The Spirit Well

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Curious about the new theory, Delvin strokes his chin and paces from the tree to a moss-covered boulder. “As distraught as the Callindors are, they’ve stated that he died a hero like many in their lineage. Don’t even think of bringing Nyx up, Grasdon, because I’m not in the mood. There’s Alyssa Goldheart, but she’s married and would have no reason to grieve that much. Honestly, Luke became pretty famous, especially after he died. Anybody could have attempted this and failed, which created the ghost.”

  With the idea of a necrocaster making things more complicated, the three warriors quietly sit and consider the situation. No longer being used to such a strenuous task, Delvin and Timoran find their bodies aching from calves to shoulders. The champions sit on the grass while Kira scowls and chooses a tree to climb, the raven-haired woman using pitons that her companions never knew she had. Watching her disappear into the thick branches of the maple, the two men wonder if they should call her back. The forest is quiet and still, making them fear that nature is waiting for a shocking event to occur. As they relax and let their senses wander, a chilled breeze weaves through the trees and carries the smell of salt to the champions’ noses. For an instant, Delvin and Timoran swear they see a network of mangrove roots appear around them. The image is gone in an instant and replaced by a strange mushroom that vaguely resembles what they saw.

  As Delvin lies down to relax and think of a way to track a spectral forest tracker, Timoran stands to wander around the area. The barbarian touches the bark of a tree that has stolen his attention, but he cannot put his finger on why the drooping birch seems out of place. Whispering an apology to the nature gods, he crushes one of the thick branches with relative ease. A second after the destruction, four chittering beetles waddle out of the hollowed wood and plop to the earth where they burrow to safety. Buzzing wings and clicks can be heard beneath the bark of the old tree, which Timoran taps at in curiosity. He knows the noises were not there before, but he considers that the insects were merely asleep until he disturbed them. Turning back to Delvin, he is surprised to find his friend standing with sword and shield at the ready.

  Rustling leaves and snapping branches draw their attention to the oak that Kira had scaled, the tree appearing bigger than before. With a shout, the dark-skinned woman crashes through the canopy and lands on the ground with a sickeningly thud. Her leg is twisted in a nauseating direction, but she continues to crawl toward her dropped weapon. The sabers are no longer at her sides, their empty sheathes smoking and gradually crumbling into ashes. Kira grits her teeth against the pain and lunges for her kusari-gama to swing at the shimmering form of Luke leaping out of the oak’s trunk. His ephemeral hands are wrapped around the hilts of his precious blades, which throb with pink energy. Rushing to strike the injured woman, the ghost ignores the sickle and chain that passes through his body.

  The sabers are about to drive into Kira’s chest when Timoran rushes forward with his great axe. Knowing Luke is impossible to hurt, he swings for the physical weapons and knocks them from the ghost’s hands. Unfazed by the disarmament, the forest tracker continues his attack and plunges his hands into his beloved’s body. Kira immediately screams and twists away, her damaged leg barely slowing her down. The phantom’s fingers are left with blood dripping from their tips even though there are no fresh injuries on his victim. Luke shouts in a garbled language and points accusingly at the gasping woman as she pulls a small vial of red liquid out of her pocket. Recognizing the fire elemental blood, the specter unleashes a high-pitched shriek that shatters the glass and sends the dangerous potion into the dirt. A hissing pop gives Kira enough warning to leap away from the where a plume of lava erupts, the superheated rock hardening in a fan-like design.

  “I might not know much about ghosts, but I didn’t think they could do all of that,” Delvin says as he attacks Luke. He bats the phantom away with his shield, the artifact’s magical nature helping it make contact. “At least not a ghost that’s so young. I mean, Luke was always great at adapting to situations, but this seems quick even for him.”

  “There was the time before he met us where he was turned into a phantom,” Timoran points out while keeping the undead half-elf at bay with wide swings of his great axe. The barbarian leaps away when the blunt end of Kira’s kusari-gama skims his side and passes through the ghost’s head. “I hope that was an accident. Stay behind me because you are injured and lack the proper gear for this fight. We are also trying to capture him. That blow would have shattered his skull if he was alive.”

