Three Wells of the Sea- The Complete Trilogy

by Terry Madden

  “It’s happening,” Elowen cried. “It’s opening.”

  “Holy shit,” Iris said.

  Within moments, they were floating in a bottomless pool lit by green starlight. His dead legs and the weight of the axes bore him down. The water was thick as honey, and he drew a deep lungful.

  He felt the salamander-woman swim past him, her tiny hand touching his skin so lightly, beckoning him downward. As he sank deeper, another light suffused through the water, coming from below. In that light, he saw a thousand frogs swimming past him, downward. But there, a figure was swimming upward, toward them. It was another salamander. As the two met, they embraced, their bodies spiraling around one another until they burst into a whirlpool of light.

  The water began to churn, to spiral downward.

  He let go of the two axes, so he could take Elowen’s hand. Iris was beside him. She reached for him and took his arm. There was panic in her eyes.

  Like an anchor, he dragged them deeper, through darting frogs, toward a light on the other side that sang of home.

  Chapter 30

  “Hurry,” Lyleth urged Connor. “Change me! Draw your runes on me! Turn me into one of your blood beasts!”

  Angharad had vanished.

  Lyleth had nothing left here, nothing but pure rage and the will to pursue the Crooked One into the bowels of the earth. Her own tears enraged her further. But Connor was shaking his head. He was a weakened pile of bloodless flesh lying beside a wide pool of primordial water. The third well of the sea. The well between the worlds. It was real, and it was now.

  “I have nothing to shape,” Connor whined, “no green flow to use in this hole. There’s so little left in me, I wouldn’t even be able to give you fangs, Lyl.”

  “I found a way up,” Dylan called from the southern tunnel. “Stairs.”

  Far above, the sound of steel on steel meant the battle had begun afresh. Fiach was still alive, or he was, just before the island fell into this cavern. I was impossible to say which army gained the advantage.

  Lyleth turned back to Connor. A rivulet of his blood ran into the well, polluting it with a spreading stain of red. He didn’t have long. And he was the only one who could hope to unmake that beast.

  “I won’t let him get away,” Lyleth vowed. “If you can’t help me, I’ll go after him alone.”

  “Even at half his strength,” Connor said, “you can do nothing.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  She pulled on her tunic and buckled her sword belt.

  She’d follow Tiernmas into the caverns alone if she had to.

  “Lyleth.” Connor took her hand weakly. “I know what you’ve lost to him, what we both lost. I loved her, too. But what we’ve lost cannot be recovered.”

  Her fingers slipped around his throat. “If you loved Merryn, you’d never have let that bastard touch her!”

  She drew close to those copper eyes, looked as deeply as she could into the black chasm that was his soul and said, “Merryn would be safer in the Otherworld, but because of you, she will return soon. And as soon as Tiernmas knows this, he will be looking for her.”

  She watched a callow hope spark in Connor’s eyes.

  “He will never touch Merryn again,” Lyleth vowed, “and neither will you!”

  Dylan had returned from his scouting of the stairs. “What’s happening?” he asked.

  “Let’s go, Dylan!” Lyleth ordered, and started toward the tunnel that had swallowed the Crooked One.

  Then she saw the first frogs at the surface of the well. They were swimming up from below, surfacing and paddling to the edges. They piled on top of one another, trying to climb the slick stones that edged the pool.

  Lyleth bent down and put out her hand. Three frogs climbed into her palm, and before she could set them down, the transformation began. In moments, three men stood before her, naked and radiant. Their warriors’ bodies were battle-scarred and hardened and yet weaponless. They showed her their palms and spoke in the tongue of the Old Blood, “We are in your debt, sister.”

  The three men proceeded to help the others from the water, and soon the cavern was teaming with people, young and old, men and women, children and crying babes. Dylan led a troop of warriors up the stairs with the intent to fight their way to the weapons and armor of the fallen. Lyleth’s only hope was that it would take six or more Ildana to take down a warrior of the Old Blood, even naked and weaponless. Once armed, half of them would return to the well and prepare to fight the Sunless, for they said they followed closed behind.

