The Spirit Well

by Charles E Yallowitz

  Dariana grabs the edges of the window and forces it closed, the clear section turning into a swirl of blue and yellow. The telepath leaps onto the top of the dome, her mind bombarded by the thoughts of her friends. Without her ring, she is defenseless against the mixture of concern, anger, and worry that seeps out of the shield. She can sense Luke wanting nothing to do with her and Nyx fuming about being left out of the fight. There are warmer thoughts from Timoran and Sari while Delvin attempts to keep his mind blank to avoid being read. Instead of letting the emotions consume and weaken her, the godling lets it fuel her determination to undo some of the damage she has caused. The effect is an increase in height and mass, which makes Dariana resemble a tuskless, female orc instead of a human woman. She runs her steady hands along her shirt, changing it to a dark red and creating a silver embroidery of the Compass Key. Dariana patiently waits for the Weapon Dragons to get close enough so that she can launch herself at the unsuspecting swarm.

  When she sees sunlight glint off the wings of a Sword Dragon, Dariana jumps with enough force to sink the barrier a few inches into the swamp. Reveling in the rushing air, the godling grins and pulls back her fist for a first strike. She is mildly amused by the club-footed Mace Dragons that are flapping their useless wings, the constructs kept in the sky by flying enchantments from Yola. As they come within range of Fizzle’s barrier, the monsters of metal and flesh pay little heed to the small figure barreling toward the swarm from below. Before Dariana can attack, the dragon army unleashes a barrage of stones, flaming ores, wooden stakes, and spinning blades. The artificial breath weapons explode against the dome, which begins to crack before a rippling flame replenishes the defense.

  The Weapon Dragons prepare for another salvo, but are stopped when Dariana reaches the closest enemy. She delivers a punch to the ruby in the closest construct’s forehead, the Sword Dragon bursting in a shower of burning wreckage. The champion bounds among the pieces and delivers a kick to the thin body of a Staff Dragon, the construct snapping in half like a rotten twig. Jamming her arm into the upper half of the carcass, Dariana yanks out a large stake and hurls it through three more creatures that crash into the swamp below. She is unable to get the leverage for another jump, so she drops to the ground and leaps off a tree that is shoved into the earth.

  The Weapon Dragons continue blasting the dome, which is quivering from the constant impacts. Another barrier of hardened fire and a third of solid ice appear around Fizzle’s shield, the three layers of defense holding steady. Dariana focuses on the first line of constructs, every blow destroying whatever it strikes. Waves of panic push into her mind, the animals of the mangrove swamp retreating from the deadly rain of severed parts that crash into their home. The sensations make her realize that the battle may go on longer than her body can handle or the dome might shatter when more of the Weapon Dragons get close enough to attack. Even at full strength, the telepath cannot destroy more than six of the beasts with every leap. She can only imagine how much more difficult the fight will become when she comes under direct attack, the creatures still blindly following their orders.

  Ricocheting off an Axe Dragon, Dariana watches the beast’s torso explode as she flips toward one of the Mace Dragons. Landing on the dimwitted creature, she punches a fist into its solid hide and presses a finger to the piece of onyx in its forehead. A cluster of poisonous spikes clatter off the metal and flesh around her, one of the projectiles piercing her leg. The toxin is rejected through her mouth and leaks down her chin, the burning sensation threatening her concentration. Flexing her leg, she ejects the chunk of wood and pulls herself high enough to grab the onyx with both hands. A wall of bone-chilling screams erupts in her mind, but Dariana silences the voices with an internal roar that echoes for several seconds.

  Slamming her head against the Mace Dragon’s focal stone, the godling drives her telepathy into the beast’s living core. As if she is in the astral plane, she uses the connection to leap from one construct’s spirit to another. She tears at the magical strings that keep all of the Weapon Dragons together and shoves wave after wave of destructive force through the monsters’ primal minds. Dariana does not stop at those that are attacking the mangrove swamp, her powers covering the globe to hunt down every one of the beasts. With a final explosion of psychic energy, she wipes out the terrifying constructs and feels their death screams vibrate within her aching skull.