  Showing a surprising amount of strength, Kira hurls Timoran out of her way and sprints at Luke. A dull yellow energy appears on the sickle end of her kusari-gama, which causes the ghost to retreat. The weapon snatches tiny pieces off his body whenever it comes near, but the damage heals whenever he passes through a tree. As she races after the elusive spirit, Kira’s mangled leg spurts and snaps with every thudding step. Expecting to cut Luke off from his escape, the drooling woman darts around a boulder and swings at empty air. She turns around to see the forest tracker emerging from the stone and running toward the other champions. The heiress leaps into the branches and swings after the sprinting ghost, her weapon wrapped around her waist and held tightly in her mouth.

  “This is getting ridiculous,” Delvin mutters while he tries to alter his aura to mimic that of a priest. Praying to Cessia that his gamble pays off, the warrior aims his sword at the approaching ghost. “Please let me capture him. Luke has been through enough, so being obliterated this way wouldn’t sit right with me. Not to mention Nyx will be really angry if she doesn’t get a chance to see him again.”

  A beam of white energy bursts from the tip of the bastard sword and streaks toward the forest tracker. Luke makes a muffled yell before the blast pierces his chest and causes his body to become solid. The transformation is a surprise to the champions, but does nothing to stop Kira from continuing her pursuit. She tries to take advantage of her target being stunned and leaps down with her sickle heading for the top of his head. A loud crash echoes throughout the forest as Timoran smacks the woman out of the air with a thick branch. The heiress lands like a broken doll at his feet, her eyes still open and blinking even though the rest of her body is twisted. Her hand occasionally clenches and shudders, making them think Kira is unaware of her crippled condition.

  “I do not see how this type of damage happened from my strike,” the barbarian states, confused by her injuries. He leans in close and is surprised to find that her blood is black instead of red, the liquid reminding him of oil. “Things are becoming stranger by the minute. Are you able to speak to us, Luke?”

  “We’re trapped!” the half-elf shouts before he becomes a ghost again.

  His voice becomes garbled and bursts into a shrill moan, but it is obvious that he is unaware of the change. Luke’s arms flail while he tries to explain what his friends assume is the battle that led to their capture. Several times he pokes himself in the head with a finger, which is a gesture they fail to identify. It eventually dawns on the ghost that they cannot understand him, so he hangs his head in defeat.

  “We need to get him to Nyx,” Delvin says, his eyes still on the twitching heiress. The longer he stares at the broken figure, the more he doubts his own life. “I don’t know what to believe now. All of my memories are a mess, so I don’t know at what point in our lives we fell into this trap. Let’s take Kira with us and-”

  Before Delvin can finish his orders, the mangled woman leaps to her feet and lunges to bite him in the throat. She only gets as far as grabbing the warrior’s shoulders before two thin blades swoop in from her left and right. The sabers cleanly lop Kira’s head off to reveal a void beneath her skin instead of the expected blood and organs. Delvin watches the weapons return to Luke’s hands and notices that the ghost is tapping its foot. The expression on the forest tracker’s face is one of playful mockery, as if he is trying to claim that he has saved his friend’s life again and is getting tired of it.

  “Like I’m g
oing to take that from a ghost,” Delvin retorts with a smirk. He reaches out to slap Luke on the shoulder, forgetting that his hand will pass through the half-elf. “Okay, I deserve that look since I should have known better. Let’s find the others and figure out what’s going on here. I really wish Dariana was here to help. This seems like something she’d be able to solve with ease.”

  Both of the warriors jump when Luke unleashes a wailing scream and leads the way to their friends. Timoran and Delvin assume he is agreeing and is simply frustrated that the one person who could speak to him is dead or missing. Even with that assumption, the pair can see that the half-elf is aggravated and keep their weapons drawn in case Luke is revealed to be the true threat in the forest.

  *****

  “I swear I saw it go into this tree,” Nyx says as she stands at the base of a large pine. She squints and shields her eyes from the sun, but the needles are too thick for her to spot their quarry. “Not really sure why Luke would be purple or flying. Do you think I’m seeing stuff, Tigris?”