  It was then Lyleth saw him. He washed up on the rocks with two girls, one of them was Elowen.

  The girls climbed out and proceeded to pull him out behind them.

  It was not the face she knew, but the face of the teacher from the land of the dead. His legs were withered, lifeless stalks. But his body was as strong as he’d ever been in this world.

  “Nechtan,” Lyleth heard herself say.

  “Dish!” Connor called weakly.

  It would be so easy to give up the fight now. To welcome him back, to retake his throne with him, to prepare for the battle that would sunder this land. To love him. But Lyleth knew that the Crooked One would never be more vulnerable than he was right now. From deep in these caverns, in the halls of the Sunless, he would continue to drink down the green flow. He would drink down entire forests from the roots, drain villages and herds of red deer. He would grow stronger. And he would surface again to command the Sunless. But if that flow were severed. If he were imprisoned again… it would have to be now.

  She shouldered her bow and two quivers and started for the tunnel that had swallowed Tiernmas.

  “Lyleth!” Nechtan called after her.

  She longed to take him with her, to fight beside him again. But she refused to turn around, and stepped into the blinding dark with nothing and no one but the little horse Brixia at her side.

  Chapter 31

  With the remaining energy Connor possessed, he began to crawl toward Dish. Iris was with him, looking helpless at how to move a man. But there was someone else. The girl Connor had pulled from the water. Elowen. She had not taken her eyes from him since she’d climbed from the well dressed in Connor’s Metallica tee shirt. It looked like a wet dress on her.

  “They’re coming,” Dish called to Connor.

  “Who?”

  “The Sunless. They’ll be right behind me.” Dish pulled himself closer with a guerilla crawl and gripped Connor in a strong embrace. Then he looked down at the blood streaming from Connor’s arm and said, “Stars and stones.”

  “She’s gone after him,” Connor tried to explain. “The Crooked One has fled into the caverns, and Lyl has—”

  “We have to be ready to fight,” Dish said. He crawled toward two axes that had lodged in the rocks. He handed one to Iris, and the hopelessness of what would come next overtook Connor. They would all be slaughtered.

  “Elowen,” Connor called to her. Using her name made her eyes brighten. “You’ll find stairs in the passageway.” Connor pointed. “Dylan is there. Call the warriors back down here.”

  She started away, but he caught her arm. “Be safe.”

  She gave him a smile saying, “I got this far, didn’t I?”

  “Move these people into another tunnel,” Dish said. “At least we can hide them.”

  Connor translated Dish’s orders into the tongue of the Old Blood, and the people began to move silently into the darkness of the tunnel. Dish gave Connor a quizzical look.

  He’s wondering how I know the language of the Old Blood, Connor thought.

  Dish hadn’t figured anything out yet. None of it. But he would. And Connor hoped he wouldn’t be alive to try to explain his part in this.

  Three men surfaced, armed with staves.

  Dish hooked one around the ankle with the horn of his axe and dropped him. Unable to swing it, he pushed the blade into the man’s throat.

  Iris was doing her best, but the stave caught her in t
he cheek, and she fell into a pile of boulders.

  Dylan emerged from the tunnel with half a dozen bloody men with him. Naked but for their shields and spears, they met the next of the Sunless who climbed from the well and cut them down quickly. Then they stopped coming.

  “Where are they?” Connor asked.

  Dish laughed. “She did it!”

  “Who?” Dylan asked.

  “You must go back.” It was a woman’s voice. Elowen. She knelt beside Connor. “You’ll die here.”

  It was the last thing Connor heard. His vision narrowed then vanished. He dreamed he was afloat. Dreamed Brixia carried him in a whirl of silver fish. He was aware of nothing but the weightlessness of his soul. His arms drifted over his head like sails and what was left of his blood streamed away in bright red ribbons like the ones tied in Brixia’s mane.

