The Spirit Well

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “We no alone,” the drite announces as he darts around the ceiling. He growls at the corners of the room and backs toward the others. “Screaming woman gone. New thing appear. Fizzle sense greater power. Not alive. Very dead. Very old.”

  “Heal him n-” Dariana starts to say before a winged shadow washes over the room and plunges the adventurers into a bottomless void.

  *****

  Finding themselves in the main hall, the champions are left disoriented and chilled down to the marrow. There is an eerie pressure on their bodies, but they are unable to see any ghosts that might be the cause. The sensation reminds them of getting a crushing hug from Timoran, only this embrace lacks the barbarian’s friendliness and warmth. Colors and shadows appear sharper, which creates a wave of nausea if one tries to focus on anything specific. A gasp of pain from Luke snaps Delvin out of his haze and he heals the most severe of the warrior’s injuries, which puts gray streaks in his hair. The half-elf remains on the damp floor, but his eyes flutter open and his breathing steadies. All he can do is raise his arm to point behind his friends, who become aware of a blinding light that washes away the ugly hues that cover the room.

  Emerging from the narrow portal, hundreds of wispy arms reach from the other side and grasp at the empty air. Staring directly at the gateway causes pain and forces the champions to concentrate on the edges or look only from the corner of their eyes. The beams dim when a dark form appears within the light and walks toward the room. Stepping onto the floor, the silhouette of a long-haired figure’s immense size blocks the portal and absorbs most of its energy. Four wings sprout from the mysterious being’s back and remain rigidly spread across the main hall. The unique phantom holds a staff that is nothing more than a thin shadow, which ends at a perfect ring of darkness. Faint details appear within the figure’s form, some of them reminding the champions of clothing or toned muscle. Stretching over its broad shoulders, the creature pushes the weakened portal into the floor where it becomes stronger and casts light around the empty room.

  “My name has been lost to the centuries,” the shadow states, three pairs of orange eyes appearing on its face. Pointing its weapon at Dariana, the creature’s arm shudders and a spark drips from one of its wings. “This one erased it before killing me. How does it feel to be the slayer of an angel? My kind have been rare since the beginning and you had the gall to take my life.”

  “I’m truly sorry. It was a mistake and I promise to atone for it,” Dariana says as she bows to the deceased guardian. She shivers at the piercing gaze that leaves physical burns on her forehead. “There is nothing I can say to justify my actions. Without you, the Spirit Well has remained unchecked and my temple has been without a caretaker. All of this is my fault. Now I’m here to repair the damage and finish the game of destiny. Please tell me what I must do to make amends.”

  The phantasmal angel looms over the telepath and watches the stunned mortals, none of them daring to make any sudden movements. “You already know the answer. It is the fate that you have feared since you chose the wrong side. When the champions win, you will be punished for your youthful sins. The only way to avoid such a fate is to keep the prophecy alive or make sure evil wins. I sense that neither are an option. You have friends now and it would be wrong to ruin their lives simply to avoid your comeuppance.”

  “What is it talking about?” Luke asks, struggling to his feet. Limping to a nearby pillar, he slumps against it and waves Delvin away. “You healed me enough. Besides, this sounds like something Dariana has to do on her own. Tell us the rest of your secrets because I’m tired of stumbling onto the truth with you.”

  “His bluntness aside, Luke is right,” Timoran whispers as he puts a hand on the telepath’s shoulder. The sounds of shifting stones roll from the darkness and are joined by a long, predatory hiss. “We have all been saying how this is the last step toward our destiny. It does not feel right to celebrate such a thing if you are dreading the future. Please let us know what is going on, so we can help you.”

  Dariana nods and holds her head up as she begins to say, “I broke-”

  “Broke? The child of Kernaghan destroyed this place!” the guardian interrupts with a voice that shakes the temple. Blue flames explode along the pillars, showing thousands of phantoms that stare at the champions with dead, white eyes. “Look around this great temple! She murdered me, ruined the tests, and slaughtered every living creature, including the cockroaches. Worst of all, she left the gate open and let spirits wander into the well for centuries. None of them can return to the afterlife because there is nobody to help them cross. Dariana Kernaghan cursed all of us to an eternity of suffering. All we can do is claim victories over her whenever we can and force her to return. On that day, punishment will finally be placed upon her soul.”

