*****
Using the distant lanterns from Goldheart Manor, Timoran continues stalking through the forest. The barbarian enjoys the strong scent of pine, unaware that it is making it difficult to track his prey by smell. He routinely comes to areas where the trees grow so close together that he has to squeeze between the sap-covered trunks. Needles are stuck to Timoran’s body and the itchy patches are made worse by his attempts to wipe them away. Out of habit, he reaches over his shoulder for where his tiger-striped great axe would normally be strapped. Having left it in Sari’s house, the barbarian realizes he is without a weapon. He grabs a fallen branch, but tosses it away when he feels how spongy the rotting wood has become. Making a fist that cracks his knuckles, the old warrior accepts that he may have to fight with his bare hand.
A boom followed by a crackle draws Timoran’s attention back to the clearing where the celebration is restarting. He watches the fireworks explode above the trees, the yellows and reds reminding him of the spells Nyx used to cast with natural ease. The second barrage of light causes him to squint into the distance where he swears a silhouette is standing on the narrow top of a fir. Another flash reveals the indistinct figure has moved halfway down the same tree and has an arm up to shield its eyes from the bright magic. Timoran assumes it is nothing more than a person wanting a better view of the fireworks and returns to searching for his elusive prey. His heart races when he catches a glimpse of the silhouette, which is now ahead of him and fringed by a white light.
“I hear nothing from you,” the barbarian whispers as low as he can. A lump grows in his throat when he sees the distant figure turn in his direction and sprint toward the clearing. “I assume you want to cause trouble and think that nobody will notice. You are a very curious phantom.”
Timoran charges after the faint figure that is weaving through the pines, its body passing through anything that gets in its way. After the specter races through two trees, the barbarian wonders why it is bothering to avoid obstacles in the first place. The tightly packed firs are splintered by the large man barreling into them, chunks of bark sticking to his hair. Due to an unexpected tombstone, he is forced to veer to the right and nearly loses sight of the shimmering apparition. By the time Timoran returns to his original path, the specter is nearly at the edge of the forest. The barbarian considers unleashing a battle cry to stun his prey, but knows that might draw curious townsfolk into danger.
A lengthy eruption of fireworks bathes the area in colorful light that puts the glowing figure into a trance. The delay gives Timoran enough time to close the distance, but the ghost darts into the clearing before it can be touched. Humming sigils throb on the grass, each one designed to go off as part of a scattered group. The phantom nimbly dodges the explosions with the less agile barbarian always remaining just out of reach. Their attention on the aerial display, none of the drunken townspeople notice the pursuit taking place on the ground. Timoran dives to the side a moment before one of the screaming streaks of fire goes off between himself and the sprinting phantom. Sensing a pulse of heat on his back, he rolls away from the next explosion and spreads his legs wide enough to let a third go off dangerously close to his groin.
“This is no longer amusing,” the warrior growls as he stands.
His head is spinning from being so close to the loud eruptions, but he musters the strength to charge after the hazy phantom. Spells sail into the sky as the grand finale begins, the symphony of screeches and booms causing Timoran’s sensitive ears to bleed. He is thankful when the chase reaches the edge of town and the ghost slows down to a steady jog. The creature stops and scratches its head as if it is lost, which gives the barbarian a chance to pounce and sail through its ephemeral body. The ghost emits a series of ear-popping clicks while leaning forward and shuddering, the edges of its body rippling. Unafraid of Timoran, the specter sprouts hazy wings to help it leap over the crouching warrior. It does not get very far before a fence post is hurled into the ground between its feet.
“You would not have gotten this far if my friend was still around,” the barbarian says, feeling insulted by the phantom’s disdain. Not wanting to show fear, he approaches his mysterious enemy and looms over the shorter figure. “The man whose birthday you are interrupting had the power to destroy your kind. Not that such a fact is important since he is dead. Perhaps you knew him in life and wish to join in the festivities. If that is the case then I apologize, but recommend you stay away from the town. The last thing some of us want is a rumor about Luke haunting Haven.”