  She carried him down into the deep, back to the dead where he belonged. Not Brixia, no. She’d gone with Lyl. What carried him?

  He closed his eyes and waited for death and forgetfulness.

  A hand touched his chest, dragged over him and down his arm. He forced his eyes to open in time to see her float past. But she gripped his hand, clung to him. The woman of stone. Dylan’s Elowen.

  Her other hand was on his arm. She pulled him to her, wrapped herself around him in an embrace, and drifted downward with him, toward the dead.

  As the water above them dimmed, so the water below them brightened. The figure of a serpent writhed below, spiraling toward them until it had wrapped them both in a maelstrom.

  They surfaced at last. And the great eel bared its teeth at them before it submerged.

  “Ned?”

  They were in another cavern.

  “Come,” Elowen said. She dragged him to the edge of the water and fought to pull him out. “They’ve healers here in your world. We’ll find them.”

  He rolled out of the water and into the mud just as a blinding white light shone through a corridor into Connor’s eyes. He heard a voice coming over a radio. Other voices. Speaking English.

  He leaned against the wall of the circular chamber and soon the place was full of police. Men in uniforms and walkie talkies.

  “He’s here,” he heard Elowen say. In English.

  Once they got him outside, he saw he had been in the cairn at the bottom of Merryn’s farm. A paramedic was tying off his wounded arm with a tourniquet. There were more cops here, and two of them were handcuffing a tall blonde woman who glanced at Connor and gave him a big smile as the officer led her away.

  And there was Bronwyn, talking fast as another officer took notes.

  “Thank god we had a gun to protect ourselves,” she was saying. “And now my brother is… gone.”

  She wasn’t a very good actor.

  The ambulance arrived as Connor felt his soul hovering just above this vessel that had carried him. He was strapped to a gurney and loaded into the waiting vehicle. The medicine of the dead would call him back, force him to live. Blood. He could feel it coursing through his veins from the I.V. They would force him to bear the memories he’d found in the soothblade. To take action because no one else could.

  “You’ll grow strong again,” Elowen was saying. She must be riding in the ambulance with him. “I’ll see to it.”

  He wanted to argue, to send her back to Dylan. But he didn’t have the strength.

  Epilogue

  With one hand knotted in Brixia’s mane, Lyleth followed the little horse into the darkness. Here and there a patch of phosphorescence provided enough green light to see a few steps in front and behind. But she could hear the Crooked One breathing; hear his laughter roar and echo through the labyrinth. The smell of crushed insects led her on.

  Deeper and deeper, they crept through passages so narrow Brixia barely fit. The way was tangled with roots from the world above, and Lyleth slashed at them with her soothblade, to make a way through.

  The little horse came to a sudden halt. A dislodged stone fell into the empty blackness before them. Far at the bottom, a torch burned before a door of blazing copper.

  “The Halls of the Sunless,” Lyleth whispered.

  “You can go no farther,” a voice said.

  Brandishing her knife, Lyleth turned toward it. A shadow moved in the tunnel from which they’d come, and stepped beside Lyleth on the ledge above the chasm. Just visible in the powdered light that drifted up from the torch, the figure took shape and turned a smiling, familiar face to Lyleth. The young woman placed a cold palm on Lyleth’s cheek. She smelled of soil and the green sap of a tree. Her eyes were laughing, and the sorrow she had once known was replaced with resolve, and love.

  Lyleth felt tears well. “Merryn.”

  “I’m here, sister.”

  The latch on the copper door opened with a resounding echo, and it swung wide. The Crooked one turned and gazed up at the two women huddled at the edge of the chasm above. He laughed, then stepped through the open door.

  Halls of the Sunless

  Three Wells of the Sea – Book 3

  Terry Madden

  Copyright © 2019 Terry Madden

  Published June 2019 Digital Fiction Publishing Corp.

