“I can sense that you have the power to destroy him.”
“Not without harming myself.”
“Am I not worth it?”
“Please stop asking me to do this.”
“What happened to your strength from earlier?”
“My injuries are too much.”
“Kill him!”
“No!”
“I see the truth now. After all, you are not the only one in our family who can read minds.”
The portal becomes distorted as illusionary hands appear around the frame and gradually crush it into a ball. Desperate to complete her plan, Dariana snaps Isaiah’s elbow and tears his hand away from her throat. His claws leave bloody gouges in her flesh, but the fresh injuries do not slow her down. A powerful kick to the fireskin’s gut sends him toward the cliff’s edge where he jams his staff into the earth to avoid falling into the distant ocean. Without giving him a second thought, the silver-haired warrior dives for the portal and thrusts her entire arm into the dwindling orb. She expects to lose the limb, but is surprised when gloved hands caress her battered fingers.
“You created a glorious plan to end the prophecy on your own terms,” the Baron whispers before giving his daughter a kiss on the hand. The warmth of his lips seeps into her bones, which heal with a startling pop. “By the way, I do thank you for the other champions. Nyder’s pets are on their way to bring them to me. All of us will be waiting for you at the end of the road. Good luck with the Spirit Well, my little baroness. I am looking forward to our reunion on the battlefield.”
Dariana makes a final grab for her father, but a force spell shoves her arm back through the portal and sends her rolling across the ground. She watches as the black orb devours itself and the central stone is ejected from the cliff to sail over the horizon. The telepath can only stare at the empty space while ignoring the cautious approach of Isaiah. She is numb when the fireskin props her up and presses the jeweled end of his staff against her neck. Whatever spell he is about to unleash is stopped when he sees tears rolling down the woman’s face.
“You ruined everything, Isaiah!” Dariana shouts, her voice echoing across the mountain range. Her hair flickers from silver to black as her temper threatens to erupt. “I could have saved them. Now all of my friends are going to die.”
16
Sitting among the forest-capped hills, the Zarian Monastery is beautiful with its marble statues and aromatic fountains. Bleating goats can be heard from a nearby hill, a trio of shepherds standing by a solitary cave. Even with the familiar sights, the landscape is different than the last time the champions were in Dariana’s mind. The changes are not enough for the adventurers to think it is a trap, but they remain ready to draw weapons. The longer they watch the normal day continue, the less anxious they become and a sense of understanding begins to dawn on them. People still walk around in the ivory robes of the Purity Goddess’s order and there are groups of orphaned children being taught among the gardens. Some buildings are missing and various patches of trees are thinner, which makes the champions consider that this memory is older than the one before.
This guess is proven right when a tiny silver-haired girl waddles out of a doorway. She cannot be any older than three and moves as if she is still learning how to walk. Without warning or obvious cause, the toddler stops abruptly and holds her head while bawling. A nearby woman collapses, her eyes staring ahead and her body twitching. The goats begin running in a constant circle while the shepherds beat each other with their walking sticks. Several priestesses hurry to place a comforting spell on the child, but a backlash occurs that sends all of them flying through various windows. The scene pauses before panic sets into the crowd and the champions find that most of the landscape has faded away.
“You know Dariana needs her ring to keep voices out,” their guide says while approaching the frozen telepath. She runs a hand through the child’s hair, which moves her own in the opposite direction. “Imagine what it was like for a child to have such power. She spent her first year with Zaria to nurse, but the power of Ambervale kept her psychic abilities in check. It is said that the gods can only be heard if they wish to be heard. The same should be said about their ability to listen. The baby’s mental calls went unnoticed, so how was she to know about her true power? Once Dariana entered the mortal world, the truth was revealed and her life became a constant nightmare. She spent most of her early years in a protected room.”
“I’m guessing she snuck out from time to time,” Sari interrupts as she goes to get a closer look at the toddler. She is stopped by a barrier that gently pushes her back to the others and remains as an oily wall. “I wasn’t going to do anything. What are the chances of us altering anything here?”
“Even the memories of a telepath can be lethal,” the other Dariana states while rubbing her temples. She creates six silver pins shaped like doves, but tosses one over her shoulder when she sees that Fizzle is missing. “It looks like it is almost time for you to awaken. Fizzle has already been revived, but I don’t know if that means Dariana was successful or not. Please listen and watch instead of asking questions. These pins will make sure you remain unseen, especially by those that are about to appear.”
Obeying the silver-haired girl, the champions are enveloped in cocoons of warmth as the memory is reactivated. The chaos and fear in the monastery erupts with priestesses hurrying to get the children out of the courtyards. Shields embedded in the buildings shine as they reflect the psychic attacks that are being hurled by the toddler, the blasts puncturing the clouds above. It becomes apparent that the Zarians are somewhat prepared for Dariana’s outburst, but the event always starts with casualties before the defenses awaken. No longer willing to be herded into her solitary room, the child continues crying in the doorway and nobody is able to help her due to the danger.
