The Well of Wyrding (Revenant Wyrd Book 3)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
What Now?
Sneak Peak of A Guardian of Shadows
About Travis
Copyright April, 2014 by Travis Simmons
The Revenant Wyrd Saga Book Three:
The Well of Wyrding
Published by: Wyrding Ways Press
Cover Design by: Najla Qamber Designs
Formatting by: Wyrding Ways Press
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual places, events, and people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The Great Realms felt the penetration of the Well of Wyrding as one maddening collective. Rivers of malaise crept into the minds of every human wyrder the Realms over. Corruption flowed into the repositories of wyrd inside the body, and when used, they poisoned the mind. Their link to wyrd was now like a cancer, rotting away at their power until nothing was left but complete Chaos.
In an attempt to slow the corruption, the Realm Guardians sent notice to all academies and all wyrded establishments. Use of wyrd was to be kept to a minimum. What bit of wyrd was used was done so at great risk. With the unpredictability of wyrd, even a simple wyrded candle flame, if it worked at all, could burn down a home.
The Wyrd Academies were kept open, but the students and teachers weren't allowed to use wyrd. Instead what workshops there were changed from hands-on to book learning.
Beverly Stonch taught wyrd history to the novices in the wyrd academy in the Ivory City. Currently she stood looking out her tower classroom towards the eastern horizon, where her mind was often drawn these days. It was thought that the Well of Wyrding was in that direction, but as far as she knew, no one knew where it resided any longer.
"Mrs. Stonch?" a first-year girl named Elizabeth asked her. "Can you tell us about the Well of Wyrding?"
Beverly tore her eyes from the horizon with a grimace. She rubbed the lemniscate at the back of her neck. Lately it had taken to burning, and when it burned her eyes were inevitably drawn to the horizon.
I hope it’s cleansed soon, she thought with another glance over her shoulder. The problem was, Beverly didn’t think anyone knew where the entrance was. Well someone must; they poisoned it, right?
"Very well," she said. "The Well of Wyrding is a large well filled with wyrd," she told them. As she spoke, her thoughts lingered on the well, which she had never seen. She could imagine it, though, and she described it to her students. The Tree of Life, Evyndelle, was supported in the wyrd of the well, fed by the wyrd, and recycled used wyrd into the basin.
"The Evyndelle is made of every tree ever known to man, and some that haven't come into being yet. It is thought the food of Goddess grows on its boughs." She gestured widely. "The tree represents the stages of life. The trunk symbolizes the earthly plane, and the topmost branches represent the afterlife, the Ever After."
"What about the roots?" Tommy, a second year, asked.
"Is it true the roots hold the fate of all mankind?" Elizabeth turned back from Tommy.
Beverly nodded. "It’s like a giant family tree. You have systems of roots for each family, and then a branch for each person. When someone dies, their root stops."
"You act like you've seen it," Jared scoffed.
Beverly scowled. She hated that kid. She closed her eyes and turned her head, easing the kink she felt there. Her lemniscate flared, and she pressed a hand to the base of her neck.
"Mrs. Stonch, are you okay?" Margaret asked.
"Where were we?" Beverly asked. She felt it again, like the night the well had been penetrated. The slight vibrating in her stomach, like nerves running rampant. A small twisting of her mind, and nausea. Her upper lip started sweating, and she had to sit down to stop the vertigo.
Elizabeth was speaking.
"Yes, the well—" but her words were cut short by a startling cry. Beverly crumpled to the floor, but what stood up again was no longer Mrs. Stonch, only a shell of who she had been moments before. Letting her mind linger too long on the well had allowed the corruption easier access.
The children screamed as wyrd licked out of her body, striking random spots around the classroom. But their screams were like a beacon to the Chaotic black wyrd flashing here and there from their teacher, and soon Beverly Stonch was the only one left standing.
Jevic eased the door open and looked into the room from behind its security. The crazed teacher had done a number on the classroom. None of the students had gone through their change yet, so the Chaotic wyrd she released on the tiny room had been sufficient to kill them all.
He was worried she would still be in there, but he didn't see any evidence of her.
"Maybe she's behind the door," his partner, Caleb, whispered behind him.
"Don't be foolish," Lydia said, and pushed past both of them. Shoving the door open, she stepped in. And then jumped back as a bolt of black lightning struck the floor.
Jevic slammed the door as a battering of wyrd attacked the other side.