  “Victories?” Sari asks while backing away from the approaching ghosts. Holding Fizzle in her arms, the gypsy presses herself against Nyx’s side. “If all of you are trapped here then how are you doing anything to her? Besides, she’s pretty good at beating herself up, so I don’t see any way you could do better.”

  “It is amusing that you believe a godling would need a ring to keep her powers under control. At least once she became an adult,” the winged figure explains, a melodic laugh rippling throughout the dense crowd of phantoms. A shadowy arm reaches to tap Dariana’s forehead, a surge of energy giving the limb a fleshy appearance. “This woman is bound to the Spirit Well in fate and mind. We used the connection to weaken her defenses. The ring was a trinket from her childhood that she held onto out of sentimentality and fear. It gave her focus, but had very little magic if you ever scanned it without her knowing. While it did keep the strong emotions of others out, the ring was really preventing us from opening holes in her control. That is why she could not stop powerful thoughts and emotions unless she wore that simple bauble. Our goal was to torture and weaken Dariana until she crawled back to the Spirit Well, but her fear refused to let her fall so easily. And I bet you all thought it was her strong will that kept her going. Now, is it not time for you to drop the final curtain and let them see your throne?”

  With a flap of its wings, the guardian drives the ghosts back into the shadows and gestures for Dariana to approach. The telepath raises a quivering hand and walks forward, stopping at an empty space that is no different from any other. She reaches out to pinch her fingers before stepping back and taking a patch of scenery with her as if it is a camouflaged sheet. Nobody pays attention to the dissolving cover because of what has been revealed. Tears of fear and shame flow from Dariana’s eyes at the sight of the metal chair that is covered by leather straps. Symbols designed to contain demons are etched into the arms and back slats, each one with a tiny needle in the center. Half buried in a thick layer of dust, a golden tiara sits in the middle of the seat like a mocking symbol of nobility.

  “If I survive the battle with my father then this is where I will sit for eternity,” Dariana says while running a finger along an edge of the chair. She can feel the seals twisting her aura until she pulls away and faces her friends. “I didn’t just break a temple connected to the champion prophecy. I condemned innocent spirits to a nightmare and killed the only creature that could save them. The Spirit Well requires a guardian, which will be me. My punishment is a lifetime of isolation and servitude to the gods I angered. As you can see, there is no reward waiting for me when my father is defeated. Only this chair, which will sustain me for eternity and never let me leave.”

  “So your plan to kill your father wasn’t only to save us, but to save yourself as well,” Delvin whispers, putting an arm around the telepath’s shoulders. Strange noises echo from the ghosts, the sound reminding the warrior of crickets jumping in a glass bottle. “Maybe we can take shifts or find someone else to do this. Not right away, but after you’ve done your time. It isn’t right that you be punished for eternity.”

  Dariana removes her friend’s arm and forces herself to smirk, but the spark of sadness never leaves h
er eyes. “I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t work. My body will eventually mummify and I will become a phantom. The chair will only keep my mind alive, so reviving me after that point would be nothing short of torture. I think it is time to put an end to this, angel. What must I do to clear this temple and attract my father to the final battle?”

  “You mean what do we have to do,” Nyx interjects, cutting off the dead angel’s words. At sight of the creature’s stretching wings, a pair of flames sprouts from her hands and lightning ripples along her arms. “There’s no reason you have to do this alone. Not saying you’re entirely forgiven, but I get it now. So I’m willing to help you with your temple. After all, you’re a champion and we always face these tests together.”