A black-clothed figure abruptly appears next to Dariana and punches her on the top of the head. Stephen catches his whimpering sister by the collar of her simple dress and hoists her onto his shoulder. Annoyed by the tiny sounds, the black-haired sadist pinches the girl’s lips and fuses them together. For a terrifying moment, their old enemy stares directly at the champions and smirks in satisfied glee. He walks toward them, but continues going until he reaches a large statue of Zaria that sits in the middle of the complex. With a sneer that he hopes the goddess can see, Stephen shatters the stone with a single punch and laughs before disappearing. The champions are caught off guard when the monastery plummets beneath them and they are sent hurtling through a black void. Squinting into the distance, they can barely make out the form of the Kernaghan siblings and the black silhouette of a high walled island.
“Dariana never had a close relationship with her brother,” the child version acting as their guide explains. She holds up a hand to silence all questions and points to how Stephen keeps searching for them. “I can speak when he is around because he will never find me. My voice being in Dariana’s memories is not strange. The rest of you can only speak if you are in the scene, which will not happen. Oh, but the Baron is worse. Do not move at all or we will have to leave.”
The small group lands in the middle of a throne room where an ebony portal is sitting over a stone chair adorned with crimson cushions. A well-dressed noble who shares the same hair as Stephen is standing on the other side of the gateway. Stormy skies are behind the man and the screech of demons can be heard in the distance, the louder ones causing the Baron to unleash a flesh-tearing spell at the dangerous beasts. The immortal appears tired and angry, the centuries of battling in the Chaos Void having taken a toll on his body and spirit. Even with his aura of fatigue, there is a calm intelligence in his abyssal eyes that puts a chill through the champions’ bones. Sensing the danger, they refuse to move from where they land while Stephen tosses his little sister in front of the portal.
“It is nice to finally meet you, Dariana Kernaghan,” the Baron says, reaching a hand toward the child. A blast of energy throws him back and the wa
rlord roars loud enough to shake the entire castle. “You are too young to understand what is happening. Only know that I am your father and I love you. That is all that is important now. Sadly, your mother is unable to care for you because of her curse.”
“The brat doesn’t talk, so you shouldn’t waste your breath,” Stephen mutters from a nearby window. He falls off the sill as a searing pain stabs through his brain and causes blood to seep from his eyes. “Make her stop! Do you want an apology, brat? Because I am not the type of man to hold his tongue or apologize.”
“Leave your older brother alone, child,” their father whispers, his voice soft with a stern edge. He is amused to sense her tapping at his protected thoughts and lets her touch his feelings of concern. “Dariana is an incredible telepath as well as having other tricks that only a godling would have. She could ascend, but her connection to us will prevent such a fate. The pettiness of certain gods know no limits. We both know what she will become, which is why I wanted my daughter to be brought here.”
The girl releases her brother and totters over to give him a flower that had been hidden in her hair. Stephen is about to smash the plant and get some revenge on the child, but a wave of fury from his father stays his hand. Taking the white flower, he puts it behind his ear and has it turn a putrid green. The petals return to their original color, which he attempts to reverse only to be undone by his own hand slapping his face. Stunned by the surprising attack, Stephen laughs loud enough to draw the attention of the nearby royal servants who can be heard rushing down the hallway. The chaos elves are about to burst into the room when a whirling barrier appears and tears them to shreds.
“It appears we need to leave,” the Baron announces, stepping to the side of the portal. He watches as Stephen leaps through, but Dariana remains standing in the middle of the room. “I know you understand what is being said. You are still growing into your powers, which are hindering the skills that mortals take for granted. Step through the portal, Dariana, and your family will help you learn control. We promise not to contain you like your mother and her followers. No more lonely rooms where you are fed through a slot in the door and taught by summoned spirits. I promise to give you freedom and love like you have never experienced since the days with your mother.”
The doors burst open as a caster undoes the deadly barrier and armed guards flow into the chamber. Seeing only Dariana, the chaos elves charge the terrified child and raise their weapons to kill her. Unsure of what is going on and unable to sort through the barrage of thoughts, the little telepath finds herself locked in place. A few of the attackers stumble when she tries to control their minds, but it is not enough to stop them. With a loud whistle, green hair erupts from the portal, which causes the warriors to skid to a stop and crash into each other. The tresses seem to wink at the bowing mortals before enveloping the giggling girl and drawing her into the Chaos Void. The memory stops as soon as the gateway fades away, the chaos elves frozen in place since Dariana has no knowledge of what happened after Yola saved her.
It takes several minutes for the throne room to crumble away and leave the champions standing in the middle of a dome. Mirrors cover the surface and tiny holes between the frames allow enough light in to drive back the darkness. Without the threat of disturbing a memory, the adventurers are allowed to wander and peer into the shimmering panes. Each mirror shows a piece of Dariana’s past as a champion, but none of them are easy to watch. Several show her in combat with her potential allies, the brutal fight typically breaking out after days or weeks of abuse. Others show the telepath standing by while the champions are killed, many of them at the hands of Sutter the Ifrit. Most of the memories always end with Dariana asleep in the clearing, the mind-stealing mist flowing from her bed.