"Happy now?" he asked Lydia, narrowing his eyes at her.
"What? At least we know she's in there now, right?"
"You are going to get us killed someday," Caleb complained.
"And to think, you're our investigator," Jevic said.
Lydia laughed.
Jevic frowned. "What are we going to do about her?" he asked when the attacking eased.
"Cut her head off?" Lydia said as if it was something really simple to do.
"Be my guest." Jevic motioned to the door.
"This is why I think wyrders should be allowed on the force," a brunette said from behind them. "Constables, please step aside."
"But you can't use wyrd!" Lydia protested.
Headmistress Faith rolled her eyes, unsheathing a short sword from her side. She pushed open the door, and the black wyrd found her. She cast up a shield that allowed her to near Beverly Stonch.
The three constables ducked behind the door, sure that Faith was about to meet her end. Inside, the maelstrom continued for several seconds before cutting off abruptly. Something thumped against the floor, and was then followed by another, heavier thump. Jevic was sure it was the sound of a head, and then a body, hitting the floor.
"Now," Faith said, leaving the classroom and tracing her way back down the stairs. "Continue your investigation."
Jevic Andrews swallowed hard and followed Lydia and Caleb into the room.
"What do you think, Guardian?" Payden asked.
"I think we need to contact the Board of Wyrding, have them start evacuating wyrders to a safe haven," Aladestra told her assistant. Taking the frail m
an by the arm, she led him away from the gathered constables and the slain children. The hems of her golden robes were soaked in blood; she would need to get rid of them. She pushed the thought out of her mind. "Tell them that the corruption of the well is spreading into wyrders, turning them into husks of what they once were, bodies through which the Chaos in the well can work on the lands. The last time, they were called caustics."
Payden knew what the corruption in the well meant. Wyrders would touch their wyrd at great risk now. Simple workings could turn catastrophic, if they worked at all. And each working would call more and more Chaotic wyrd into their bodies, until they turned out like the teacher. Payden turned and looked at the slaughtered classroom.
"The caustics?" he asked. "They are returning?"
Aladestra turned with a rustling of skirts and surveyed the carnage. "I'm afraid so." She sighed. "Last time there was fear, people started hunting down wyrders and killing them so they didn't have to worry about the dangers of wyrd. It will spread like wildfire." She brushed an errant strand of blonde hair from her eyes, and led Payden further down the stairs. “Sorcerers can survive a great many things, only dying when their head is cut off. The hunters knew this, and some took great pleasure in testing that theory. Burnings, drowning, hangings — they all happened last time. Beheading occurred only after the torment was through.”
Payden swallowed hard, and was silent for a time.
"Isn't there anything we can do?" he finally asked.
"Yes, pray that it is cleansed soon."
"Where is this safe haven to be?" Payden turned his mind to something that he could do.
"I will trust the judgment of the board." Aladestra said, turning back to Payden. "We've always had shelter in the Ravine of Aaridnay. If that’s still available, then we will use it. We will still need a small staff of the board left here; they can take shelter in my suite in the Ivory Tower. Tell them the corruption is strengthening; what little use of wyrd we allowed before needs to stop completely. It won't stop the corruption, but it will stall it."
"We will need to increase the constables’ hours. They will need to help keep all citizens safe, wyrd or not. Double patrols, and call up reserves." As Aladestra spoke, Payden made notes.
Two flights down, she came to the skywalk landing where she could cross to the Ivory Tower. She stopped halfway across the bridge and looked out at her city: the Ivory City. The peaks of ivory buildings were painted a honey gold in the morning sun. It was hard to imagine what was going to come from the corruption. What messes would she have to clean up? What lives would be destroyed?
"Guardian, am I excused?" Payden asked.
Aladestra nodded. "Yes, you have things to take care of. Thank you."
She needed to contact the other Guardians and let them know what she had seen, what was coming. Her feet found the path to her office high in the Ivory Tower, even if her mind wasn't with them.
“Dear Goddess.” Dalah came to a halt where a door should have been. She stood at the entrance of the altar room, deep inside the Mirror of the Moon. “What happened here?” She remembered this place from times past with the statue of the fertile Goddess standing in the very back of the room, her arms spread, welcoming all the parishioners to worship. The lotus flower lamps filled with unquenchable naolyn oil flickered in the pool at the statue’s feet. The sound of twittering birds and tree limbs creaking in the morning breeze could be heard through the gigantic hole in the ceiling. The hole had been created when the roof caved in, or at least Dalah imagined, since wreckage of the ceiling littered the floor of the altar room.
