The Weaving of Wells (Osric's Wand, Book Four)

by Jack D. Albrecht Jr.

  “That tale is long and complicated, and you have traveled far. Let us go and speak somewhere more comfortable.” Aridis led him away from the dragon platform toward the market district of Stanton. Aridis needed to know more about the man than he could learn from his gift or from old stories before he would present him to a Trust. He wasn’t even sure the man would pass the test and be invited into the Aranthian sanctuary. Pendres followed him silently, observing his surroundings in the new city and contemplating his own thoughts.

  The market was bustling with people shopping and gossiping, trading and haggling, or just enjoying the autumn sun and a mug of mead. Aridis smiled and waved to many, and exchanged brief pleasantries with a few, before slipping into a small inn just beyond the market. He greeted the woman behind the bar warmly and she waved him through with promises of warm food and rulha to follow. Aridis led Pendres to a small room in the back of the bar with a rough table and chairs. There were no windows in the room, and the only decoration was a small dingy tapestry depicting a drogma hunt hanging above a plain ewer and basin on a shelf in one corner. Sconces on the walls containing small, cool flames provided light. Pendres noted that there must be a Fire Elementalist on the premises, or else one made the rounds each day to light the sconces in the local establishments. The men took seats at the table and Aridis broke the silence immediately.

  “I wouldn’t have sent for you if there were not a great need for your aid.”

  “You got me here, but that doesn’t mean I will aid you.” Pendres eyed Aridis grimly. “Who are you?”

  “I am an old man tangled up in the paths of prophecy and the ugliness of war. I suppose one could say the same about you.”

  “How did you know where to find me? How did you even know to look for me?”

  “The how is far less interesting than the why. It was a combination of obscure books and my Obcasior gift.” Aridis spoke casually, pausing to respond to a soft knock at the door. A girl brought in two mugs of warm rulha, bowls of thick vegetable stew, and a plate of cheese and fruit. He paid generously and sent the girl away with a smile. “Are you familiar with it?”

  “I have known a few over the years. Though certainly none who could use the pathways to find someone like me. Is your gift varied, or just that powerful?”

  “I have had a long life to learn its particularities, though that probably sounds silly to you. I have only known one other Obcasior, and his gift worked the same as mine, if not quite as efficiently,” Aridis said. Pendres nodded, but he did not comment on the reference to his age. They sat in silence for a while, eyeing each other and eating the simple but flavorful fare of the tavern.

  “And these books you speak of—they mention me?”

  “Not exactly.” Aridis spoke slowly, enjoying his meal. “Prophecy speaks of you.”

  “I have no interest in prophecy,” Pendres said.

  “That does not keep it from being interested in you.”

  “So why me? What do you know?”

  “Ah, not as much as I would like. I know you were a soldier in the war when the Well of Strands was created. I know you are still alive, and there are many stories and myths which attempt to explain why, though I doubt any are accurate.”

  “If that were all you knew, you would not have brought me here.” Pendres finished his meal and sat sipping his mug of rulha.

  “In times such as these, that would be enough. However, it is true that there is more to it than that. I know little about you because there is no way for me to know if what I have read is accurate. Yet, I have reason to believe that my suspicions are correct, even if I cannot say it is knowledge.”

  “So what is it that you suspect?” Pendres eyed Aridis suspiciously, growing tired of the word games.

  “I suspect that a spell was cast upon you during the war, though why and by whom eludes me. If I am correct as to which spell was used, then I suspect I know how to break it.” Aridis steepled his fingers before him and leaned in, his voice growing softer even as it gained intensity.

  “Go on.” Pendres leaned forward in his chair, his interest obviously piqued for the first time since the conversation had begun.

  “I have found references to a spell sold by a Seer in the time of your war, in the proper region, that likely would have been available to those who knew you before you left to fight. If cast properly, with sufficient power and motivation, it would guarantee the survival of the subject until the end of the war. It would ensure that you could return from the fighting. Was there someone who would have had the desire and ability to cast such a spell?” Aridis’s voice held compassion as well as curiosity. Pendres’s eyes narrowed as pain flashed hotly across his features. The expression confirmed Aridis’s suspicions, and he did not pressure the man for a response. “I do not fully understand why it is so, but I believe the spell is still working. It seems most likely to me, based on my research, that the spell should have ended when the war ended. The only reasonable conclusion is that the war did not end.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Pendres shook his head as he spoke, attempting to understand what Aridis was saying. “The war ended. The well did what it was supposed to do.” Pendres spoke with conviction, although Aridis could sense a nagging doubt, and the reference to the well’s purpose caused Aridis’s eyes to widen slightly with hope.

  “Do you know what it was the well did? Why it is worth a war that could last hundreds of years?” Aridis asked. Pendres did not acknowledge the question, although he now knew what Aridis wanted from him.

  “Even if the war hadn’t ended after the well was built, the caldereth were wiped out over three centuries ago. I was there for that war too. Or did your prophecy fail to mention that? Surely if it wasn’t over before, it would have ended when the last caldereth died. Not only is the war over, it has been long forgotten along with an entire race of people. What on Archana are you talking about?”