  “Actually, my temple was the only one that didn’t have a solitary test,” Sari mentions with a wry smile. She wiggles her fingers at Nyx, which freezes the channeler’s fiery spells. “Not to argue with you since I agree with the sentiment, but every temple has required the connected champion to face a challenge alone. My situation was unique because of my coma. Unless you count what was going on in my head. I guess Delvin counts, but he didn’t expect you to get involved. Think I lost my point here.”

  “You can only be in my corner while I take action,” Dariana announces, cracking her knuckles and walking toward the shadowy guardian. She stops and stares at the featureless face, the creature’s staff moving to push against her chin. “This is not about destiny, prophecies, or champions. It is about me fixing my mistakes and accepting my punishment. To clean the Spirit Well means I become the new guardian. The fact that it opens the way to my father is secondary at best. Correct me if I’m wrong, angel.”

  The guardian kneels low enough to put its head a few inches from the woman’s nose, a stagnant odor seeping from its faint mouth. “You will put all of these spirits to sleep. This shall be done by your hand alone and it will not be peaceful. All of us hate you and desire a chance to rip your soul from your body. The champions will remain unharmed as long as they stay out of the confrontation. Now, use the spell that we have placed within your mind. It will make things more fair and manageable.”

  “Thank you and I’m truly sorry for everything I did,” the silver-haired woman says while putting some distance between herself and the towering guardian. Turning to her friends, she holds up a hand to stop them from talking. “Whatever you say will be wasted breath. This is a fight I’ve been avoiding for longer than any of you have lived. If I fall here then this is where I will stay, so I will wish you good luck against my father. Thank you for being my friends even though I made a mess of everything in the end.”

  Dariana closes her eyes and searches for the spell that the ghosts have hidden within her psyche. The mud hardens and crumbles off the telepath’s body due to the heat wafting from her skin, an effect of pushing through several mental barriers. Instead of a spell, she finds a plain door with a decorated welcome mat at its base. Without hesitation, she turns the rusty handle and is pushed back by a flood of angry screams. Caught by surprise, Dariana’s ears bleed as the ghosts batter at her mind and try to drive her insane. Unable to contend with so many enemies at once, the telepath awakens her full power and connects herself to every spirit. Several of the older phantoms buck and fight against her influence, succumbing only when she soothes them with images of the loved ones who are waiting on the other side. When she attempts to direct the ghosts toward the blinding portal, the angel rises into their path and spreads its wings to block their progress. A symphony of howls erupt from the spirits as they are sucked into the former guardian’s body, giving the muscular frame an ethereal glow.

  With a blinding flash, the psychic landscape is torn apart and Dariana finds herself standing in the main hall. Only her friends can be seen, but she sense that all of the ghosts are still in the room. Moving away from the others, she tries to get a better idea of the spirits’ location only to find that the guardian’s aura is suffocating her telepathy. Hearing a loud crack from the vine-covered ceiling, Dariana focuses her powers on strengthening her body and squints into the shadows. A loud snap echoes throughout the hall and she leaps away from the track that swings down to carve a furrow in the stone. To her surprise, the metal pathway twists and comes back around as if being wielded by an invisible warrior. Sprinting toward the far end of the weapon, the telepath ducks and throws a punch that passes through empty air. The makeshift club continues to chase her before a flaming pillar is uprooted and toppled toward the retreating champion. Part of the ceiling caves in as Dariana dives out of the way and kicks the track hard enough to split it in half.

  “You absorbed the others to become a poltergeist,” the silver-haired woman says while dodging an incoming chair. She catches a bucket that has caught on fire and hurls it to where she thinks her enemy is lurking, but nothing is there. “You commit an atrocity and cause others pain in order to punish me for my sins? No wonder your kind were wiped out in the early days of Windemere. Does that insult make you angry? Good because I don’t want to waste too much time on you.”

  Tracking the fury, Dariana thinks she has pinpointed the poltergeist and takes a single step in that direction. The ground beneath her shatters and another flaming pillar thrusts out of the stone to slam her into the ceiling. With her hands braced against a metal railing, the telepath struggles to push against the crushing column that is twisting back and forth in an attempt to grind her into pulp. Spectral flames eat at her clothes and body and the pain rippling through her muscles makes it difficult to maintain any leverage. Extending her legs until only her toes are touching the stone, she shoves the pillar down and uses the created space to roll through the thickest part of the fire. She tumbles to the floor and tries to leap to safety, but the poltergeist slams the column on top of her. Only her hand can be seen sticking out of the rubble, its gnarled fingers twitching in desperation.

