Well of Witches

by J. A. White

  Bending down next to the pumping device, the man reached into his pocket and withdrew something that looked like a blue marble between his thumb and index finger. With a quick, practiced movement he dropped the tiny object into the hole at the top of the pipe and pumped the handle up and down. Within the glass sphere the water bubbled and swirled. The marble rose to its center and began to dissolve, spreading plumes of sky blue through the clear water.

  “What are you doing?” Taff asked.

  “My job, boy. Gotta swirl the town lights. You ask me, it’s a waste of good glorbs since the light don’t stop her from coming, but the Mistrals ordered it to be done, and I ain’t one to argue with the Mistrals.”

  With the marble now totally dissolved, the water inside the sphere began to emanate a soft glow that brightened and dimmed in rhythm with the man’s pumping. Kara could hear a low drone that wasn’t there before.

  “How’d you do that?” Taff asked in amazement. “What did you put inside? Is that what made the water glow?”

  The man shook his head in disbelief, as though Taff had just asked him whether or not he should use his feet to walk. “Like I said, the inn’s right there. Be patient with Mrs. Galt. She’s a good woman, but she’s suffered a loss, like most of us. Go now, get inside before they come.”

  “Who?” Safi asked.

  “The unghosts,” the man said, and walked off into the mist.

  Several minutes later, after Kara had finally dragged a reluctant Taff away from the glorb-light (“But I don’t know how it works yet!”), they opened the door of the inn and entered a room that was warm but in complete disarray. Unwashed plates sat on yellowing wicker tables. Grime matted the floor. Flies encircled a glob of congealed food.

  Behind a long counter stood a woman. Her eyes, half-concealed behind a wild tangle of blond hair, were swollen and rimmed with red. She gave no indication that she had noticed their arrival; all her attention was focused on a spot past them.

  “Hello?” Kara asked.

  The woman did not reply. Kara turned around, curious to see what could dominate her attention to the point that she did not notice three guests enter her inn.

  There was only a window, cloudy with condensation.

  “Mrs. Galt?” Taff tried, waving his hand in front of her eyes.

  The woman jumped.

  “Yes? Who are you?”

  “We were hoping to get lodging for the night,” Kara said.

  “Right,” Mrs. Galt said. She noticed, as though for the first time, the state of the room, and flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry about all this. Usually things are in a much better state, but . . .” Her eyes passed from one child to the next and she placed two hands on the counter. “Where are your parents?” she asked.

  “They’re a day behind us,” Kara said, maintaining eye contact in order to make the lie more believable. “In a wagon.” And then, realizing that this woman would never believe Safi was a relation, added, “Our parents and Safi’s parents—this here is Safi—are traveling together. We broke a wheel, though, and the grown-ups decided it would be safer if we children traveled ahead. This way we could sleep in a town and not camp out, the weather being cold and such.”

  From the corner of her eye, Kara saw Taff fight back a smile. He loved it when his sister was mischievous.

  “I wish you had come earlier,” Mrs. Galt said, her voice shaky but kind. “I would have sent you back to your parents. This is no place for children, especially at night. Are you hungry? I’m sure I can scrounge up some salted fish and milk.”

  “I’m afraid we have no coin, ma’am,” Kara said. “For the food or the lodging. But we’re not expecting to stay for free. I have items I can trade, or I can certainly help clean—”

  Mrs. Galt waved her words away.

  “Nonsense. I wouldn’t think of charging you. Your safety is the most important thing. The most . . . important . . .”

  Mrs. Galt’s eyes, filled with a fierce and terrible longing, had strayed once again to the empty window.

  “Ma’am?” Kara asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I have to go,” Mrs. Galt said, backing away. “Take the first door at the top of the stairs. Everything is ready for you. I’ll bring you dinner soon.”

  She ran out of the room.

  “What was that all about?” Taff whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Kara said, examining the window. She noticed that the condensation had cleared in one small area, as though an unseen figure had breathed upon the glass. When she peered through the window, however, the misty street was empty.