  All rights reserved. 1st Edition

  ISBN-13 (paperback): 978-1-989414-14-9

  ISBN-13 (e-book): 978-1-989414-15-6

  For Erica

  Perfect is my chair in Caer Sidi,

  No one will be afflicted with disease

  or old age that may be upon it.

  Manawyddan and Pryderi know it.

  Three utterances, around the fire,

  will he sing before it,

  And around its borders are the

  streams of the ocean.

  The fruitful fountain is above it,

  The liquor is sweeter than white wine.

  -from The Book of Taliesin, poem XIV

  Prologue

  The Sunless had lit the gate with a merry torch, yet the doors to the labyrinth remained sealed to Tiernmas. The stone wept water from the remains of the Red Bog far above, and glistened on the hammered copper of the doors. His refuge lay inside. His buried fortress. Caer Sidi.

  Tiernmas lay the palms of his new hands against the cool metal. The knuckles of these fingers were bruised and bloodied, yet were still capable of perceiving every variation in the smooth, dimpled metal of the latch-less doors. His hands surrendered body heat to the copper. It warmed with a spark of life that Tiernmas would fan to a consuming flame. For behind these doors lay his inheritance.

  He inhaled deeply, but smelled only cedar oil and horsehide from the wrappings that had encased his head. The Ildana thought the swaddling would put an end to his severed head’s singing, but he had whispered the song. All these years, his tune had carried through stone and water to the ears of the Sunless who awaited him now in these deep halls.

  The last of the beetles that had formed his life-giving armor had died. He brushed their chitinous husks from his thin arms and chest. They’d left their soul-stuff inside him. A thousand-thousand insects’ greenflow was pushing with his blood through these Ildana veins. He would make this body as strong as one of the Old Blood, for the body is nothing but the clay of the soul. Wasn’t that what Caradoc had taught him?

  Tiernmas lay his hands upon the copper doors again, and pushed. It was the memory of Caradoc that broke the spells that had locked it tight.

  Tiernmas laughed as the doors gave way to him, swinging wide to his kingdom.

  A rock fell from the ledge above. He looked up through darkness to the precipice that led to the winding maze of caverns. There was someone pursuing him.

  He smiled.

  The light from the torch beside the doors painted the figures with the dimmest of color. A small horse looked down upon him, its eyes blazing red in the torchlight. The beast circled two other figures. One he knew as well as he knew himself.

  Across the damp air of the cavern, he whispered to Merryn, “Come. These doors will always open to you, my love.”


  He was weak, and this body of his had a knot of hunger in its belly. As soon as he reached his chambers, he would bathe, and wash death from him once and for all.

  Merryn would certainly follow.

  Chapter 1

  Connor awoke to see the steady drip of someone else’s blood spilling from a hanging plastic bag into his veins. For a moment, he thought he was in the hospital in Santa Monica, inside the rubble of his flesh left after crashing his grandmother’s Volvo in the rain. He wasn’t dead. For that he should be thankful, he supposed.

  Dish had been in the car on the day of the accident in Malibu. That day had started everything. Where was Dish now? A distant panic seized him, and Connor tried to sit up but failed.

  The truth asserted itself. He was in England. The well had been opened; the Crooked One had been restored to flesh, and with it, the throne; and Connor was on the run.

  He laughed.

  He wouldn’t be running very far very fast by the look of things.

  An examination of the label on the bag of blood confirmed it: type A, Rh D positive, collected by the Red Cross, U.K.

  The last thing he remembered was being thrown into the pool at the bottom of that great, dark pit. Water had stung his lungs, and with it, a desperate hope for oblivion. He remembered frogs. Had there really been frogs darting past him? Hundreds of them? He’d felt arms close around him. The same arms that had dragged him out of the water and into the muddy darkness…of what?

  He’d heard a siren and voices, among them was Bronwyn’s voice. Then nothing else. Until now.

  A voice was sounding over a loudspeaker outside the hospital room. “Dr. Rahman call X-ray. Dr. Rahman.”

  The voice mixed with the hum of pumps and the blip of his heart on a monitor above his head.