  Appearing as a giant haze, the ghost walks to where its enemy is buried and yanks her out by a mangled leg. Dariana is bleeding from the mouth and nose, her breathing ragged from what the poltergeist can see is a collapsed lung. The creature disappears again, but its location is revealed since the telepath is still dangling above the floor. A wave of disappointment and sorrow washes over the room, the sensation creating stinging tears in the eyes of every living being. For a brief moment, the angel can be seen in its original beauty, but the specter quickly dissolves back into the hazy silhouette. A loud screech ripples from the shadows and the champions watch as invisible hands drag the metal chair toward Dariana.

  “Now you will join us, godling,” the victorious ghost hisses, dangling the beaten telepath over the seat. The creature notices that the other champions are getting closer and knocks them down with a wave of its wing. “Stay on your backs, mortals. You may only watch this. Do you wish to say anything before your voice is sealed?”

  “It is time for you to find peace.”

  Dariana’s body sheds the illusion of being injured as she stretches to grab the back of the chair and flips out of the creature’s grasp. Locked onto the poltergeist’s churning energy, the telepath finds it easy to put herself in synch with it and catch one of its many arms. The portal reappears on the floor behind the deceased guardian, which chuckles at how its own gateway was masked from its senses. With all of the absorbed spirits frozen by surges of psychic power, the poltergeist is unable to stop Dariana from jumping and yanking it toward the opening. The pair dive for the portal, which crackles and bloats as it swallows the powerful phantom and tries to claim the champion. The tired woman catches the edge of the portal to avoid falling in while dropping her opponent into the afterlife. Working off instinct, Dariana gently coaxes the ghost to split into its separate parts and guides each one to the other side. With the angel at peace, the flames around the pillars die out and most of the Spirit Well is plunged into darkness.

  “And this shall be my home,” Dariana whispers as she pulls herself onto the floor and stares into the ivory abyss. “For the rest of
eternity.”

  19

  The atmosphere is thicker and the world seems darker as the champions leave the Spirit Well. Stepping out of the room, they stay near the entrance in order to let everything sink in and consider their next move. The Compass Key remains silent, but Timoran can see that there are tiny sparks within each of the orbs. He is about to ask Nyx about the change when he sees that the channeler is barely awake. She remains slumped against the tower and yawns while Fizzle remains perched on her shoulder. Delvin is sitting behind her, the warrior looking equally exhausted with his head on his knees. Only Sari and Luke appear to have the energy to remain standing without help, the pair watching Dariana, who is basking in the sunlight.

  “This is the first time in centuries that I feel . . . clear,” the telepath tells her friends with a half-hearted smile. Wiping a tear from her cheek, she watches the drop travel down her finger and slip off her wrist. “The ghosts are free and my mind is entirely under my control. Maybe being the Spirit Well’s guardian won’t be so bad. I can learn about the outside world from those that need help crossing over. Perhaps some will want to stay and be friends. The teleportation room should be working, which means we can still talk.”

  “It isn’t too late to find a replacement,” Sari insists, looking to the others for nods of agreement. She scowls at their stone-faced stares and clenches her fists as she continues to voice her idea. “All you need is someone trustworthy to take the chair. There has to be a person out there who would accept this fate. I mean, you can’t be a champion and a guardian at the same time.”

  “Thank you, Sari, but you forget that the champions will no longer be needed if we’re victorious,” Dariana politely states while bending down to touch a patch of soft moss. She finds herself wanting to collect sensations and memories, the idea of being locked away from the world not as appealing as she is letting on. “Besides, there are no rules about such things. We travel with a man who is a champion and a temple, so me being my own guardian is not so farfetched.”