Darkwell

by Douglas Niles

  He thought of Yazilliclick, picturing the sprite arguing with Newt about some point of camping protocol. Always on those quests, those adventures, it seemed that hope had been high. Always the mission had been clear, the challenge clearly surmountable.

  At least such was the way with his memory. But never before had they endured a cost such as this, and never had their hopes been so vague.

  Gradually the moaning of the wind became more audible as it forced its way among the trees and across the snowy ground. The snowflakes that had been fluttering to earth all day began to fly in a diagonal direction, angling toward the south, until soon they raced past with the howling wind in an almost horizontal path.

  Robyn shivered as she leaned back against Tristan’s legs. He was grateful for the fur cape that Brigit had loaned them.

  “What are you doing?” Robyn’s question, to Pawldo, had an amused, lazy quality that reminded the king of a warm summer afternoon.

  “I’ve been tromping around in this snow for too long, and I’m going to do something about it! I heard about these things once on a trip to Gnarhelm. They called ’em ‘skis.’ Well, I’m going to make me a pair, and I’ll be the envy of all of us!”

  Robyn laughed and Tristan looked on with interest. “What are they?” he asked.

  “You put them on your feet, and they let you slide across the surface of the snow. They’re like snowshoes, only better, because they slide.”

  “Yes, the Llewyrr have used skis.” Brigit was watching the proceedings with interest. “But we prefer snowshoes for walking through a forest, though you will doubtless enjoy those if we have to go downhill!”

  “I fear we’ll have plenty of snow in either case,” said Tristan. “I wonder how far we’ll have to go.”

  “And I wonder what we’ll find when we reach the grove.” Robyn shivered again, perhaps not entirely from the cold. She had earlier explained to the sisters the waning of the goddess’s powers and her fears that the Earthmother may already have expired.

  “I accompanied a small band of the sisters there several tendays ago,” said Colleen. “It was horribly scarred and changed.”

  “Like the vale?” Robyn gestured around them.

  “Even worse. The trees here are dead, but there they have been split asunder by some terrible force. Even the high druid arches were smashed. Not a one was left standing.”

  Tristan wondered at Robyn’s reaction to the news, remembering her earlier despair, but she sat up to question the knight further.

  “What about the dead? There was a legion of skeletons and zombies, walking dead, attacking the place when I last saw it.”

  “There was no sign of them. Only the awful dark water at the heart of the grove, and the statues, like frozen people, around the well. I did not approach the water, though my three companions did. From where I stood, I could see that it was black, completely lifeless …” Colleen paused, shaken by the memory. “The three sisters approached the pond, and there was a flash of blue light, like an explosion. And they were gone.”

  “I fled,” the young Llewyrr woman admitted. She hung her head in shame as Brigit put a comforting hand upon her shoulder. “I ran until I could run no more.” Colleen raised her head and looked square into Robyn’s eyes.

  “That is why I insisted upon coming along this time … to atone for my failure, my flight.”

  “You have nothing to atone for!” said the druid. “Because you lived, you have provided us with news about what we may find there. It would have been foolish to sacrifice your life as well!”

  “As I have told you also,” said Brigit quietly, but Colleen angrily shook her head.

  “The leader of our group, the one who took the others to the well, was my own mother! And the other two were my sisters!”

  Tristan wondered how she could discuss the deaths of her family thus, with such apparent lack of emotion, but he sensed the rage and shame that burned within her. It was something that even the stoicism of her race could not completely hide. Now it blazed like fire from the depths of her wide brown eyes.

  “What do you plan to do when we reach the well?” asked Brigit.

  Robyn described the Scrolls of Arcanus, explaining how she had held back the mastery of stone spell to use in changing the statues back to flesh. “With all the druids of the grove free again, we will combine to drive back the darkness from the well.”

  “But if, as you fear, the goddess has perished, how will the druids accomplish this?” Brigit asked.

  “Genna will know what to do. She is the key to all of this! I know that she still lives, if only we can reach her!”