  Their room was barely large enough to contain the two small beds fitted beneath a simple painting of the lighthouse, but it was far cleaner than the lobby, for which Kara was grateful. Mrs. Galt delivered their dinner with a soft knock and hustled away before they opened the door. While eating, the children made plans for the next day. First priority was to find someone who knew the quickest way to Sablethorn.

  “What about these unghosts the man mentioned?” Safi asked. “And the strange way Mrs. Galt was acting. It seems like these people might need our help.”

  She saw the way Safi’s hands twitched as she said this, itching for a reason to use the grimoire.

  “We have our own problems to solve,” said Kara. “Too many, in fact.”

  “But aren’t you curious?”

  “Our father has only a little time left before we lose him forever. We can’t allow ourselves to get distracted.”

  Which effectively ended all discussion, of course. Kara didn’t like the heartless sound of her own words—especially in light of Mrs. Galt’s kindness—but someone had to say them.

  Taff and Safi each claimed a bed while Kara spread a blanket across the floor, angling her body as close to the window as possible and unfolding Sordyr’s letter. It was difficult to make out the words by moonlight but that was all right; by this point she almost knew them by heart.

  “You’re always looking at that thing,” Safi said. “Haven’t you read it already?”

  “Some parts I’m still piecing together. Sordyr’s handwriting is terrible. And the ink is smudged in places.”

  “Maybe he was out of practice,” said Safi. “He’d been a Forest Demon with branch hands for ages. It probably feels strange to have fingers again.”

  Taff giggled.

  “What?” Safi asked.

  “We have the best conversations.”

  “There’re a lot of words here I don’t understand,” Kara said. “Perhaps I never learned them, or maybe they’re old words that we don’t use anymore. So I always feel like I figure out something new every time I read it.”

  “Like what?” Taff asked.

  “You need to go to sleep. Both of you.”

  “I’m not tired,” Safi said.

  “Me either,” said Taff. “Tell us a story!”

  Kara smiled to herself, remembering the countless nights she had tucked Taff into bed, the ritual haggling over how many stories she would tell. It was a comfort to know that some things never changed.

  “Let’s see,” Kara said, flipping through the pages of the letter. Small, cramped cursive covered every fragment of white space, front and back. “He writes about what happened before he made the grimoire for Evangeline. Back when Sablethorn was still a school and Phadeen hadn’t yet been corrupted and changed into the Well of Witches. Magic had been good, and pure, and valued.” Kara paused, still finding the existence of such a world difficult to believe; it felt like a dream to her. “Rygoth and Sordyr were Sablethorn’s most promising students, under the direct tutelage of Minoth Dravania himself, the headmaster.”

  “Are you telling me that Sordyr and Rygoth were friends?” Taff asked.

  “Actually, I think they were a little more than that.”

  “Huh?”

  “Eww,” said Safi.

  “Minoth sounds like he was a great teacher. He loved to bring students to Phadeen and create puzzles that they could solve
only through the use of magic. Sordyr really looked up to him. But Rygoth didn’t feel the same. She thought Minoth didn’t trust her.”

  “Can’t imagine why,” said Taff.

  “Things grew worse and worse between them. Rygoth kept breaking the rules, trying more dangerous spells—forbidden magic—with Sordyr covering for her. It all came to a head when she refused to participate in something called the Sundering.”

  “What’s that?” Taff asked.

  “A trial that every student in Sablethorn was required to pass in order to become a full wexari.”

  Safi sat up in bed. “You mean like a test of their powers? To make sure they were good enough?”

  “I don’t know. Sordyr doesn’t go into specifics. He sometimes forgets to explain terms and phrases that must have seemed so common to him. But he made a sketch of the”—Kara riffled through the pages of the letter until she found what she was looking for—“queth’nondra. It’s where the final part of the Sundering took place.”

  She showed them a charcoal drawing of a long, wavy tunnel leading up to a small dome covered with hexagonal tiles.

  “It looks like a turtle,” Taff said.

  “The queth’nondra was Sablethorn’s most important building,” Kara said. “A time-honored tradition of—”

  “You’re right!” Safi said. “A turtle with a really long tail. It’s so cute!”