  “No, but I doubt it’s the ghost,” the barbarian states from where she is examining a thick layer of sap. Sniffing at the sticky mess, she sighs and gives up the hope that there is any spectral slime in the mixture. “We don’t know enough about ghosts to track Luke. I vote that we return to the house and wait for the others. They’ll come to the same conclusion and return before it gets dark. Maybe we can contact a priest to help. Are you okay up there, Sari?”

  “Just . . . winded . . . and . . . stuck,” the gypsy softly replies from high up in the tree. With her heart beating fast, she clings to the trunk and tries to calm down. “Could use a hand getting down, guys. I second the idea about going home.”

  “Why Sari tired?” Fizzle asks, the drite’s head emerging from the thick needles above her head. He climbs down the trunk, stopping to shake one of his feet that is now covered in amber sap. “Fizzle here now. Not sure where here is. Sari look bad.”

  “Been a really long time, little guy. Though, I don’t understand why I’m not surprised or excited about seeing you,” she whispers, coughing up bits of frozen blood. The concern on the small dragon’s face makes her smile, his scaly form more comforting than she would have imagined. “My heart is still damaged from when the Baron stabbed it. My immovability and ice powers are keeping it in one piece, but I have to be careful. Walking around for a while and climbing this tree was too much. Feels like my heart is about to explode even though I took my medicine.”

  Fizzle scratches his head with his tail and looks at the ground where Nyx is trying to see what is going on. He is surprised to see a vaguely familiar female barbarian and wonders if Timoran has been transformed by whatever magic is being used. Hearing Sari wheeze and whimper, the drite focuses on his friend’s plight and blows rainbow smoke into her nostrils. The gypsy’s eyes flutter and she nearly falls out of the tree, Fizzle catching her arm with his tail. Not wanting to injure the weakened champion, he leaps to her other arm and grips it as tight as he can without his claws breaking the skin. The drite’s wings hum due to the speed of their flapping, the extra weight of Sari making it difficult to maintain a steady descent. It takes him several minutes of careful flying to lower the dazed woman to the ground where Nyx immediately kneels by her friend.

  Upon seeing the channeler’s older appearance, Fizzle remembers everything that has happened. He growls and darts around his friends, making sure they are not illusions created by Dariana. Recognizing Tigris and knowing she is still in Stonehelm, he spends an extra minute examining her only to find that she is hollow at the core. Afraid that fighting one of their captor’s creations could shatter the entire psychic world, Fizzle shrugs his wings and pretends that he saw nothing. Landing next to Nyx, the drite shifts on the dry, crunchy needles and wipes them aside with his tail. He cranes his neck to look at the blonde barbarian, who is cautiously watching the dragon and tapping the point of her spear.

  “Need find others,” Fizzle whispers as Nyx pats his head. The smell of chocolate and apples on her fingers makes his stomach rumble, so he is thrilled when she hands him the last of the treats. “All this fake. Mind trap by enemy. Never find Spirit Well. All this to hold friends. Gifts for Baron. Fizzle hear plan and try save. Got caught.”

  “But we already defeated the Baron,” Nyx says while rubbing her amethyst necklace. The past few years of memories rush through her head, many of them a haze. “No, we killed the Baron and now we’re happy. At least we’re not fighting for our lives every day. Besides, I never heard of a trap that could do this to a group of people. We share the same memories and know we’ve had lives since the battle. Only a god could create an illusion that is so powerful and complicated.”

  “I have to agree with Nyxie,” Sari chimes in, her head clearing due to the relaxing spell. A mirror appears in her hand and she examines the ugly scar on her chest, a lone finger running along the cold edge. “I wish you were right, Fizzle, but this is our world. I remember the pain and fear of nearly dying. After the fight, I spent months struggling to survive in the Durag temple and then I tried to put a life together. I’ll admit that some stuff is foggy, but everybody forgets parts of their past.”

