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Authors: Benjamin Tate

Well of Sorrows (53 page)

BOOK: Well of Sorrows
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But Colin knew he could catch up if he fell behind.
He moved closer to the Drifter, careful not to come into contact with any of its outstretched ripples. The Drifter coruscated with light, shifting though all of the various colors at its edges and through its arms but melding into an intense white as the light reached its center. The center itself was clear, and as he drew closer, he realized that he could see through it.
What he saw on the far side wasn’t what he expected. Grass, yes, as if the plains continued on through the eye of coruscating light. But this grass wasn’t lit with afternoon sunlight. Instead, it was silvered with faint moonlight, as if it were night on the far side.
One of the arms of the Drifter reached out, as if sensing him, and he pulled back. It brushed by where he’d stood a moment before and passed on, almost like the antennae on an insect.
Frowning, Colin searched the grass and found a stone, releasing his hold on time so he could pick it up. He turned, the Drifted no longer coruscating with color, merely a ripple of distortion, like heat waves, although he could still see the moonlit plains on the far side. It was moving slowly toward him. Stepping forward, he tossed the stone at the eye in the Drifter’s center. It passed through, landing with a thud and rustle of grass as it rolled into the moonlight.
“It’s a doorway,” he murmured to himself. He considered for a moment, then slowed time. The Drifter shifted from clear ripples to coruscating colors again, but stopped drifting forward.
He prodded the stone with his staff through the distortion, then shifted position, keeping track of the rippling arms of the Drifter. If he stooped over, he could step through the eye himself, but the thought made him shudder. He couldn’t see anything of significance on the far side, nothing to place where the doorway led. The features in the background—the shape of the land itself, the hills and depressions—seemed to match where he stood, although the forest appeared much closer. It was simply night there.
Then he caught the scent. A familiar scent. But here, with time slowed, the scent was
strong
. An earthen scent, of leaves and mulch and trees.
The Lifeblood. So strong he could taste it, as if he’d placed dried leaves in his mouth. It struck his gut hard, an ache shuddering out through his bones. Since he’d given Eraeth the vial of Lifeblood, the pull of the Well had eased and he’d had fewer and less severe seizures, but now the craving returned, harsh and powerful. He fought it back, forced himself to focus, to inhale deeply. Because there was something else as well, another scent intertwined with the Lifeblood. He concentrated, but he couldn’t place it, even though he felt he should, as if he’d smelled it before. Like roses, sweet and clean.
He stood for a long moment in deep thought. He thought about what Aeren had said, that the Drifters had swallowed entire armies. He suddenly remembered Peg vanishing during the storm as they fled the dwarren.
But it didn’t explain where the distortions were coming from. Nor why they were appearing more frequently now than when Colin’s family had first headed out onto the plains.
He shrugged, turning away from the distortion, and as he did so, he heard a faint whisper.
. . .
Colin
. . .
He stilled, spinning slightly, like the needle of a compass, until he faced the forest on the far side of the distortion.
Osserin
?
The Faelehgre didn’t respond, although Colin thought he heard . . . something.
Without looking back, Colin headed toward the far woods, slipping around the distortion and leaving it behind. A hundred paces farther on, he felt the faint edges of the Lifeblood’s influence slip through him and he hissed in response, repressing a shiver. He could taste its coolness against his tongue, could feel it filling him, tingling through his skin, worse than when he’d smelled it near the Drifter. The fine hairs on his arm and on the back of his neck stood on end, and for a brief moment he shuddered at the thought that he had ever left its embrace.
Then his stomach cramped. He gasped, found himself on his knees, one hand on his staff holding him upright, the other fisted in the grass and earth, the dried blades cutting into his palms and fingers. He focused on the slivered pain, so thin and sharp, and fought back the duller, wider ache in his gut.
Trembling, he rose and pushed on toward the forest. He hadn’t thought he’d react so strongly to the Well, now that he’d been away from it for so long. And he knew he was only at the edge of its influence. He could feel its power growing as he moved closer.
Except he was too far north to be within its influence at all.
. . .
Colin
. . .
I can hear you, Osserin. I’m headed toward the forest.
A wash of relief, and as if the Faelehgre had focused in on his voice he heard the reply clearly.
We’ve been trying to contact you since you left. We’d given up, but then we sensed you close to the forest. We’ve been calling for you for the last day.
Colin stepped under the branches of the forest and sank into their shadows, the dulled scent of pine filling his senses. He moved deeper into the forest, feeling it close in around him, sunlight lancing down through breaks, dust caught in the shafts seemingly motionless.
Where are you?
Here,
Osserin sent and Colin focused in on the direction of his voice.
Here, by the Well.
And then Osserin wove out of the forest, flickering in agitation. A few other Faelehgre hovered around him, darting here and there in agitation.
“What’s wrong?” Colin asked. “What’s happened? I didn’t think the influence of the Lifeblood spread this far north.”
It doesn’t. It shouldn’t. But look.
Osserin streaked away, the others following. Colin forged after them, picking his way over tangled roots and the fallen trunks of trees, using his staff as a crutch. He reached the crest of a ridge, began making his way down the far side, then glanced up and halted in shock.
The ridge was the edge of a shallow bowl, earth sloping down toward a basin. In the center of the basin sat a ring of river stone, rounded and smooth, like the lip of the Well at the center of the Faelehgre’s ancient city.
“Another Well,” Colin murmured. Except this Well pulsed with a faint blue light.