  Kara folded the page away.

  “Inside the queth’nondra,” she said, “which does not look like a turtle, prospective wexari were given the final task of the Sundering—which didn’t really matter to Rygoth, since she refused to do any of it.”

  “Why?” Safi asked. “Rygoth may be evil, but she’s an amazing witch. She should have been able to pass any test easily.”

  “Sordyr doesn’t say, but apparently refusing to take it was such a big deal that Rygoth was forced to leave Sablethorn altogether. She begged Sordyr to come with her, but he refused. He couldn’t just betray Minoth and give up his dream of becoming a wexari. It broke his heart to abandon her, though.”

  “Why?” asked Taff. “Rygoth’s so bad!”

  “Maybe she wasn’t really bad, not yet,” said Kara. “Or maybe it didn’t matter to Sordyr. He cared for her.”

  Taff shook his head in a manner that indicated he would never understand grown-ups.

  “What happened next?” asked Safi.

  “Years passed. As soon as Sordyr graduated from Sablethorn he searched the World for Rygoth, finally finding her at a place called Dolrose Castle. She had become the king’s adviser there. Sordyr hoped they could be friends again, but Rygoth wouldn’t even let him through the castle gates. He still refused to give up, though, and when the king held a competition for a toy that could make his daughter, Evangeline, happy, Sordyr saw it as an opportunity to impress Rygoth and win her back.”

  “So he made the first grimoire,” said Safi.

  Kara smiled. “It’s kind of romantic, in a way.”

  Taff stared at her in disbelief. “Except that the grimoire was evil and caused the deaths of everyone in the castle.”

  “I meant the part leading up to it, silly. Sordyr really loved her. He never gave up.” Noting Taff’s confused expression, Kara added, “You’ll understand when you’re older. Right now—bed. Both of you. No discussion.”

  Within minutes both children were sound asleep. Kara’s own eyes were beginning to close when she heard a door squeak. Rising quietly so she didn’t wake the others, Kara pressed her face against the partially open window and saw Mrs. Galt leaving the inn. She held a wooden boat in her hands.

  “Liam,” Mrs. Galt whispered. “Liam. I saw you at the window. Where did you go? They said it’s dangerous if I don’t ignore you, but I can’t do it anymore. Mommy’s here, Liam!”

  Mrs. Galt held the boat forward in two trembling hands.

  “I brought your favorite toy, Liam! I haven’t forgotten about you!”

  Mrs. Galt jerked her head to the right, as though she had heard something, then hurried out of sight.

  Kara pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the window.

  She’s just taking a walk, that’s all. It’s not your problem. No need to get involved.

  She let us stay here for free. She fed us.

  She’s in danger.

  With a sigh of resignation, Kara slipped on her cloak and made her way out the front door.

  Mrs. Galt was nowhere to be seen, but Kara could hear her footfalls in the graveyard-silent night. The moon had ducked behind a fold of clouds. Only the blue glow of the glorb-lights provided any guidance.

  Kara paused at an intersection, unsure of which turn to make, listening carefully for the clack-clack-clack of Mrs. Galt’s boots. The mist had partially dissipated but she could still taste salt in the air.

  “See me?” asked a girl’s voice behind her.

  Kara twisted in the direction of the unexpected sound. She saw only cobblestones beneath swirling threads of mist.

  “Hello?” she asked.

  “See me?”

  The girl sounded close, practically right in front of Kara, but that was impossible. There was no one there.

  “Where are you?” Kara asked, scanning the empty road.

  “See me?”

  “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Look,” whispered the voice, plaintive and soft. She sounded no older than six. “All alone. Scared. See me.”

  Pushing her cloak behind her back, Kara knelt so that she was at the level of a small child and looked carefully into the mist. At first, there was nothing, but then Kara heard faint breathing just in front of her, felt the tingling of warm breath on her chin. She smelled wet sand and sunbaked skin.

  Gradually, a shape evolved into visibility.