  Tigris joins the others and scowls at the drite, the expression making her face appear threatening. “You can’t expect us to take your word on this, Fizzle. You’ve been away for years and suddenly you arrive to say this is fake. Rather suspicious that you do this around the same time Luke has been seen as a ghost. Perhaps you’re lonely and want to bring down the lives of your former friends. You gave up your post in Visindor Forest and never made the final bond with Nyx, so now you have nothing. An adventure would be a return to the old days.”

  “Drites no think that way.”

  “They never stay with city folk for so long either.”

  “Friends need Fizzle.”

  “Or does Fizzle need his friends?”

  “Both, angry woman.”

  A burst of wind pushes Tigris and Fizzle away from each other, causing both of them to look at Nyx. The half-elf helps Sari stand while she considers everything that has been said. She wracks her brain to recall every detail of the battle with the Baron and the last few years of her life. Nothing is very detailed even though the channeler wishes to swear at the top of her lungs that her happy life is true. She is startled when cool fingers runs along her knuckles and she glances down to see Sari examining her hand.

  “Where’s your wedding ring, Nyxie?” asks the gypsy, showing that there is nothing on her friend’s finger. Standing on her own, Sari trudges toward the nearest tree and rests with her back to the sticky bark. “I can’t remember what it looked like. Was I even part of your wedding? You were married soon after the battle, but I was hospitalized at that point. Yet, I have a dress in my closet that I swear I wore as your maid of honor. The shoes are scuffed as if I’d been dancing all night in them. How could I have made a business and contacts from across the globe if I can barely go three hours without collapsing? None of this really makes sense, Nyxie! Maybe I’m the one who is wrong and Fizzle is right. Remove one piece from the illusion and it all falls apart, so let’s see what happens if I remove a big chunk.”

  Sari melts the ice around her heart and vomits the red-tinted water that flows into her throat and lungs. Only her immovability is keeping the organ together and she takes several deep breaths before releasing its hold. The gypsy falls to her knees in agony and clutches her chest while tears stream down her face. She can feel the pieces falling away from each other and blood seeps from the corners of her mouth. A sense of approaching death takes over Sari’s mind, but she finds that it never comes to claim her. Yet the agony refuses to end and she can only think of one way to free herself from the illusion. Summoning as much strength as she can muster, the gypsy grabs the scar on her flesh and tears it off. A wave of panic runs through her mind when she sees her chopped up heart come out of her body. It takes the gasping woman a few seconds to realize that she is still alive and ther
e is still something beating in her chest.

  “I don’t know what my son looks like,” Nyx whispers in an emotionless voice. Tiny fireballs etch grooves into her cheeks, but she refuses to let them stop. “This is too cruel. What kind of monster did this to us?”

  Tigris grabs Fizzle before he can speak and throws him against a tree that explodes into a shower of splinters. “You ruined everything. This world wasn’t supposed to end this way. Now they are confused and weak. The Baron will not get a proper fight from these shells. Why didn’t you stay away from the prophecy, Fizzle? It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Friends’ fight is Fizzle’s fight,” the drite snarls as he hovers in front of the steely-eyed barbarian.

  Heat wafting from her muscles, Tigris draws two of her spears to attack the dragon. She takes one step before the trees behind her crash to the ground and a deafening roar shakes the entire forest. The barbarian whirls around to see the towering ghost of the Sword Dragon staring down at her, the beast’s golden energy crackling around its eyes. Unsure if the creature is on her side or not, Tigris moves toward Fizzle and raises her weapon to strike. With a mechanical laugh, the monster snaps the woman up in its mouth and greedily chews on her. The others watch in horror as her body is ground into pulp and the screaming continues, the sound one of anger instead of pain. Black blood drips from the Sword Dragon’s mouth to form a puddle that burns into the earth and eats away at the grass.

  “We should run now,” Sari whispers while grabbing Nyx by the wrist. She is caught by surprise when the half-elf picks her up and sprints away. “I can run on my own, Nyxie. Though the speed enhancement is useful.”

  “You have a gaping hole in your chest.”

  “And you have grooves in your face.”

  “Hope the guys are faring better than us.”

  “As if they could be worse off?”