Well of Sorrows (38 page)
Authors: Benjamin Tate
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. The Wraith had shifted. Finished at the Well, it regarded Colin, silent as a statue, only the Shadows that cloaked it moving in the warmth of the sunlight.
Colin jerked his attention back toward the forest as two of the three moved forward to join the two closest to him. He swore, hands gripping the staff tighter as the fifth shifted forward as well, his gaze flicking back and forth between the Wraith and the Shadows.
And realization struck.
An ambush. The Wraith had been the lure.
This was why he’d ceased hunting the Shadows before, why he’d finally allowed the Faelehgre to convince him to set the rage that drove him all of those years aside. Because they were intelligent. They learned from their mistakes, had gotten smarter, harder to find, harder to catch.
Now they’d changed tactics as well. They were actively hunting him in return. But why now? He’d stopped stalking them at least twenty years ago.
The uneasiness he’d felt when he had woken that morning returned. Something had changed. Something significant.
Before he could ponder it further, the Wraith turned away and within three steps vanished into the darkness beneath the forest.
As if it were a signal, the five Shadows sprang forward.
Colin caught the first two Shadows in a sweep and flung them aside, pivoting on one foot as the other three closed in. He blocked out their shrieks, tried to block out the memories of the wagon train under attack, then darted away from them. He had no chance of holding them off with the staff alone, not all five of them. His only chance was to reach the white stone of the city, where they couldn’t travel.
Breath already burning in his lungs from the sprint to reach the Wraith, he jumped over a tangle of roots, skidded on the soft soil on the far side, and swore as he caught his balance. He felt his body shift into a younger form, one more suited to an all-out sprint, and he adjusted his grip on the staff as it grew longer and more unwieldy in comparison. He vaulted over a fallen trunk covered in moss, risked a glance behind, and felt fear grip his heart. Three were behind him, closing fast. The two others—
He cried out as one of them appeared ahead, waiting. He caught a flicker of black motion to his left, the direction they expected him to dodge, but instead he used the staff to vault onto the lip of the Well to the right. He swung the staff hard into the one lying in wait, felt its dark folds get caught, felt its weight as he grunted and dragged it in a wide arc behind him, hoping to toss it into the Well; but the end of the staff struck the bole of a tree, the force of the blow shuddering up the length of wood into Colin’s arms. He bit off another curse and sprinted down the arc of the Well, not pausing to shake the Shadow free. The staff jerked as he ran, the Shadow fighting to disentangle itself, and then suddenly it tore free. Colin let loose a bark of laughter as the white stone of the amphitheater appeared ahead.
Something bitterly cold swept through his leg, numbing it instantly.
He cried out, stumbled. For a terrifying moment, he thought he’d tip into the water of the Well. He didn’t know what would happen if he fell in—whether it would behave like normal water or if he’d simply sink into its bottomless depths—but he didn’t want to find out. Twisting as he fell, he threw his weight to the right.
His shoulder slammed into the stone, and his other arm flailed, catching at the surface of the Well, the splash soaking into his robes. Then he tucked and rolled off the edge, landing hard in the pine-scented dirt. His legs tangled in the staff, but he held on tight, back slamming to a stop in the dirt, his head rebounding off an exposed root. His teeth bit down hard on his tongue, and he tasted blood.
Dazed, he stared up into the too bright sunlight overhead, up through the branches of the huge conifers of the forest. The numbness in his leg became a fiery tingle, as if the blood were returning to it, slowly, only a thousand times worse. A throbbing ache awoke in his bruised shoulder.
And then a Shadow loomed up over him, blocking out the sunlight.
He reacted without thought, shoving the end of his staff upward in a warding motion. Not a sweep, not a move at all, just an attempt to thrust the Shadow away. He felt the Shadow’s frigid presence mere inches from his fingers, the chill he’d felt years before at the wagons biting deep into his hands—
And Osserin blazed into sight, his white light flaring as bright as Colin had ever seen it. The Shadow hissed and flickered away, Osserin charging after, the Faelehgre’s rage palpable, throbbing in the air. More of the Faelehgre appeared, and with their fiery light they drove the Shadows away.
Colin rested his head against the root and listened to the Shadows shriek as they retreated. The burning tingle in his leg increased, and he grimaced as he tried to move it. When it became unbearable, he halted and stared up into the sunlight. He knew the tingling would fade and his leg would return to normal, but it would take days.
He didn’t have days. If he didn’t leave today, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to leave at all. Ever.
Osserin returned, drifting to a halt above Colin, his light still pulsing with anger, though none of it touched his voice.
The Shadows touched you?
“I’ll be fine.” He sighed and lifted himself up into a seated position, his head spinning. After feeling the lump and trace of blood where he’d hit his head, he began massaging his bruised shoulder. “It was a trap. They used the Wraith to lure me off the white stone of the city into the woods, where the Shadows were waiting for me.”
Osserin had stilled.
A trap? Are you certain?
A trap? Are you certain?
Colin shot the Faelehgre a glare. “Yes. I’m certain.”
Osserin pulsed, the flashes erratic.
They’ve never been so . . . direct before.
They’ve never been so . . . direct before.
“No, they haven’t. I’ve been attacked before, by the Wraiths and the Shadows, but it was always while I was traveling in the forest or when I was hunting them years ago. But typically they were attacks made by one of the Wraiths or a few Shadows. None of those attacks were this coordinated, felt this planned.” Colin began climbing to his feet, using the staff for support, hissing whenever his Shadow-touched leg moved. He tried to keep his weight off it, but he found it nearly impossible, even with the staff. “Something’s changed,” he managed through shortened breaths. “Something’s given them a direction, a purpose. And something is driving them.”
What?