  It was just a faint image at first, an idea of a girl hovering in and out of existence. With each reappearance, however, new details emerged: curly auburn hair festooned with shells and ribbons, a yellow dress splattered with mud, coffee-brown eyes.

  “There you are,” Kara said.

  The girl smiled.

  “See you!” she exclaimed, and grabbed Kara’s wrist.

  A searing pain that seemed to surpass her skin and drive itself into the very marrow of her bone sent Kara sprawling to the stones. She examined her wrist, expecting the skin to be scorched red, but instead there was only a swollen bruise shaped like four little fingers and a thumb.

  “See me!” the girl exclaimed. “See me!”

  Her image had begun to fade while Kara examined her wrist. When she looked up at the ghostly shape again, however, the girl grew more substantial and took a step in Kara’s direction.

  Kara quickly looked away.

  “See me?”

  She could feel the little girl standing next to her. Hear her breathing.

  They told Mrs. Galt to ignore her son. That’s why. If you don’t pay attention to them . . .

  “See me?” the girl asked again, with growing desperation.

  . . . they can’t see you. Or harm you. The unghosts. You have to pretend . . .

  “I’m cold.”

  . . . they’re not there. Close your heart to them.

  “See me, see me, see me. . . .”

  The little girl’s voice was growing softer, fading away. Kara closed her eyes. She knew she had to ignore the voice, but it was difficult, for she sensed no malice from the girl. The unghost had not hurt Kara intentionally.

  She had only wanted to be seen.

  Finally, the voice stopped. Kara opened her eyes. The girl was gone.

  Somewhere in the night, Mrs. Galt began to scream.

  Kara scrambled through the street, slipping once on mist-dampened cobblestones but quickly regaining her balance. She turned a corner and Mrs. Galt lay before her, slumped against the side of a small stone building. A line of hand-shaped bruises ran up her arms and legs.

  “Stop, Liam!” the woman exclaimed. “You have to stop! I know you don’t mean it, but you’re hu
rting me!”

  Kara saw a small handprint appear on Mrs. Galt’s chin, and then, right above it, the bruise-colored imprint of a kiss. Mrs. Galt didn’t scream this time, but her lips trembled.

  Kara ran to the woman’s side and helped her to her feet.

  “Let’s get back to the inn,” Kara said.

  Supporting the woman’s weight, she half dragged her down the road. Lights had begun to appear in nearby windows. Kara heard a bell toll in the distance and, farther off, the clop-clop-clop of approaching horses.

  “I just wanted to bring him his boat. They love toys. The children. The unghosts. Helps them remember what it was like before. But it’s me he really wants. His mother. He stands outside my window and begs for me to hold him and I can’t say no anymore!”

  Mrs. Galt looked over her shoulder.

  “He’s still there,” she whispered. “He’s calling me!”

  “You mustn’t acknowledge him.”

  “You’re not a mother,” she said. “You don’t understand.”

  Pulling away from Kara, Mrs. Galt started back toward Liam. Her eyes were resolute, as though she had finally made a decision long debated in her mind.

  “Mrs. Galt!” Kara exclaimed. “Don’t!”

  “It’s all right, Liam,” she said, her voice calm. “Don’t cry. I’ll come with you. Forever. Just like you want me to.”

  She opened her arms wide.

  From an adjoining street the figure of a boy dashed through the mist. Something long and white flashed and Mrs. Galt crumpled to the ground. Kara ran to the woman’s side. Her eyes were closed and there was a large welt swelling on the side of her head.

  “She was offering herself to the unghosts,” said the boy, his face blurred by mist. “I had to make her stop. There was no other way to save her.”

  That voice . . .

  The mist cleared, finally allowing Kara and the boy a good look at each other.

  The world seemed to stop.

  “Lucas?”

  Her best friend had grown taller, almost her height now. He wore a long bow behind his back and strange clothes: dark pants and a gray turtleneck beneath a black coat that fell to his knees, the clothes hanging loosely on him as though intended for a larger frame. Without Kara there to cut it, his hair had grown to his shoulders. It was different in another way, too, though it took her a moment to place it.