  “I should have done this centuries ago,” Dariana whispers as her hair returns to its silver hue. She plummets along with the crumbling Weapon Dragons, the pieces exploding as they hit the swamp.

  17

  Dariana dreams of swimming through an ocean that is constantly trying to drag her under, the waves leaving a sticky residue on her skin. An island is in the distance, which the telepath does her best to reach even though every move is met with pain. She gradually senses that there are creatures within the water and spots six colorful fins heading in her direction. The sharks pass the naked woman, one of them so close that she is surprised it avoids bumping into her. She never sees more than their fins, but the sound of tooth-filled mouths snapping shut can be heard behind her. With the island appearing further away than before, Dariana stops swimming and lets her body get pulled under by the gelatinous ocean. Shadowy forms surround her until the only light is a single shaft from the distant sun. The deeper the tired woman sinks, the stronger she feels, which helps her to muster the energy for a flip. In response, a feeling of vertigo rips through her brain and the concept of up and down no longer clear.

  Facing what she originally thought was an abyss, Dariana watches a barely furnished room come into focus. An iron bathtub and nightstand are beneath a window while a hulking blob sits on a stool. Sparks fly off the edge of the basin and leave blossoming flowers that walk through a hole in the wall. There are cabinets along one of the walls, which a light blue robe repeatedly visits to juggle orbs. Under a churning pool, a lean figure shifts and groans with its pale arm tightly gripping the nearby sill. The flicker of a blinding light appears in the doorway before it is cut off by a slamming plank of ephemeral wood. Giving in to her instincts, Dariana allows herself to drop into the room and catches a brief view of a white-haired halfling pouring the contents of a steaming pot into the tub.

  “Looks like she decided to come back,” the Neberith priest says with a warm smile. Rolling up his sleeves, he touches Dariana’s face to raise her drooping eyelids. “My name is John Aneveom and you’re in Fyric. Two days ago, your friends brought you to the Neberith temple since you were in bad shape. You were covered in burns and blisters. Most of your bones had multiple fractures too. I’m surprised you survived the journey here, but Delvin worked to keep your heart going. Honestly, I thought we lost you for a few minutes. Guessing you simply went the wrong way and turned back around.”

  “Thank you for your help, old friend,” Timoran replies as he crouches at the side of the bathtub. The smell of healing potion makes his eyes water, so the barbarian takes a long sniff of one of his flasks. “You saved us all, but the swamp is a wasteland of broken Weapon Dragons. It will be many years before life can return to that land. We were lucky to find you in the wreckage before you died.”

  “I assume there are some who wouldn’t consider that lucky,” Dariana whispers in a strained voice. Slowly raising her arm, she is amazed at how her strength has returned after such a short time. “Soaking in healing potions is a new experience. I should have been unconscious for at least a week considering the energy I used. Thank you for healing me, High Priest Aneveom. I hope you didn’t waste your entire potion stock on me.”

  The halfling knocks on a cabinet that is filled with empty bottles, the smirk on his face relieving some of his patient’s guilt. “All part of the job. I’ve got the apprentices working on replenishing our supplies as we speak. They could use the practice and were getting a little lazy with their studies anyway. Now, I’m going to leave you two alone. I recommend staying in the tub for the rest of the day. Last thing w
e want is to find that a bone isn’t fully healed and you fall down the stairs. Happens more often than you would think, which is why I really should talk to the mayor about moving my room to the bottom floor of the tower. Just another thing to put on my errand list.”

  They can hear the priest shout in the hallway, but his loud voice is more of a polite warning than one of anger. Fizzle hurries into the room a few moments later, his tail wrapped around the handle of a metal cart. A pitcher of water is on its side with the matching cup having rolled into a plate of scrambled eggs. The tower of buttered bread has fallen into the puddle, creating an inedible mass of soaked slices. Bacon and sausage are scattered about the cart, their plates having been flipped at some point in their journey. The only dish that has not been knocked over is a bowl of apples, which have been reduced to nothing more than a collection of chunks that Fizzle failed to devour in his rush to bring Dariana a meal.