  “Yes, child, she does … and you have.”

  The voice, emerging from the blackness, shocked them into action. Tristan leaped to his feet, his sword a gleaming challenge in his hand. Brigit, too, whirled away from the fire and drew her weapon. Yak bellowed in surprise, dumping Tavish unceremoniously to the ground as he heaved himself to his feet.

  Only Robyn remained calm, rising slowly and turning to the woods, an expression of bright hope on her face. “Genna? Is that you?”

  The stocky figure of the Great Druid emerged from the darkness, and slowly Tristan relaxed. Genna’s face, lined with wrinkles, regarded them from beneath a gray mop of unkempt hair. Robyn ran to her teacher and embraced her.

  Then the young druid pulled back in surprise, searching Genna’s face with concern.

  “What is it, teacher? What’s wrong?”

  The Great Druid walked easily to the fireside and sat down. “I am sorry. I am not myself, and this awful darkness oppresses me. But it is good to find you, my dear. I knew you would not be far away.”

  A strange light gleamed in the Great Druid’s eyes, but Robyn ascribed it to the reflection of the firelight. She sat beside Genna, suddenly alive with hope and optimism.

  “Teacher, I have feared so! The goddess has been silent. My spells vanish, my powers are faint—and the earth itself seems to have died.”

  “The goddess lives, girl. My spells, my powers remain unaffected. Could it be that you have not been true to your faith?”

  Robyn hung her head. “I have known doubt, and perhaps my will has been weak. I am sorry, teacher.” Robyn took a deep breath and again looked at Genna. “But how did you escape? Are the other druids safe?”

  “The tale of my escape is long, dark, and painful. It is best left for another time. The others are still … imprisoned. It is toward their succor that we must strive.”

  “Yes!” Robyn grew animated. “That is what we have been working toward! We have struggled against the darkness but always grow closer to the well. Now that you have joined us, I’m sure our mission will be successful!”

  Genna asked about their experiences, nodding somberly as they described the desecration of the vale. She displayed no reaction as Robyn told her of the Scrolls of Arcanus and her hopes for the fourth scroll, the mastery of stone.

  Tristan felt the party’s spirits buoyed by the talk, enjoying the fact that none of them talked about their frustrations and sorrows. Instead, they focused on their hopes for a rapid conclusion to the quest. One by one, however, the companions fell silent. At last there was only the presence of the black night falling heavily and bearing their spirits down with it.

  Genna looked away from the group, into the darkness of the woods. Newt stirred restlessly and crawled onto Tristan’s lap. He looked up at the Great Druid but said nothing.

  And the stormy winds howled and the snowdrifts climbed higher.

  Randolph awakened uneasily, sitting up in his bed and staring nervously around his tiny room in Caer Corwell. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs of sleep from his mind, he concluded that he was merely nervous.

  The shutter banged in the window, and he heard the force of the winter storm raging outside. An omen? He wondered if this was the beginning of a storm of the same magnitude that had apparently ravaged the settlements to the north.

  Wearily the captain of the guard stepped
into his boots and threw a woolen shirt over his shoulders. It was still dark outside, but he knew that Gretta would already be at work in the kitchen.

  He became more alert as he stepped into the corridor and descended the stairs into the Great Hall. Already the delightful aroma of frying bacon wafted forth from the kitchen, and he stepped through the door to find the plump cook tending a crowded cookstove.

  “Good morning, sir!”

  “How can you be so cheerful, Gretta? The sun hasn’t even come up yet, and it’s a beastly day outside to boot!” He tried to be gruff but couldn’t help smiling in the face of her own robust good humor.

  “Oh, and it’ll be gettin’ considerable colder, too, I’ll wager. But my work keeps me in here by the warm fire, feedin’ those more foolish types who walk the walls and stand in the gatehouse!”

  “That explains it. Well, how about some food for one of those fools?”

  She served him his usual massive plate of eggs and bacon, together with fresh cream, and he sat and ate very slowly, relishing each bite … or perhaps postponing the moment when he would have to go out into the weather.