The ear-popping clicks reappear while the ghost’s arms touch its stomach, a gesture that Timoran recognizes as one being doubled over from laughter. A ripple of pink energy runs along the edge of the creature and gently seeps into the rest of its body. Twin sabers appear on the figure’s waist, which causes the barbarian to step back in preparation for an attack. It takes him a second to recognize the style of the blade and pick out a silver vine design on the hilts that he has only seen once in his lifetime. Stepping into the shadows, the phantom’s face takes on the form of Luke Callindor before the phantom is blown away by a stiff wind.
Concerned by what he has seen, Timoran takes a few steps back and turns on his heels to slowly walk away. A distant roaring screech galvanizes him into running to town, the warrior startling several amorous couples. It does not take long for him to reach Sari and Kira’s house where there are several candles in the windows. He skids to a stop at the edge of the flowers, his senses returning enough to prevent a trampling that would anger his friends. Timoran heads for the front door, which swings open as he reaches for the peacock-shaped handle. Fearing that the ghost has arrived, the barbarian breaks into a nervous sweat and refuses to look up.
“We were starting to worry about you, dear,” Tigris says as she raises her husband’s face by his chin. The look of relief on his face makes her smile, but she can tell that something has the noble warrior spooked. “Please sit down and have a drink. You don’t look well. Can you two make some space on the couch?”
“Take the whole bottle,” Nyx says as she moves to a chair. Noticing that the bottle of Ifrit mead is nearly empty, she has a full decanter of brandy float to her friend. “We were thinking of calling it a night since the fireworks are over. Tomorrow will be a visit with the Callindors and Mayor Goldheart. That’s in the afternoon, so the morning will be kind of lazy. Delvin and I are looking forward to it. Feel free to stop me from talking and let us know what has the great Snow Tiger King covered in sweat.”
“I saw a ghost among the pines,” Timoran whispers in a shaky voice. Taking a sip of brandy, he uses the pause to figure out if he is scared or excited about his discovery. “He was watching the fireworks and I must have startled him. He ran through the clearing and I followed, so my ears are ringing. To be honest, I am having a hard time hearing you.”
“Let me fix that,” Delvin offers, putting his hands on the barbarian’s temples. A gentle pulse of white energy envelopes the red-haired man’s head and repairs his damaged eardrums. “You might have some residual ringing or a strange echo for an hour. If it was a broken bone or torn muscle issue then I’d have a better idea of what I was doing. So, where did the ghost go? Wish Luke was here with the Ring of Uli. Come to think of it, where did we put that artifact? I want to say we buried it under the memorial, but I’m not sure.”
Timoran finishes the alcohol and belches loud enough to earn a disapproving tsk from his wife. “My apologies, but I needed that. Luke is the ghost. I saw his sabers and face. The energy that made him easier to see was identical to that of his ring. For some reason, our old friend is haunting the area.”
“Luke’s a ghost again,” Nyx says, her heart fluttering at the thought of seeing her little brother again. Turning to Sari and Kira, she is surprised to see the other women are nervously fiddling with whatever is in reach. “You two seem a little squirrely. Care to share your thoughts with the rest of us?”
“We probably should have mentioned this ear
lier,” Sari replies as she takes a sip of her warm tea. The gypsy scratches her chest and glances at Kira, who is quietly staring out the window. “No idea why, but Luke is wandering the forest. This is the first time he’s stepped into the town. Though Kira swears he was hanging around our porch last week. I did feel someone spying on me two days ago when I was making candy. All of the sightings have been at night or in early dawn and we’re the only two who have seen him more than once. Mayor Goldheart saw him on one of her balconies a month ago, but she had a cold and there was the two moon eclipse, which means the lighting was odd.”