“I don’t know.” He began making his way back to the white stone of the amphitheater, automatically moving closer to the Well as he did so.
They’ve grown restless. Restless with hunger, with their confinement here in the forest, here around Terra’nor. They’re tired of foraging off the life-force here within the forest, within the range of the Well. They crave more.
“When did they start becoming restless?”
After the dwarren arrived and intruded into the Well’s influence. They feasted then, as they had not done for centuries. But the dwarren grew wary and eventually learned the edges of the Shadows’ reach. Yet the Shadows can see them on the plains. They want to feast again.
“But you told me that the dwarren have been here for hundreds of years.”
And the sukrael have been searching for a way to break the Well’s hold on them for those hundred years. But they will fail. The Well’s hold cannot be broken.
Colin climbed up onto the lowest steps of white stone and moved to where his satchel lay with the lantern and flask. He sank down onto the stone wall of the Well. “What if that’s what has changed? What if they’ve found a way?”
Osserin stilled in contemplation
. What binds the Shadows here binds the Faelehgre as well. If they had found a way to break its hold, we would know. And they would not still be here, near Terra’nor. They would have already set themselves upon the world.
. What binds the Shadows here binds the Faelehgre as well. If they had found a way to break its hold, we would know. And they would not still be here, near Terra’nor. They would have already set themselves upon the world.
Colin shuddered at the timbre of Osserin’s voice, at the sorrow and horror it held, but he said nothing.
Osserin moved to hover over the lantern. Colin saw him still.
You’re leaving.
You’re leaving.
“I have to.” Colin jerked the sleeve of his robe back, exposed the black mark on his skin, presented it to Osserin. “Unless you think I should stay,” he said bitterly. “Perhaps I should. To help you with the Shadows, with the Wraiths.”
The Faelehgre edged forward, then glided back.
It’s grown.
“Yes.”
Then you can’t stay, even to help with the Shadows and Wraiths. We can handle them.
Colin pulled his sleeve back down. “Then I’m leaving. Today.” He reached down and picked up the flask, twisted the top free. He returned to the water’s edge, almost reached down and drew a handful of it out of habit so he could drink, but he halted mid-motion. Shaking his head, he dipped the flask into the water.
The Lifeblood tingled against his skin, and he shuddered, felt the pain in his gut, a pain he knew he could slake, but he focused on the flask. Bubbles rose to the surface of the Well as the last of the air escaped, then he withdrew it and held it up to the light.
Clear, like water. No hint that it was anything else.
Unless you’d already drunk some of it.
His nostrils flared. He could
smell
it: fresh loam, dried leaves, snow.
smell
it: fresh loam, dried leaves, snow.
When he turned, he felt Osserin watching him, and he bristled. “I don’t intend to use it,” he said. “It’s . . . a precaution.”
A precaution.
“Yes.” Colin shoved the flask inside his satchel, making certain it was protected by layers of cloth so that it wouldn’t break. “In case the pain becomes too great.”
With the Lifeblood present, the pain will always be too great.
Colin sent the Faelehgre an annoyed glare, adjusting the pack on his shoulder. “Perhaps.” Taking up his staff, he paused.
Now that he was prepared to leave, he found his anger fading. He stared out over the ruins of the city, over the white towers, the amphitheater, the road and buildings. He could imagine what the city had looked like before the Well destroyed the Faelehgre as a people. Osserin had told him enough stories over the years. The white stone had glowed in the moonlight, the streets filled with music, with life. The dark-skinned Faelehgre had danced along those streets in clothes of every hue, had serenaded each other beneath the balustrades and beside the pools and fountains, moon-flowers tucked in their hair.
The ancient trees stirred, the wind sighing in their branches, and Colin drew in a deep breath. He could smell the acrid scent of their needles, the coolness of the Lifeblood, the bitterness of bark and leaves and the vividness of the ferns and other undergrowth. But the music he could almost hear from the past faded.
“I’ve been here so long, I can’t imagine leaving,” he finally said. His voice sounded small, vulnerable, as if he were twelve again.
Osserin drifted closer.
But you must, or the Well will claim you. As it claimed us.
But you must, or the Well will claim you. As it claimed us.
Colin hefted the pack into a more comfortable position, then gathered up his staff before looking directly at the Faelehgre’s light.
“Let’s go.”
They emerged from the edge of the forest into late afternoon sunlight, and Colin paused and raised a hand to shade his eyes, blinking at the brightness. He’d shifted back to his aged form again, shedding the youthfulness he’d assumed to escape the Shadows. The plains spread out before him, wide and open, and he felt himself cringe back from them, from the vast emptiness of the sky.
“I’ve been inside the forest too long,” he murmured.
Osserin didn’t respond. He seemed to be waiting, expectant.
Colin scanned the horizon, breathing in the scent of late autumn grass and heat. And something else. A taint on the breeze, of smoke and—
He turned and caught sight of a black cloud of carrion birds wheeling in the distance between columns of thinning smoke. Thousands of them, rising and settling with sickening grace.
He frowned. “What happened?”
Osserin shifted forward, out over the grasses in the direction of the smoke.
A battle. A large one. It’s the disturbance we abandoned the Well to investigate this morning.
A battle. A large one. It’s the disturbance we abandoned the Well to investigate this morning.
Other books
For the Relief of Unbearable Urges: Stories by Nathan Englander
The Sect (The Craig Crime Series) by Catriona King
Morgan's Wife by Lindsay McKenna
Sierra's Homecoming by Linda Lael Miller
Unfinished Death by Laurel Dewey
Dogwood by Chris Fabry
Feed by Mira Grant
Send Me Safely Back Again by Adrian Goldsworthy
No More Tomorrows by Schapelle Corby
Mr Mulliner Speaking by P. G. Wodehouse