should cheer me up.”

  Not wanting to argue with their friend, the others file out of the quaint house and wait in the garden. Nyx walks around the building to touch several hidden glyphs, each one unleashing a magical shield that shimmers in the sunlight. Copies of the marks drift onto the channeler’s hand and runs up her arm to remain as faint tattoos. She pauses when she plucks an apple from a tree in the back and wonders if she is forgetting about something. Assuming she is merely tired from repeatedly waking up for the baby, Nyx takes a large bite of the fruit and gathers a few more for the journey. She is jogging around the corner when a familiar voice echoes in her ears and she grabs her amethyst necklace.

  “I told you Luke was staying with Willow and Cyril, mom,” Nyx says with a groan of exasperation. She gestures for the others to start walking while she trails behind to finish her argument. “You’re all the way in Darkmill! I’m not sending him anywhere by portal until he’s at least five. Don’t try to guilt trip me. You and dad watched him when we had our anniversary trip to Bor’daruk. Look, I have three sets of grandparents to divide babysitting duties among. Four if you count Casandra, but she’s still in trouble for peeking at his aura. No, I still haven’t figured out where he teleported the Sutter statue to and I already made a new one. Delvin already suggested we bring him along, but I said no. The trip is too long and . . . I’m not ready to show Luke the memorial. I’m not crying. I was before. We’ll visit in two weeks when you’re done with whatever job you’re on. Love you too, mom.”

  *****

  From atop the hill, the travelers can already see the tents and stalls erected in the northern clearing. Three windmills spin in the strong breeze that shoves the clouds across the sky, their shadows dancing along the ground. Attached to the lantern posts, forest green bann
ers with silver griffins along each side have been strung across Haven’s main road. Black bows adorn a fenced off house near the clearing and the blacksmith shop, the stone building eerily silent and smokeless. As the small group gets closer to the town, they see children running through the street with toy swords. Most of them have twin sabers, but there are wooden great axes and bastard swords that appear from time to time. Upon reaching the edge of Haven, a young woman politely smiles at the familiar faces and hands out black armbands. On the verge of a panic attack, Nyx’s hands tremble to the point where Delvin has to help her with the symbol of mourning.

  “Never the right color for a birthday, but that is only my opinion,” Timoran whispers, wiping a few tears from his eyes. He grunts when Tigris softly punches his stump, the Queen’s glare warning him to behave. “My apologies. I did not mean any offense. Luke Callindor was a dear friend and I come from a culture that celebrates one’s life with color and noise. This is still rather foreign to me.”

  “I believe your apology is as much a tradition as the celebration,” the greeter states, offering a flask to the barbarian. She taps the crossed blade symbol on the front before releasing the frost-covered container. “Compliments of the Callindor family. Talos wished for you to receive it upon your arrival. The family is at Goldheart Manor to avoid the crowds. This year has been especially hard for them, so I fear they won’t come to the celebration. Lady Vixen says you can stay in their home as usual even if they are not there. Also she again apologizes for any trouble her son may have caused you. Especially you, Lady Nyx.”

  With wide eyes and a twitch in the corner of her mouth, the channeler looks to be on the verge of running away. She relaxes when Delvin puts an arm around her and Timoran rubs her head like she is a puppy. With Tigris leading the way, the small group walks along the edge of town and heads for a cabin that sits near the forest. Bees float among the flower patches that fan out from the path to the front door, which is wide open to let fresh air into the building. A long shed runs off the back of the house and has vented windows that are constantly releasing sweet-smelling aromas. There is a collection of stools near the workshop, which the local children use to spy on the candy maker while she works. With the upcoming celebration, there is nobody around the structure and the smell is that of whatever chocolate is left over from a busy week of work. The tattered remains of several black bows are strewn across the property and the only one that remains intact can be seen on the roof. Four daggers are sticking out of the wooden shingles around the decoration and the cautious travelers note that their placement is rather sloppy. A gentle creaking followed by a harsh grinding greets them, but the rocking chair on the porch is empty.

  Nyx braces herself for the same greeting she gets every time she comes to Haven. Putting a hand on Delvin’s wrist, she stops him from raising his shield. Minutes pass in silence, so the visitors continue their approach and make it to the porch. A lithe figure drops from the eave and lands behind Nyx, a pair of sabers crossing in front of the former adventurer’s neck. The cloaked warrior presses the blunt side of the blades to the half-elf’s flesh, which creates red marks without drawing blood. A burst of wind knocks the person’s hood back and reveals Kira Grasdon, her emerald eyes wide with anger.

  “Give me a very good reason why I shouldn’t kill you this time,” the brown-skinned woman whispers. A flicker of heat rises from the red line that runs from the middle of her hairline to the bottom of her spine. “Don’t think your friends will help you either. Start talking, big sister, or I’ll flip these swords around.”

  “I still shed tears for Luke and suffer even when I’m happy. Is that what you want to hear like every other time I visit?” Nyx asks, her voice quivering. She tenses when the sabers slide up to her jaw, the polished rubies in their hilts glinting in her peripheral vision. “Luke told me to do it, Kira! He had the Baron pinned, but couldn’t hold him or deliver a killing blow. He said it was our last chance since everyone else was injured or unconscious. I never expected him to use those blades to channel and enhance my spells. Please believe me when I say that I didn’t even know he could do that.”