“Stop rambling, Sari,” Kira hisses, slapping her hands on the table. Scanning the room, the bronze-skinned woman grins when she meets Nyx’s hopeful gaze. “Anybody want to help me catch a ghost?”
13
Dariana wakes with a throat-clearing snort and finds that she has sleepwalked to the other side of the L’dandrin River. Glancing at her reflection, she sees that her face is covered in dirt and there are leaves sticking out of her hair. Not wanting to meet her father looking like a drunken dwarf who rolled in a pile of leaves, the telepath strips naked and dives into the fast-moving water. Enhancing her muscles and lungs, Dariana swims to the bottom where she holds onto a heavy rock and lets the powerful current scrape her body clean. Crawfish and trout move around the woman, the animals drawn to her silver tresses that shine even in the murky water. She pulls herself closer to the ground when the dark hull of a ship passes overhead, the sound of the bustling crew piercing the river. Waiting for the vessel to disappear around a bend, Dariana leaps to the shore and goes through her bag for a towel.
The telepath pauses while drying off and stares into the sky, the sun not in the position she would have expected considering the direction she should be traveling. Sensing another ship coming toward her, Dariana gathers her things and hurries into the forest. Watching the new boat pass, she can see that the crew looks fairly tired and she gleans pieces of conversations about an encounter with thieves. Cursing under her breath, the former champion realizes that she has been walking away from where the portal stands. Checking the sky again, she guesses that her unconscious traveling has put her three days in the wrong direction.
“We don’t like what you’re doing,” a voice says from behind Dariana. Stepping away from an oak, a red-shirted copy of the telepath bows her head. “This plan has been in the works for a long time, but maybe it has been for nothing. It made sense when the other champions hated us. We had no loyalty or love for those people. This time is different. We aren’t betraying those who despise us, but friends. How many times have they defended us, saved us, laughed with us, and treated us like we belong?”
“Go back to wherever you came from,” the real Dariana demands while getting dressed. She hurls her crimson shirt at the illusion, frowning when the copy catches the garment. “I was wondering if one of you would turn up. My memories have been erased so often that there had to be other versions of me in my mind. You parasites should thank me for not hunting you down and ripping you apart.”
“I told you she would be angry and threaten us,” another copy says, dropping from the branches. This one lengthens her hair and straightens her blue shirt, grinning at how the original scowls. “We play the kind and apologetic child, but we’ve proven to be just as vicious and evil as our lineage. More so at times considering what we’ve done to Stephen and now Zaria. I’m always surprised that the champions never became suspicious. After all, we’re a telepath who has admitted to altering minds without permission.”
A third copy meekly rises out of Dariana’s shadow, this one cloaked entirely in black. “You shouldn’t goad her like that. Now that she’s awake, we have no influence beyond our words. Not that she will listen. Would it help if I say please?”
“Don’t be such a worm!”
“Stop yelling.”
“Well somebody has to get angry at her!”
“I want to go home.”
A clap of thunder shakes the trees and everyone turns to the copy wearing a red shirt. More doubles slip out of their hiding places, each one slightly different in coloration or hair style. A bald Dariana lumbers into view, its slender frame not matching the loping gait that would make more sense for an ogre. Inhumanly agile versions leap and flip through the branches while a wide-eyed, naked copy chases squirrels through the underbrush. Wrinkled doubles dressed in filthy rags crawl out of the mud, their faces locked in an expression of horror. Soon there are hundreds of Darianas gathered and waiting for a decision to be made on if they are ending their plan or continuing forward. Whispers fill the forest, but none of the words can be understood due to a snarled web of telepathy.
The original Dariana finishes getting dressed, her white shirt having an embroidered demon claw on the back. Cracking her knuckles, she notices that her clear ring is missing, which explains how all of these versions escaped her subconscious. The telepath checks her pockets and bottomless pouch while ignoring the symphony of laughter that is rattling in her head. A high-pitched cackle causes her to cringe and lose her temper. Dariana spots the leering copy on a distant branch and swiftly reaches out to make it snap its own neck. To her annoyance, the double does not die, but remains with its head turned backwards.
