The Spirit Well

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “That is where we must go, but something is there,” Dariana whispers, blood dribbling from her nose. Fearing that she crossed a line, she cautiously releases the half-elf and bows her head in apology. “I hear voices coming from there. Angry ones that speak of horrible things. This isn’t bringing back any memories. Please let me go first.”

  “Sure, but stay where we can see you,” Nyx replies as she steps out of the telepath’s way. A fireball appears in her hand, the roiling flames shrinking until the spell resembles a solid, orange orb. “I’d tell Fizzle to keep an eye on you, but let’s be honest here. You betraying us again would happen before we realize what’s going on.”

  “Way to ease the tension, Nyxie,” Sari says, pulling her friend by the arm. She urges Dariana to lead them toward the tower, Fizzle and Delvin only a few steps behind. “This is bad enough without you threatening her. All of us have trust issues with Dariana and, if you haven’t noticed, she’s well aware of it. Don’t make this any harder because that could get someone killed. Just pull in the claws, make it all business with her, and focus on what’s important. That would be keeping me alive and pretty.”

  Nyx cracks a smile and lets Sari guide her toward the castle, the muddy earth making it a slow approach. Screeching bats dart overhead even though night is still hours away and the sun is beginning to punch through the gloomy clouds. Heat and noxious fumes seep from the beneath the soil, which is dotted with the bones of dead giltris. Weapons are occasionally dislodged from their mossy tombs, the wood and metal on the verge of falling apart. The champions stop every time a corpse is disturbed, the creaking of bleached bones making them fear that a trap has been set off. Coming to the moat, they are surprised to find that part of the muddy walls has caved in to create a small dam. There is still waist high water going over the bridge and it is difficult to climb the other side, but the worst that they face is mud-caked hands and knees. By the time the champions reach the black stone tower, they are dripping with sweat and gladly stop to let their nerves relax.

  Following a vague memory, Dariana slips her finger into the mud at the base of the stone and crawls through the muck to find a familiar hook. She grunts as she pulls a hidden door out of the ground and rotates the tower until a melodic ring locks the entire structure in place. The telepath scratches her head when she sees that there is no handle on the entrance, her fingers spreading mud over her hair. On a whim, Dariana politely knocks on the polished wood and watches the door swing open. She hurries into the room, which causes her friends to panic and rush after her. A chorus of muttered complaints meet the sight of the telepath holding the shaking door open.

  Entering the circular room, the champions find what looks like a black marble well that has been bricked in. Fizzle knocks on the surrounding stone to prove it is not an illusion and peeks into a hole that is no bigger than a child’s fist. A frigid breeze flows from the opening, but it is not enough to keep the chamber cool. In fact, the air is thick and humid to the point where it is difficult to breathe. Shelves of colorful potions cover the walls, several of them shaking due to the contents trying to escape. The remains of a broken bottle is in the corner and the pieces have tiny claw marks on the inner side of the glass. Timoran and Luke remain by the door and groan in unison when they realize what kind of puzzle they have to solve.

  “Just like in Aintaranurh,” the forest tracker says while suspiciously eyeing Dariana. He takes a seat on the edge of the well, but leaps away when he feels a cold hand graze his leg. “Do you really think we won’t remember this stuff? Delvin, Sari, and Fizzle might fall for this, but the rest of us were there. This is the same puzzle that Fortunatos put us through in his wine cellar. Only one potion is right and the rest hold some type of monster. Open the wrong one and it will make a mess that frees others. How stupid do you think we are?”

  “To be fair, a choice-based trap is fairly common,” Nyx answers while examining the broken bottle. Sniffing at the glass, she feels dizzy and backs into the wall to clear her head with shuddering gasps. “These types of puzzles are easy to prepare and become more difficult as they age. Clues fade away over time and those with the answer die off. Imagine if we stumbled into this place before the other temples. One of us, probably Sari, would have gone for a potion already.”