  “Oh for the luck of Cessia, I’m getting sick and tired of this,” Sari admits as she steps out of the cabin. Her blue hair is a mess with dried chocolate in the long tresses and the sugary smell warns her friends that she has not bathed in days. “I need to freshen up, so everyone can come inside and enjoy the treats on the table. As for Nyxie and my always entertaining companion, kiss and make up or you only get water here. There’s fresh honey and mint brownies sitting on the stove if that helps.”

  With a flip of her wrists, Kira sheathes the sabers and gathers her kusari-gama from where she has hidden it in the ivy that runs along the overhang. She refuses to look at Nyx when she shoulders her way inside and heads upstairs. The young woman returns seconds later to claim two brownies, a mug of hot chocolate, three fist-sized cookies, and an assortment of candies that she stuffs into her pockets. She heads to the porch to give hugs to Delvin and the Wraths before grabbing a honey cake and disappearing into a back room. A chorus of fists and feet hitting a padded surface emanates from behind the closed door until a sapphire silence spell covers the entire wall.

  As her old friends enter the cabin, Sari catches Nyx by the sleeve and coaxes her big sister to the side of the door. The gypsy waves for her guests to sit down, indulge in the food, and give the pair some privacy. To make sure the barbarians are not able to hear them, the two women walk along the porch to sit on a metal bench. Rubbing her amethyst necklace, Nyx watches a large bee buzz around a hanging plant and lets her anxiety drift away. She takes comfort from Sari’s head being on her shoulder, but the gypsy playfully moves to drape herself across the channeler’s lap.

  “You’re the reason I never have the urge to get a dog or cat,” Nyx claims, scratching her friend’s belly. With the other woman refusing to move, the half-elf tries her best to get comfortable and relax. “Thanks for sending those baby clothes and enough chocolate to fill half of my pantry. Wish you and Kira would visit, but I understand the name might be an issue. How are you two doing?”

  “Both of our businesses are succeeding, which isn’t what you wanted to know about,” Sari answers with an impish smirk. Gazing at the town, she watches a group of bards and carpenters head for the clearing to set up a stage. “I promised Luke that I would take care of Kira if he died and that’s what I’m doing. We’re settled now and she’s doing better. Talos has been training her as a forest tracker, which keeps her active and distracted. I still think at least half of Kira’s business trips to Gaia and Bor’daruk are really adventures. She comes back with bruises, injuries, and a goofy grin on her face. If you ever need advice on how to handle a teenager, I might be able to help there.”

  “You didn’t mention how you’re feeling.”

  “I miss the road, but I’m content.”

  “Does your heart still hurt?”

  “I came to terms with me and Luke long ago, Nyxie.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  With a sigh, Sari pulls down the neckline of her shirt to reveal a jagged scar between her breasts. Black veins fringe the old injury, which looks to be on the verge of reopening. Wisps of cold seep from the pores over her heart, a thin layer of frost having gathered on the inside of her top. Sucking in a breath, Sari closes her eyes when Nyx touches the scar and examines the residual aura that will never dissipate. The gypsy knows that the Baron’s magic is far too tangled with her own energy to be removed without killing or crippling her. All she can do is maintain a case of ice around her heart and keep the pieces immovable, which prevents the damaged organ from splitting in half.

  “There’s always going to be some pain even with the new medicine that Aedyn has been sending me,” Sari explains, removing her friend’s hand. The coolness of Nyx’s skin still feels unnatural after years of the half-elf being very warm to the touch. “My stamina is terrible, so I have to take a lot of breaks. Don’t ev
en get me started on not being able to eat or do anything that could make my heart beat faster. The kids love that problem because it means they get to test all of my creations. Kira and the Callindors watch out for me, so I have a good amount of years left.”

  “Delvin really was the lucky one in that battle,” Nyx says as she gets off the bench. Leaning on the porch railing, she cranes her neck to get a peek at her husband. “I always tell him that he shouldn’t feel guilty. Only right that one of us got out unscathed. He tends to counter that point by reminding me of our connection. I’m pretty sure it’s to comfort me.”

  “At least he tries,” the blue-haired woman points out. Plucking a flower from one of the pots, she goes to tuck it into the channeler’s hair. “Kira and I were going to the memorial after lunch. Do you want to come along? If you’re worried then know that I already talked to Delvin and Timoran about this. Your husband requested to stay behind with Tigris to help with the preparations.”

  Nyx sighs and waves to the warrior, who is already working on his second cup of coffee and third caramel scone. “I haven’t been to the memorial in two years. Promise that Kira won’t try to start a fight with me?”

  “I can’t promise that,” Sari replies with a helpless shrug. A sudden weakness overtakes the gypsy, who lurches forward to use Nyx like a crutch. “I need to lie down for a bit, so enjoy the snacks. As far as Kira goes, be the old you and punch her in the face. She’ll hit you back and a brawl will break out, but I’m sure it’ll solve something.”