“You must be desperate if you thought that would work,” the first copy states, holding up a hand to reveal the magic ring. She rubs the artifact with a finger that eventually scratches the edge to create a loud screech. “Be a shame if I break this and let the real dangers out. Please understand that there is no getting rid of us, Dariana. Killing us would be the same as gouging out part of your psyche. The only actions you can take are to merge with us or keep us in the shadows.”
“Like I’m going to let flawed versions of myself influence my actions,” Dariana declares as she gets closer to the copy. She is about to lunge for the ring when it teleports to the hand of the angry double. “Very cute. How about you stop playing games and go away? All of you had chances to be the one at the end, but you failed. Now it’s my turn and I’m putting an end to our suffering.”
“At the cost of your friends?” asks the timid version in black. She shies away from the angry glare of the original, her cloak catching on a thorn bush. “I agree with what was already said. All of us exist because early champions treated us like enemies or monsters. They could have made it further if they trusted us, which has been proven by the current ones. Shouldn’t we see this through to the end by staying on the side we were destined for?”
“It will only be a matter of time before they turn on us,” the former champion announces, her voice echoing in the minds of her copies. She reaches out to catch the one with the ring by the throat, but the action has no effect on the other’s smug expression. “You were the one who killed our supposed allies. I don’t sense regret from you, so why should I feel that way? Keep in mind that my truth will be revealed in time. The Spirit Well is already under my father’s thumb and I doubt my former friends would be happy to know that I destroyed their chances of victory long ago.”
The long-haired copy kicks out of the hold and flings the ring to the timid one, who nearly drops it in the dirt. “You speak as if their defeat is written in stone, but that is not even close to being true. The ending has never been decided and your past actions prove that anything can happen. Destiny may be woven by Gabriel, but the path is entirely under your control. All you need to do is stop sniveling and throwing a tantrum like a child whose mommy and daddy never loved her.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Do you really think you can lie to yourself?”
“My parents have-”
“Everything to do with this!”
The punch echoes throughout the forest and sends the arrogant copy sailing toward the distant river. Dariana leaps at her cowering double to take back the ring, but is tackled by three others and slammed against a tree. A high kick knocks one into the branches and she slams the remaining two together, their bodies merging at the s
pines. The lumbering version makes a slow grab from the side only be beaten away with her flailing allies. A shrill battle cry erupts from the back of the crowd before all of the doubles enter the battle with several of them attacking whoever is standing nearby. The real Dariana splinters limbs and caves in chests as she defends herself against the mob, her physical blows unable to kill her enemies. Desperate to quickly end the fight, she makes another grab for the one with her ring, but the wide-eyed copy dives onto her back. The pair crash to the ground and skid through the mud until their heads are stuck in a thorn bush.
“Back into the brain! Back into the brain!” the naked copy sings while trying to dig her fingers into Dariana’s skull. When she breaks the skin, a burst of ivory light blasts half of her head off and forces her to retreat. “Watch out for light! She play dirty!”
With the battle becoming more chaotic by the second, the first of the doubles lifts the original up by the face and slams her against a tree. “As the one who made this plan, I am asking you to stop. There is time to return to our friends and free them. We can never go back once you hand the Compass Key over to our father. Don’t let my youthful anger be the reason we lose our one chance at being happy.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we can never be happy,” Dariana whispers, reaching out to have her doubles repeatedly try to kill themselves. She grins at the macabre circus of death that surrounds her and the only copy that is able to resist her power. “I remember hearing you goad me into action as I slept. Now you change your tune and want me to be a good little weapon. Do you know what our reward will be when the Baron is defeated? Of course not because you were erased and never bothered to learn the truth. Thanks to you, we’re cursed to never be happy as long as the champions exist. This path is all that is left to us. Now go back to where you came from and leave me alone.”
The Spirit Well Page 24