  “I still think this is too much of a coincidence,” Luke replies, unable to release his anger. A dark laugh echoes in his mind, bringing his attention to a blue bottle. “Every other entrance has been unique. Gabriel would never use the same tactic twice. I vote that the rest of us step outside and Dariana does this alone. We can watch through the doorway.”

  “The bottle test sounds like the conch shells at Pallice,” Delvin points out, stepping in front of Luke. With a hacking cough, the warrior sends glowing phlegm onto the floor and puts a hand out to grip the door frame. “Whatever is in the Spirit Well is giving me some problems. Going to guess ghosts only because of the name. Now I understand that you’re trying to be cautious, Luke, but don’t do it to the point where you’re a hindrance. Voice your opinion, listen to what we have to say, and drop it if we don’t agree with you. Sorry if that sounds cruel, but you aren’t thinking clearly. Besides, Dariana has already proven that she’d kick your butt in a fight, so goading her is a bad idea.”

  “So does she know what to do?”

  “I’m sure she . . . Are you okay?”

  Dariana is scratching her head until she cuts her scalp, a wisp of black smoke drifting out of the wound. The telepath seems to be unaware of her friends’ presence and her eyes are darting from one bottle to another. Roars of angry beasts and promises of endless pain are weaving through her mind, the sources daring her to lash out in anger. When she sees Sari reaching for a yellow potion, Dariana unleashes an inhuman wail and stuns the gypsy. The effect lasts only for a second, but it is enough to cause Luke to pounce on the silver-haired woman and press his sabers against her neck. He pulls away when he hears a chorus of applause erupt from around the room, the others showing no sign of having heard the noise.

  “Gabriel must have had Isaiah set this up after my last visit,” Dariana whispers in a frail voice. She remains on the ground even after Luke moves away, his sabers still pointing at her rapidly heaving chest. “There are demons in the bottles. I hear their thoughts. Only one bottle holds the potion that will open the Spirit Well. The others will unleash a monster that can earn its freedom by killing a champion. This is a competition, so they won’t be like the imps and open more bottles. That isn’t to say a fight won’t knock a shelf over. There has to be a clue that points to the right potion.”

  “Fizzle search room. No words,” the drite announces while circling the well. Tapping on the marble, he scurries away at the sound of a mournful howl. “Bad things below. Angrier than bad things here. Smell hate. No help here. Clue on bottles?”

  “We would have to check each one and that would take too long,” Sari replies while nervously lifting a green potion. With the steady hands of a thief, she turns the bottle and finds nothing more than a single hair stuck to the bottom. “Not to mention there would be a high risk of freeing a demon by accident. Then again, it looks like somebody might have done that once before. Wouldn’t the demon still be in here? For that matter, how would anybody have found this place without Dariana?”

  “I do not believe they could,” Timoran says as he helps the telepath to her feet. He leads her over to the broken bottle, but nothing happens when she touches the glass. “That was worth an attempt. What I am considering is that Dariana is the clue. She would have to be in the group that made it this far. There must be something about her that can be used to solve this puzzle.”

  “Bottles don’t have a back to stab,” Luke points out, scowling when Dariana chuckles at the insult.

  “You know, two of the previous entrances dealt with color,” Delvin mentions as he walks around the room. The warrior gently claims a curvy bottle that is filled with a silver potion, the liquid reminding him of melted metal. “An
other part of the trap is that we would end up coming here last. Being used to complicated solutions and tricks, we might overlook the obvious. For example, Dariana’s most notable feature is her silver hair. I say it’s this potion.”

  Before anybody can argue with him, Delvin pops the cork and pours the shimmering liquid onto the well. The potion spreads across the stone, leaving only the central hole clear and developing frost around the edges. Ten spindly arms erupt from the muck to plunge into the ground while a maddening cackle ricochets off the walls. A spine-covered body is emerging from the silver pool when Timoran swings his great axe at the demon. With orange coils around his arms, the barbarian is determined to destroy the monster in one blow and prays his power can work on a living thing. The creature explodes on contact, sending partially reconstructed gore around the room. Nyx quickly casts a wind spell to catch any bottles that fall off the shelves and delicately puts them back in place.