  “Odd about Lord Pontswain leaving like that,” mentioned the cook as she brought him several slices of fresh bread.

  His spoon stopped halfway to his mouth, and he looked at her in shock. “Leaving like what?”

  “He didn’t tell you? Come to think of it, he didn’t exactly tell me either. I was tidying up, about to go to bed, when I found him in here loading food into a bag. Said he was leaving … that something had come up. The least he could have done was say good-bye!”

  Randolph’s indignation suddenly faded as he looked at the good side of the news. “This might work out pretty well. I’ll be able to get things organized around here without having to fight him every step of—”

  Randolph froze, a dull suspicion growing rapidly within him. Why had the lord left so suddenly and secretly? He had enjoyed his post here as temporary co-ruler, judging from the way he sat in the Great Hall, lording over everyone, staring covetously at the Crown of the Isles.

  “Well, goodness!” declared Gretta, picking up the chair Randolph knocked over as he leaped from the table and burst through the door into the Great Hall.

  She found him staring in slack-jawed shock at the mantle over the huge fireplace. She looked, too, for a moment not understanding his concern. Then she realized the difference and gasped at Pontswain’s treachery.

  The Crown of the Isles was gone!

  Chauntea listened for the prayers of the one who wore her medallion, but they were not forthcoming. The druid still clung to the belief in her benign, but inescapably perished, goddess.

  Awaken! Heed my warning! Chauntea tried to communicate with the woman, tried to tell her of the power she held in her Rose-in-Sun medallion, but Robyn of Gwynneth did not hear

  The goddess of farming and growth sensed another menace, the powerful presence of evil, near the medallion itself. It was a lurking, potent vileness, but well concealed. Even the druid did not suspect it.

  Each of the scrolls, with the casting of their powerful spells, had brought the woman a little closer to this new goddess, but she had resisted the final steps, the decision of faith that could make her a powerful cleric of Chauntea.

  But until the human made that decision, the deity would have to watch and wait.

  And perhaps pray.

  torm winds howled through the night, and the snow raged across the lands in a blizzard of fury. The companions twisted and turned, sleeping little, brushing the snow from their furs to keep from being buried. Dawn brought no relief as the gray light seeped through the gale, illuminating a scene of shifting snowdrifts and frost.

  Robyn pushed back the fur that covered her and felt the chill air against her face. Tristan stirred beside her, and she pulled close to him, reluctant to leave her principal source of warmth.

  She felt the return of the dark despair she had known the previous evening. Genna’s arrival had temporarily managed to raise the young druid’s hopes, restoring her faith in the might of the great mother. She had prayed to the goddess for much of the night, concentrating intensely, desperately hoping for some kind of response. But there had been nothing.

  Instead, her mind had whirled with visions of the red-haired vixen sprawled across Tristan’s bed. The woman’s musical laugh mocked her own pain and anger, and nightmare visions of despair and doom suddenly overwhelmed the druid’s face. Robyn had twisted and turned in torment, wishing for the blissful protection of sleep.

  All the while, she had known that the comfort of Tristan’s warm embrace was right beside her, should she but choose to accept it. But all she could feel for him was hurt and betrayal, and so she turned away and huddled against the chill and didn’t sleep.

  Now the icy wind swirled about her, and stinging particles of snow chilled her skin every time they touched her face. She sat up and pulled her own cloak about her, though it did not insulate against the cold as well as the thick furs of the Llewyrr. Startled, Robyn saw Genna sitting alone in the blizzard, apparently unaffected by the cold.

  “Didn’t you sleep?” asked the young druid.

  Her teacher shrugged. “A little. It seems time we were moving.”

  “To the well?” Genna made no response, and Robyn proceeded to tell her in more detail about the scrolls and her plan for freeing the druids from stone. She felt a moment of guilt, wondering if her teacher would berate her for using the scripts of one of the new gods, but Genna didn’t appear to notice.