  “I believe that the wars you were fighting in then, both of them actually, are the same war that we are fighting now. The paths of history, as well as those of prophecy, indicate that events played out in the proper order and direction so as to keep the war active over all of that time. I realize it doesn’t seem to make sense, but I think my companions and I can explain. I would like to present you to a Trust.” Aridis watched him closely.

  “I am finding it increasingly difficult to trust you, so I think I will pass.” Pendres glared coldly at him.

  “You have been given little reason to trust me, but if I am correct, you have nothing to lose. Well, nothing but an eternity of uncertainty. Or perhaps you may prefer to watch the world burn down around you until the inevitable end of the war arrives and you are finally released from the spell.” Aridis glared back at him. “But wouldn’t you prefer to help determine which side wins?” Pendres said nothing in return.

  Aridis rose from his seat and leaned forward until his beard nearly brushed Pendres’s knees.

  “The man who should win is looking forward to meeting you. What shall I tell him of you?” Aridis asked. Pendres sat for several moments in silence with a contemplative look.

  “I wish to consider what you have said for a while before I meet anyone else who may call you friend. Does your demand for my presence afford me a night’s sleep in this inn?”

  Aridis nodded slowly and a small smile touched his lips.

  “Your room has been prepared, and any meals you need are already credited. I will send someone to greet you in the morning and receive your decision.”

  Pendres nodded silently and Aridis left the room.

  7 — Future’s Walk

  Serha walked up to a door she had never approached so early in the morning. It was time, she knew it. Before she could raise her hand to knock, Aridis opened the door and greeted her with a wounded smile while wiping at his wet cheeks. She didn’t want the day to be any more difficult than it already was, so she spoke with as much strength in her voice as she could muster.

  “I feel like
taking a nice walk before the day gets too hot, and I could use some company. Would you please escort a feeble old lady for a trip outside?”

  Aridis nearly broke, but her glare forced him to remain resolute. His lower lip trembled as he smiled.

  “I would walk with you another hundred days.” His voice trembled.

  “You are a sweet old man. Come.” Serha held her thin, strong arm out and took Aridis’s hand in hers.

  They passed through the hallways in the barracks in silence. Not a soul moved in the halls, save for Eublin, who was already too engrossed in his books to be aware of his surroundings and took no notice of the two. It was an almost bitter silence, but Serha welcomed it.

  Her life had been devoted to delivering words of prophecy in faraway lands. Her gift had brought her before the highest seats in all of the lands, and to the lowliest child hidden within the trash behind buildings while looking for warmth.

  She had delivered words of doom and salutations of joy. Once, she had been tasked to deliver ominous news of the coming extinction of an entire race, and she had spoke of births that accompanied new gifts. Words had been her partner through it all; even in the long, lonely walks between destinations, her words had been with her. Words of joy, words of praise, words of training, words of rejoicing, words of love and of death—always she had carried words. It was fitting, in her mind, that this day should be met with the absence of words. It was as if her words were in mourning, and they too longed to feel the loving caress of the wind offering its soothing touch in remembrance of the long, fruitful life she was leaving behind. But unlike man, who mourned by wailing, words offered only silence in condolence.

  The cool breeze came from the east as the two aged friends departed the invisible shelter at the barracks. She faced west, heading into the trees and wishing for a few blooming flowers to greet them, but even the traveler’s companion hid its purple bloom in the early dawn.

  While they walked, she could feel words attempting to gain an audience in the way her companion shifted his gate. She could sense his tentative attempts at communication in the way the air would catch in quick intakes followed by a long slow release. She felt for him, knowing what they both knew, but she savored a few more moments of silence while the smells of the forest lingered in the humid air.

  “When did you realize how close this day was?” Serha’s words were soft, but the breaking of the silence was sharp as she finally bid Aridis to speak.

  “This morning I awoke early and even the wind whispered of my coming pain. I dreamt all night of this day, and there was no denying that it was no dream,” he answered.

  “I’m sorry.” She smiled. “I began this path with the first vision I was given as a child. All pathways led here, for me.”

  “Are you sure there is no other way?” His voice pleaded with her.

  “Our world is on the verge of a great awakening. If we do survive, everything will change—it already began with magic. Today an event takes place that will bring about many different paths in the way Archanans live their lives.”

  “But if this day happens as the stones tell it, nobody will remember you.” His argument was feeble, and his voice portrayed his knowledge of the fact.

  “I know you will remember me; that’s enough for an old woman like me. I must admit that I always hoped for an end like the one that the Seer who brought Osric his first prophecy enjoyed, and I would have loved to be buried below the funeral rune. Serha Aranthian sounds nice, don’t you think?” For the first time, her own lips quivered—the time was close.

  “You can still have that day. Come back with me and spend your last days with an old man who has been waiting for you his whole life.” His pleading took on a desperate quality.

  “What a lovely thought.” She sighed.

  “Damn the hands of time that steer us toward an end we cannot see. Our lives are meant to direct the path of every life that follows, but what of happiness?” Aridis protested vehemently.