  “Well I’m out of ideas,” Delvin claims, wiping the foul-smelling ichor off his face. With a sigh, he notices that the others happen to be clean of demon guts. “Guess I deserved this since I didn’t let you guys talk. At least we know Timoran can destroy whatever comes out before it fully forms.”

  “I would prefer our plan not be to grab a bottle, open it, and let me kill our mistakes,” the barbarian requests with a smirk. Handing his friend a towel, he notices Dariana timidly take another bottle. “Have you figured out the answer?”

  “Delvin forgot that my hair can change from silver to black,” the young woman replies, holding up a potion that is a swirl of black and white. She taps at the green cork, wondering if it is a clue from an old friend. “I believe I know who made this chamber and she was not working for Gabriel. This is not about my hair, so much as my nature and lineage. Yola knows I was born from light and darkness. She would say that my existence cannot be defined by a single side or color. I know it is difficult to hear these words, but please trust me when I say this is the right one.”

  Sari takes the bottle and approaches the Spirit Well, but waits for Timoran to get in position for an attack. After wiping sweat from her brow, the gypsy removes the cork and turns the container upside down. The potion remains inside and churns like it is alive, the black and white sections turning into maws that repeatedly devour each other. Sari is about to drop the bottle and ask Timoran to attack whatever comes out when a single drop falls from the opening. The Spirit Well’s mouth yawns to its full size and all of the bottles melt, the demons inside screaming in agonizing death. The noise is drowned out by a high-pitched shriek of rage that greets the champions as they climb into the final temple.

  *****

  The top of the well is a distant dot of light by the time the champions reach the bottom of the shaft. A dull, throbbing glow emanates from the solitary door, which sits on rusty hinges that look to be on the verge of falling apart. Voices can be heard from inside, but none of the words are clear enough to figure out if the sources are aware of the intruders. An archaic symbol shines on the knotted wood, the ancient sigil becoming brighter as soon as Dariana runs her finger along its center. The light reveals that the ankle high liquid is blood, which oozes from a body that has been impaled on the opposite wall. Wearing the armor of a paladin, the dead man’s hair is long enough to reach the floor and his nails have become twisted claws. Touching the polished sword that has the old warrior stuck to the wall, Dariana slips into what is left of his mind and frees him from his suffering. The man looks up to smile, but growls at the sight of the telepath before crumbling into a pile of dust.

  “He followed me inside and attacked,” Dariana says, knowing the question is on everyone’s lips. Plucking the pristine weapon from the wall, she hands it to Delvin and nods her head toward the door. “I used him to keep the Spirit Well locked. It was going to be temporary since I thought my father would accept the temple and allow me to return. This poor man should have died long ago, but I assume someone was sent to make him a permanent ward. This blade can cut through the symbol and open the door.”

  “Then you should do it,” the warrior replies, tossing the weapon back. He doubles over and spits sparking globs, the strange muck having gathered in his throat. “I’m not going to be much help in there. Do you happen to know what we’re up against?”

  “A lot of ghosts,” Luke answers as he places his hand on the door. A burst of tickling energy runs up his arm, but he leaps away when the wood tries to meld with his skin. “I’ll have to be on my guard too. These things know I’m a spirit channeler and I get the feeling that they’re looking for an opening to take my body. The Ring of Uli should protect me, but I can’t be certain. After all, it never reacts to the spirits inside me.”

  “The Spirit Well received its name for a reason,” Dariana explains while she grips the sword with both hands. She rears back and swings at the angular sigil, which is cut in half and fades away with an echoing moan. “Long ago, a caster or channeler attempted to absorb spirits of the dead to create a new type of magic. This person opened a fissure between our plane of existence and the afterlife, but they were destroyed soon after by a band of adventurers. The gateway was buried beneath this well and given a guardian to keep the spirits on the other side. It is a very powerful nexus, which is why Gabriel made it a temple. Energy from the afterlife has been building behind this door for centuries and there is no telling what creatures have come across the fissure.”