  “We shall go to the grove,” said the Great Druid. “If this scroll will free the others, so be it, but we must be in the grove to face the … conclusion.”

  “Do you have enough power to control this storm, to ease our path?” asked Robyn, knowing that the Great Druid had often influenced the weather in the past, bringing rainfall to a parched valley or warming away the effects of a killing frost.

  Genna looked at her in surprise, then rose and walked through the deep snow, away from the party. She was nearly out of sight in the swirling blizzard when Robyn saw her stop and raise her head to the sky. She spread her arms to her sides in the pose the younger druid had seen her use so often before when casting a potent spell.

  Suddenly a searing blast of heat struck Robyn’s face, and she instinctively slapped her hands over her eyes. A warmth like the inside of an oven surrounded her, and she felt the wind die away in that same instant. The snow on her cloak turned rapidly to water, and a fine drizzle began to fall from the trees, where the accumulated snow of the blizzard quickly melted.

  “What—what happened?” Tristan stuck his head from beneath the fur, gasping for breath in the heat.

  One by one, the others emerged from their sleeping shelters. “Am I dreaming?” Tavish demanded when confronted by the oppressive heat.

  “It’s a miracle!” Newt cried, buzzing happily among the trees. “Genna made it summertime again!”

  “I don’t remember any summer as warm as this!” Pawldo groaned, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “Too hot!” grunted Yak.

  Robyn stood amazed at this evidence of the Great Druid’s vitality, and thus obviously the goddess’s as well. The control weather spell that Robyn remembered had always changed the weather only to a degree, bringing rain from heavy clouds or slowing gale winds to a strong breeze. Yet here Genna had altered their entire environment from one extreme to the other.

  Indeed, steam rose from the rapidly melting snow all around them. Genna returned to the group and stood calmly as they gathered their wet belongings. She offered no reaction to the continuing stream of remarks about the sudden dramatic change in weather.

  “How is it that you can work such strong magic?” Robyn inquired wonderingly.

  “Perhaps it is augmented by the changes in the vale. You see that my magic still works; that should be enough. Let’s go now. It is time we were off.”

  Genna, Robyn, and the three sisters led the way as the companions
broke camp and started back toward the fissure that blocked their way. Their camp, by now, had been reduced to a steamy patch of mud. All the snow had melted, pooling into water that soaked quickly into the barren ground.

  “I don’t know why I bothered making these!” Pawldo disgustedly threw his skis across his shoulder and started walking behind Tristan.

  “Psst! Hey, Tristan!” Newt, in obvious agitation, popped into sight beside the king. His voice was an exaggerated whisper that certainly wouldn’t carry more than a few hundred feet.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Genna. Something’s different about her! I don’t like this one bit. You’ve got to tell Robyn!”

  “What’s different?” Tristan had never met the Great Druid before, but he had heard her described many times by Robyn. The young woman had portrayed her teacher as a warm, caring, and tender woman. “I had pictured somebody rather unlike her, I have to admit.”

  “I don’t know what’s different about her! I just know she’s different. She’s … wrong somehow, and we’ve got to warn Robyn!”

  “I’ll try to find a chance to. In the meantime, let’s keep an eye on her. I’m sure Robyn would notice if something was really wrong.”

  Robyn marched steadily behind her teacher, who in turn followed Brigit, Colleen, and Maura. They walked silently, and the young druid felt the presence of Genna pushing the others along. The Great Druid seemed anxious to reach the well.

  And indeed, why shouldn’t she feel a powerful urgency? Had not Robyn herself been propelled by a similar urgency and tried to move her friends with the same compulsion? But still, the strange behavior of the Great Druid concerned her.

  Then she thought of a possible explanation. She remembered the appearance of the druid Trahern at the grove some months earlier. He had borne with him an artifact of great evil, the Heart of Kazgoroth. The presence of that artifact in the grove had caused Genna’s health to suffer and had altered the Great Druid’s temperament to one of irascibility and anger.