“These replay in her mind every day,” their guide explains while watching the mirror that depicts her time in the Chaos Void. Surrounded by demons and violence, the girl still smiles at the fond memories of being with family. “I was erased soon after my training. Dariana wanted to know if it could be done and ended up locking away her childhood. She can still peek in when she wants, but that hasn’t happened in a while. It’s because she has been lonely and miserable for so long that she forgot how to find me. Rather disturbing that her happiest times were in a land of monsters and death.”
“Why did she become a champion?” Nyx asks as she leans closer to a mirror. She jumps away at the sight of their former friend snapping the neck of a dwarf and moving on to brutally kill a retreating elf. “I understand that Gabriel did it to hurt the Baron, but it really seems to be a punishment for her too. What is the point of her?”
“That’s rather insulting coming from another living weapon,” the young telepath snaps before pulling a wooden door out from between two mirrors. She raps her knuckles on the silver handle, but decides not to open it yet. “Nobody knows why she exists. Dariana was never part of Gabriel’s plan because she was conceived before he ascended. He merely drew her into the prophecy when the opportunity presented itself, which was just after the Great Cataclysm changed Windemere. Contrary to what my father said, it was the new title that prevented her from claiming full godhood. Perhaps she was meant to be on Ambervale instead of among mortals. Does it really matter? The past can’t be changed and she is finally trying to claim her future.”
Delvin finishes watching a scene where Dariana escapes a group of slave traders that the champions sold her to. “It matters because we’re trying to understand her betrayal. I can see why our predecessors earned her wrath, but we were her friends. At least, we thought we were. This is very confusing. What does Dariana want from all of this? A happy life with her father? Freedom from what she sees is a cursed life? Something I can’t even imagine? Maybe all of that. Please show us a memory that would explain what this is about.”
With a curtsey, their smiling guide vanishes and the wooden door swings open to let in a flood of blinding light. The champions find themselves back in the throne room, but the Baron is now sitting upon a wooden chair. Chaos elves work hard to scrub blood from the floor, the pulped remains of a winged figure heaped in the corner. Standing before the ancient warlord, Dariana remains at attention with gore dripping from her knuckles. Her silver hair is matted and there are ragged gashes in her ivory gown, the skin beneath showing no sign of being cut. A puddle of red-tinted tears is growing around her bare feet, the liquid occasional stretching tiny hands toward her exposed heels.
“You know the rules of our game, daughter,” the Baron declares in a voice that shakes with anger. The immortal refuses to look into the young woman’s face, an expression of utter disgust on his face. “Disasters like this is why Gabriel and I agree that you should be put to sleep until you are needed again. What were you thinking?”
“I don’t want to be a champion!” Dariana screams, the stained glass windows exploding from her outburst. The shards freeze and spin back into place, the damage vanishing with a loud crackling. “All I want are friends like I did when I was younger. These people hate me as soon as my identity is revealed, which forces me to turn on them. Mother has made it clear that I can’t be with her, so I want to come home to Shayd. Please accept me as one of your agents and let me be happy again. I’ve already brought the Spirit Well under your control, so I’m no longer needed as a champion. Stop looking at the floor walls and answer me, father!”
“You are a disappointment!” the warlord shouts with enough force to drive his daughter against the far wall. The arms of his throne crack as his temper flares, the sight of the foolish child almost too much for his legendary patience. “We must play the roles that we have been given. Only the endgame is unwritten, Dariana. It has become clear that you were never meant to be one of my agents. At least not by using brute force, but that seems to be the only method you know. Perhaps this is my fault. I trained you to be one of mine and then you were stolen from me.”
“I killed an angel to prove my loyalty to you!”
“That was your mistake.�
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“I created openings in the temple barriers for you to use.”
“Which I never asked you to do.”
“I . . . I . . . Why does everybody hate me?”
The Baron steps down from the dais and caresses his daughter’s cheek, her tears stinging his skin. A ghostly figure appears behind the girl, the phantom showing hints of red hair before it fades away. His anger and disappointment are replaced by a sense of helplessness, the loving father in him wishing he could put an end to all of their suffering. Knowing that the only way would be to surrender to his own fate and remain forgotten by history, the Baron tells himself that all of this is for the good of Windemere. With a heavy sigh, the immortal places Dariana under a powerful sleep spell and catches her in his arms. He silently stands in the middle of the room until Stephen arrives to take her to where Isaiah is waiting to return her to the clearing.
“This is the event that led to her current course of action,” the younger Dariana says as the memory stops and she reappears. Pulling a mop out from behind her back, the telepath goes about erasing the scenery. “Even with the memory wiping, she never forgot her final question and it festered in her core. This is what you have to realize. In the end, Dariana is nothing more than a lost child who has known very little warmth and kindness in her long life. A flicker of it at birth then a bit more in the Chaos Void, but the rest of her existence has been one of isolation and hate.”
“But we didn’t treat her that way,” Nyx whispers, kneeling in front of their guide. She touches the girl’s silver hair as if seeing it for the first time. “I get that her past was difficult and she feels like everyone hates her. That explains why she becomes closed off and aloof at times. I can see why she is so angry too. But why did she have to take it out on us? I know it sounds like I refuse to understand, but we were her friends. We would have died for her. None of these memories have answered our questions.”
The Spirit Well Page 30