  “That sounds like the origin of necromancy too,” Nyx adds with a sigh. Steeling her nerves, the channeler can already taste the potent magic lurking within the temple. “I can’t sort through the mob in there. There must be hundreds of spirits waiting for us. Surprised they didn’t find ways into the other temples.”

  Hopping on one leg and emptying the blood from her boot, Sari clears her throat for attention and points at Timoran. “The two of us are going to have a problem in there too. At least I will because I don’t know how to fight a ghost. You can’t really freeze them or wash them away. Any suggestions?”

  “You two will stay near me,” Delvin states before he purges the spectral energy from his body. Wiping his mouth clean, he takes a deep breath and alters his aura to work in sync with the ghosts. “That should do it, but I don’t know if being on the same level as the spirits will pose other problems. Anyway, I can use my powers to enhance anyone who needs it. Though no more than give your weapons the ability to strike ghosts. It won’t be perfect since I haven’t done this before, but it’s better than nothing.”

  Timoran smirks and runs a thumb along the edge of his great axe. “As if a perfect plan and knowing what we are doing has ever been our style.”

  With Dariana taking the lead, the adventurers step into the Spirit Well and are chilled to the bone by the sight that greets them. Spectral figures wander the main hall, which looks to be large enough to hold a small village. Men, women, children, and animals aimlessly move among the thick pillars that are covered in gnarled roots. Black orchids bloom from the plants and release a sparkling dust that gathers on the ceiling and walls to act as dim lights. Whenever a ghost passes into a strong beam, it stops to stare at its hands and unleash an inhuman howl before floating back into the gloom. The eerie sound echoes throughout the main hall and is finally drowned out by the front door slamming shut.

  The champions are watched as they walk across the large room, the other side nothing more than a distant wall of gray. Only a few ghosts dare to get within reach of the intruders, but they only open toothless mouths to moan at Dariana. After a few minutes, one ghost shows interest in Luke, who keeps an eye on the lumbering bear that is following him from a safe distance. All of the phantoms move away when the Ring of Uli flares with a burst of pink energy, the unexpected pull at their essence driving a primal fear into their core. The champions stop when they hear large wings flapping in the shadows, but the sound fades away as if the creature has gone down an unseen hallway. Dariana moves faster to bring them to a pedestal, which resembles the helm of a ship
that has been put on its side. A crystal spike is embedded in the center of the wheel, burn marks dotting the wood around the amber shard. Five more of the pedestals can be seen in the distance, which Fizzle attempts to investigate. The drite is driven back by ghostly birds that hiss and screech until he returns to his friends, the flock swiftly returning to the holes that they emerged from.

  Gesturing toward the ceiling, Dariana brings their attention to a metal track that can barely be seen in the gloom. Nyx throws a fireball into the groove and has the spell roll along the path to see if it leads to an exit. The crimson light that bathes the area causes the ghosts to wail in despair and beat their hands against their heads. A loud shriek from deep within the Spirit Well silences the phantoms, but they defiantly remain to watch the intruders. They gurgle when the spell pops against a battered chandelier, which dangles from a box that is barely hanging onto the track. Large dents are in the ancient metal, but the ambient light is not strong enough to reveal any details. When Dariana pushes the wheel, the chandelier shudders and metal shavings pour from the damaged device that would normally move it along the track.

  “The door on the other side is locked,” the telepath whispers, waving for the others to lean in close. The ghosts attempt to join the adventurers before they are driven back by a psychic wave, the attack leaving them agitated. “The way this is supposed to work is that each of us takes a wheel and moves the proper chandelier over it. We would have to do it in the right order, which you could figure out by matching the shaped flames with the crystals in the door. This would let us into the rest of the temple.”

  “Isn’t this where a guardian helps us?” Sari asks as she watches a female spirit drift closer to the group. The woman’s head turns until it is upside down and she extends a tongue that comes within an inch of touching the gypsy’s cheek. “I should also point out that there are no flames and we can’t see the crystals. Talk quickly because these things are getting closer. I just know that they’re going to attack us.”