He stumbled the last few steps and leaned forward over the lip of the Well, down into its depths, toward the blue light. He couldn’t see any of the Lifeblood—the Well appeared empty—but he could
smell
it, could feel it throbbing in his skin.
It’s filling slowly,
Osserin whispered.
We think that’s why the radius of our own Well increased, why we can travel here now. We think it has something to do with the disappearance of the Wraiths.
Colin shoved back from the Well. “Tell me what happened.”
Osserin hovered uncertainly for a moment, as if he didn’t know where to start, but then his light dimmed and he settled closer to the ground.
It began a few days after you left. Or so we think. We can’t be certain. But that was the first sign that something was different. We sent out some of the Faelehgre to scout. What they found was not that something had changed, but that something was missing. The Wraiths were no longer in the forest, were no longer anywhere within the Well’s influence.
“None of them?”
None. All six of them were gone.
Colin felt something crawl up his back, the flesh of his spine prickling, the sensation creeping up into his shoulders and spreading out along his arms.
“What about the Shadows, the sukrael? Where are they?”
Still inside the forest. They’re still trapped by the Lifeblood, as we are. But you and the Wraiths. . . . We never considered whether or not the Wraiths could leave the forest. They never have before, so we thought they were trapped like us, like the Shadows. But they’re not. They’re like you. They’re touched by the Lifeblood, but not yet caught.
“Where did they go?”
We don’t know. We can’t follow them, and we can’t track them. We tried to contact you as soon as we realized that they’d left. We thought that perhaps they’d gone after you, especially since they left almost immediately after you did.
Which was strange. But maybe his departure hadn’t been a factor. Maybe it had been a coincidence. Or maybe his leaving the forest had forced the Wraiths to act.
“If they aren’t coming after me, then where would they go?”
Osserin flared in anger.
Again, we don’t know. But a few weeks after you left, something else happened. The Well itself . . . flashed.
“What do you mean?”
Colin could sense the Faelehgre’s frustration.
The air around the Well began to hum, to vibrate, so we gathered at the edge of the Well itself, on the amphitheater’s steps. And then the sukrael appeared in the forest on the far side, hundreds of them. They came out of the forest, as if drawn to the sound, and they were . . . dancing, weaving in and out among the trees, cavorting with each other. The hum escalated, and everything around the Well grew still. The Shadows halted, the trees quieted. Even we grew silent. Because we could feel the buildup of power, could feel it throbbing on the air.
And then a white light pulsed up through the water from deep below, from the Well’s source, and spread outward, rustling in the trees, shoving all of us back toward the city, the Shadows back into the trees. A few of the Shadows shrieked, and one of the nearer buildings cracked, the foundation splitting.
But that was it. We stayed at the Well. The Shadows stayed as well, for a time, and then, as if by signal, they fled into the forest again.
When we went to investigate, we found that the influence of the Well had expanded. We could travel farther in all directions, out onto the plains, to the north, south, and east as well, deeper into the forest.
The same thing has happened twice more, the Lifeblood pulsing, and each time the extent of the Well’s influence grows. We’ve only been able to reach this far north within the last few days. And then Yssero sensed you at the edge of our reach yesterday. We’ve been calling to you since then, hoping you’d hear and come to us so we could warn you.
Colin had settled back onto the stone of the Well as Osserin spoke. “Has this ever happened before?” he asked.
Not as far as any of us remember. And the Faelehgre have long memories.
He narrowed his gaze at Osserin in suspicion. “What do you think the Wraiths are doing?” When Osserin hesitated, he added, “Osserin?”
In a flash and dimming of light that was almost as audible as a sigh, Osserin said,
We think the Wraiths are attempting to . . . free the Shadows.
That same prickling sensation coursed up Colin’s back, only this time it continued to spread, sinking into the pit of his stomach with a nauseous heat, into his lungs with a tingling cold.
“Can they do that?” he asked, almost breathless.
We’ve spent hundreds of years trying to find a way to escape the Well. We couldn’t, because we can’t move beyond the Well’s influence, and we found no way to break the Well or alter its power from within. The Shadows are in the same situation. When you came, when you drank from the Well, there was much discussion about sending you out to find a way to free us. But in the end, we decided that couldn’t be done because freeing us would also mean freeing the Shadows. And that is too much to set upon the world. Not for what was our own mistake.
We never considered that perhaps the Shadows were trying to find a way to free themselves as well. We know that they are intelligent. After all they were once an embodiment of us, were once part of us, separated from us by the Lifeblood. They are the remnants of our bodies, while we are the remnants of our souls. That is why they feed. They are searching for the life-force that their bodies once held. But we did not realize how intelligent they are.
Colin heard something in Osserin’s voice, something dark, that made his skin break out in a light sweat. “What do you think they’ve done?”
Osserin hesitated. Then:
We think that when the dwarren first arrived here in the forest, the Shadows tasted true life-force for the first time in centuries. They feasted, but when the dwarren grew wary of the forest, they realized that in order to continue feeding, they needed to find a way to break the Well’s influence.
“You said that couldn’t be done.”
Osserin flared in annoyance.
Exactly. When the Faelehgre realized this, we stopped searching. Our drive to be free waned. It had never been as strong as that of the Shadows in any case. But the Shadows continued searching. And after the dwarren appeared, they realized that, if they couldn’t break the Well’s influence, then perhaps they could extend it.
“How?”
Osserin dipped toward the second Well
. With this. Somehow, the Shadows learned of this second Well. A dead Well, one empty of the Lifeblood. They realized that if they could reawaken it, if they could bring it back to life. . .
BOOK: Well of Sorrows
12.68Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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