  “Stair bumpy,” the drite says with a quivering lower lip. He perches on the edge of the tub and offers a piece of bacon. “Fizzle sorry. Thought Dariana hungry. Delvin cook. Not able to bring. Problems with friends. Fizzle promise help. Timoran had food too. Ribs fell on floor and roll down.”

  “I will mourn their loss,” the barbarian states, raising his flask in honor of what he assumes is now a trampled meal. The alcohol burns his empty stomach, so he is thankful when Dariana hands him a few sausage links. “We should probably discuss the situation. Things are awkward in our group, but not entirely hostile. Luke is taking it the worst, so you will want to give him time to cool off. Once I am done here, I will be trying to convince him to speak with you or at least be civil. Nyx will be cold too, but I am sure she will talk to you if required. The rest of us are simply waiting to see what you do next. I would be lying if I said I was not on edge around you.”

  “I believe you, Delvin, and Sari are being too kind,” Dariana argues while sinking up to her chin. The sensation of a leg bone snapping back into place causes her to jump, a bit of the sour potion splashing into her mouth. “I did a horrible thing to all of you. Ignore my intentions and I’m no better than my brother. Worse in a way because he never hid the fact that he was a monster. Destroying the Weapon Dragons was nothing more than cleaning up my mess. I should not be trusted until I prove myself.”

  “Say ah,” Fizzle requests before jamming a spoonful of eggs into Dariana’s mouth. The drite is confused when he receives an angry glare from his friends. “Only try help. Fizzle see patients be fed. Fizzle nurse. It no help?”

  “I believe our friend can feed herself,” Timoran politely explains as he tries not to laugh at the innocent dragon. Reaching under his vest, he pulls out the Compass Key and dangles it in front of his face. “We are staying in Fyric until you are able to travel. We want to find the Spirit Well and reach the end of our journey. Too much time has been lost already. Though I will not say it was entirely wasted. Your true past has been revealed, Dariana. All of us saw you try to return to your father’s side and know you helped to corrupt the temples. It does make it difficult to trust you and I agree that you need to prove yourself. Yet regaining trust is different than earning it in the first place. In order for you to repair the damage, the rest of us need to have faith that you can be redeemed. That opening will either be rewarded or insulted by your actions. I recommend that you tread very carefully because the few strings that remain can never be mended if you break them.”

  Dariana nods her head and sits up in the bath to run her hand along the warm edge. “I understand and thank you for giving me a chance. Please let me try to hold the Compass Key. I did not lie about it having issues with me. Though it is more because of what I’ve done than my powers. It was never aggressive, so the problem is that it remains inactive. Maybe my recent actions have changed its mind.”

  The artifact seems to growl when it is placed in Dariana’s palm, the orbs becoming cloudy and dull. Instead of touching the diamond, she puts her thumb against the central pearl and tries to read the Compass Key. Angry and hostile energy churns beneath the surface, but she can tell that it is reacting to her aura being similar to that of the Baron. She attempts to enhance the part of her energy that is closer to her mother’s magic, but the relic refuses to ignore the presence of corruption. Having been created as a tool for the champions, Dariana is surprised the Compass Key even let her carry it to the portal. Not for the first time in her life, she senses a primal sentience within the pearl and sees the hint of a scowling face within the polished surface. A faint shimmer along the silver edging warns her that the artifact’s defensive spells are about to awaken, so she quickly hands it back to Timoran. Holding out her hand, she shows a slight burn mark on her flesh, which is erased by a single dip in the bath.

  “It would appear that I’m no longer in its favor. Not that I really was before,” Dariana states before she lets Fizzle feed her again. The drite does his best to hand her a cup of water with his tail, the liquid sloshing over the rim. “This shouldn’t be a problem. The Spirit Well is different from the other temples in that we can get inside without the Compass Key.”

  “What about finding it in the first place?” Timoran asks while putting the artifact away. Noticing his companion blush and sink further into the tub, the barbarian rubs his eyes in preparation of another headache. “Do you have another secret to share?”