  “It is a selfish mind that insists on survival as long as it does not have to endure the sting of unhappiness.”

  “I would settle for death today, if I may have some small measure of a peaceful walk with a mind such as yours.”

  “Then a small measure you shall have, my dear friend.” She could see the hunger for a different resolution in his eyes. Sure, the bright and vibrant color of youth had departed from them a long time ago, but the shimmer of moisture still lent its aid, tempting Serha’s heart to alter her path.

  “How is it that two disparate gifts such as ours can share so much in common that our meeting rekindles feelings of long-lost friendship, in spite of the fact that we had never laid eyes on one another?” She smiled a sad but genuine smile.

  “Magic is a difficult thing to understand,” was his only reply.

  “And you will have another age to ponder all of the meaning it may hold, and you will guide many minds long after I am gone.” She looked over at him with kind, brave eyes.

  “It will be a lonely existence without you.”

  “Aridis, you and I both knew how this day would end when you opened your door to greet me. Could we just enjoy what is left of this walk in one another’s company? Or do you want to continue to sulk right up until the end?” There was nothing accusing in her tone—no malice, no impatience or frustration in her voice. The words were a query of sorts, and the inflections carried nothing more. She just wanted to know how he wished to proceed.

  He faced her with regret in his eyes, and he shook with the desire to share a different path. He searched her eyes for an answer that he couldn’t find. Reluctantly he sighed, tucked his chin to his chest, and closed his eyes while he gathered the courage to proceed.

  “You want to enjoy this trip as if it were any other day?” he asked in all sincerity.

  “If I had but one wish, that would be it.” Serha smiled and nodded as a tear fell from her eye.

  “Then it would be my pleasure to give you what you ask for.” Aridis put his right arm around her shoulders and kissed the tear off of her left cheek. “Can I ask you which flowers are your favorite?”

  “Traveler’s companions have always been my favorite.”

  Aridis bent his creaking knees and plucked one of the purple blossoms from between the long blades of grass along the path. He tucked the flower behind her ear and wrapped an arm around her subtly trembling shoulders. She leaned into his embrace and resumed their stroll.

  As they walked along the path, he held her, the only thing left for him to bring comfort in these last few moments or hours. Both of them knew there was no way to inspire the changes Archana would need without it, but it was no easier to take each step knowing what was to come. Serha shook slightly as Aridis leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek.

  * * *

  “Quickly, place him on the table and get me some water. Put half of it in the pot over the fire, and the other half needs to be chilled—we don’t know what’s wrong yet and I want to be ready,” Bridgett shouted as the group of Hunters brought Aridis’s unconscious body into the room.

  Osric looked on with worry-filled eyes, staying a safe distance out of the way. Nearly everyone who knew Aridis had been informed that they had found him in the woods, bloodied and unable to speak, and were on their way to lend whatever aid they could.

  In moments, Bridgett had cut the robes off of the old man and was wiping every wound clean with a warm cloth to better assess the damage. She worked fast and steady, with practiced patience, while speaking to herself in hushed tones.

  Kenneth joined Osric, mouthing questions about what had happened. Osric shrugged and shook his head, but stood in silence watching Bridgett work. Eublin, Gus, Pebble, Macgowan, and Jane joined in the silent vigil.

  Aridis was breathing at least, and none of the wounds seemed to be life-threatening to Osric.

  “He’s got a nasty bump and bruises on his head, and a few scratches, as if he fell down or was hit over the head by someone. I think he’ll
be fine when he wakes up.” She wrapped his head in a cool cloth and turned to face the group.

  Just as she turned with sad eyes, Aridis whimpered, letting out a long slow whine. His eyes opened slowly, and then came the weeping. His face contorted in agony as his cries rang out.

  “No, no, no.” His voice was soft and pleading. The old man’s chest rose and fell with the ferocity of his cries, while his hands moved to cover his eyes.

  “Aridis, don’t get up. You took a nasty blow to the head. You shouldn’t be out walking in an unfamiliar forest without some company.” Bridgett moved to his side and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Her attempts at consoling the elderly man had no effect. “It’s okay. Everything will be fine after you get some rest.”

  “Serha’s dead!” The words burst out from his mouth between sobs.

  “What?” Osric stepped up to the bed. “Was she with you?”

  Aridis nodded shakily. “She was hunted.” He rolled onto his side.

  “I’m sorry, my friend. We all know how much she meant to you.” Osric attempted to comfort the frail old man, but his own grief and anxiety prevented his efforts from being effective. Osric had come to care for the Seer, admiring her both for her talents and her compassion toward his people. She had savored life, and the thought of it being taken from her was somehow wrong. Though she had lived a long and full life, she was still vibrant and almost playful in her seriousness. It simply wasn’t fair that she had lost so much time that she could have spent with friends and loved ones—time she could have spent giving to the world what only she could give.

  Osric’s grief was heavy, if more subdued, than Aridis’s, but he was also struck by the anxiety of never understanding the visions Serha had seen surrounding the books and the wells around Archana. There was still so much they needed to learn, to see, and now Serha was gone and so was her gift.