  “I didn’t lie about knowing where the Spirit Well.”

  “That is good.”

  “I may have broken it when I was younger.”

  “How so?”

  Dariana sinks under the water, her voice emerging from popping bubbles. “Those memories got erased at some point and I can’t tell if I was the one who did it. I’m really sorry. Some of them should come back once we step inside if not earlier. At least I think they will. Should I apologize again? My ring is damaged, so I know you’re frustrated and disappointed in me . . . Sorry, Timoran.”

  “Fizzle like this Dariana more than mean one,” the drite states with a smirk.

  *****

  Strolling through the snowy woods, Nyx and Delvin enjoy a long overdue period of silent calm. After hurrying Dariana to the Neberith temple and dealing with the heated debate that ensued, the couple have spent the last two days with their friends. Lengthy discussions to sort through the lingering memories of the fake world have been taxing and brought very little comfort. Thanks to her channeler nature, Nyx finds it exceptionally difficult to shrug off the effects of the illusions and finds herself routinely rubbing her belly. The gesture has caused several fights between her and Delvin, the warrior making the mistake of pointing out that their child never existed in the first place.

  “I know you’re right,” Nyx whispers, touching the cheek that she slapped long ago. The red mark has long since disappeared, but she still feels guilty about losing her temper. “The baby was part of Dariana’s trick, but I have vague memories of holding him. Maybe it’s like the sky over Rainbow Tower. Instead of growing up and letting it disappear, I hold onto the illusion. Just another wound added to the list I recently made.”

  “I should have been more diplomatic and understanding,” Delvin admits as he takes her hand and gives it a kiss. Tasting bitter ink from her fingers, he does his best to smile and hide the disgust on his face. “I remember him too, but there’s another way to look at it. We have a small idea on how to be parents now. Technically, we’ve been through it once already and we’ll be ready when the real time comes.”

  The half-elf pulls away and picks up some snow to roll into a perfect ball. “That’s far too . . . I don’t even know the word to describe it. The wound is shrinking, but I can still feel its presence somewhere in my heart. Part of me wants it to go away while the rest wants it to stay because I never want to forget him. By the gods, what will I do when we have kids and I find myself mourning an illusion? Maybe we shouldn’t have children.”

  “We could adopt,” Delvin suggests with a charming smirk. Making his own snowball, the warrior keeps an eye on his fian
cée in case she tries to start a playful fight. “Let’s stop worrying about this. Prophecy first, wedding second, house third, and then kids. I know it sounds simple and methodical, but we really do have bigger challenges. Not to belittle what you’re going through, Nyx. I only mean that you’ll heal in time and we have the Baron on the horizon. I doubt he’ll wait for you to be in a better mindset.”

  “Guess we could adopt and have our own children.”

  “You’re not letting this go.”

  “I promise that was the last of it for now.”

  “So what do we talk about?”

  The pair continuing walking and try to think of a topic that they do not feel has been discussed to the point of repetition. Neither want to mention wedding plans since there are times they forget that the dream marriage never happened. Delvin opens his mouth to mention the final temple, but Nyx shakes her head at the first syllable. Stopping at a well, they toss the snowballs into the opening and watch them splatter against the solid ice. Sitting on the cold edge, the champions watch the quaint town and wave to several halflings who are working to dig up medicinal herbs. The aromatic smoke from a nearby baker makes their stomachs rumble, the pair making mental notes to buy food for the road. It slowly dawns on the couple that the soothing landscape is wasted on them and their stress is making it impossible to enjoy what may be their last moment of peace.

  “I’m worried that Luke will let Dariana die,” Nyx blurts out, unable to keep the thought to herself any longer. Twisting her necklace, the channeler slides off the well and kneels in the snow to create tiny figures. “If she’s in trouble and he can help her then I think he might just walk away. Can’t say I entirely disagree with him, but that doesn’t sound like something he would do. One selfish act can lead to another until the rest of us can’t trust him. That might be over the top, but I’ve never seen him like this before and he won’t talk to me. Have you had any luck?”