Though one could only speculate about the fallen beams, the shattered windows, the large graphite-like stone of the Lunimara, and the other general debris one would expect from a collapsed ceiling, Rosalee could see what happened clearly, for it was within the past that her gaze fell.
There was lightning, and there had been fire. The water of the bubbling pool at the feet of the Goddess had at one point been used as a shield against an insane amount of heat flung from Angelica’s hands. There had been little need for weapons. Even if they had been able to use them, Rosalee doubted they would have done any good against the dalua Porillon. Angelica and Jovian used wyrd as if they were the most powerfully trained sorcerers in the world. The problem was, they weren’t trained at all, and had shown little wyrded ability prior to this.
There was a growl from outside. With a hesitant glance at the shattered window, Grace decided it was nothing more than a normal animal and turned her attention back to the ruin of the room.
“I don’t think I need to tell you of the great battle that took place here,” Rosalee said. Her eyes were still focused on a past when the room was whole and three people battled within.
Three people but four consciousnesses. . .
She saw the lightning, the fire, the water. All of the elements on display in this very room, as Porillon had tried to eradicate Jovian and Angelica from the living world . . . and failed.
“No, I don’t think you need tell us what happened,” Grace confirmed, bringing Rosalee’s vacant eyes back to the present. What drapes had not been torn hung blackened and burned from their poles, the walls and floor also charred from intense heat. In fact, the only thing that remained untouched in the room was the statue of the Goddess.
With a few rapid blinks of her pale green eyes Rosalee shook herself and was once more back in the present.
“I don’t think it’s wise that you use your powers just yet,” Dalah said, looking around them as if the very room itself was going to spew forth numerous dalua and attack them. “It’s not stable yet, and I’m sure that we have all barely escaped the horrors that the rest of the Realms are facing by some sheer luck of the Goddess.”
“It’s not sheer luck which has allowed us to escape,” Grace informed her. “It has been our intelligence. She is right, Rose, now is not the time to become flippant with our wyrd. We need to stay focused on the present. I know that your mental abilities are born out of your extensive use of the flying ointment, but I’ve never been fully convinced that there wasn’t some kind of wyrd in your scrying. I would not like to test that theory now, not with what we’re facing. We must persevere, and be resolute in the non-use of our wyrd.
“Besides,” Grace sniffed, settling her gray robes about her with a shift of her shoulders. “There will come a time soon enough for us to use our wyrd, a time when I’m sure we will be forced to use it, and I think we should reserve all our wyrd for that time. There’s a good chance that we’ll never come out of this, we must all understand that.”
“It would be a willing sacrifice,” Rosalee said, and Dalah looked to her feet. Grace knew that it would not be such a willing sacrifice for Dalah.
“You had to have known that it might come to that, Dalah,” Grace said. “I know what you are leaving behind, and that you love your immortality more than anything save Fairview Heights.”
“It’s not that I love my immortality more than anything else, Grace, it’s that I’m not willing to lose the two of you yet. Despite you being an insufferable sow.” She sniffed haughtily and rolled her shoulders as if rolling off her bad mood. “You say it so casually, as if death is nothing.”
“It’s the final rest with the Goddess for a life well-lived. Even so, however, I’m not ready to die yet,” Grace confirmed.
“Besides, you have said it, I’m immortal, and so I will not get the fair exchange of death for my services. No, I will be forever scarred.” It was true; Dalah would live through whatever they faced, which might not be something to look forward to.
As they stepped further into the room they had to pick their way around splintered wood, making Grace think of a huge tree being blasted apart all over the floor at their feet. From the carvings Grace could see on some of the larger pieces, she would wager this was what had become of the door.
“Just like their mother,” Dalah commented. “Slash your way through, and leave destruction in your wake.”
“And that is?”
“Come on, you know that the entrance to the Well of Wyrding lies within this room. All the rubble needs to be cleaned away first, a task I would not wish to give to the mercy of your wyrd, Dalah, as you will need all you have in store for the future task. Besides, the Goddess only knows what would happen with wyrd’s current state of flux.” Grace peered up through the gap the ceiling had created when it fell, to where the light of the rising sun bathed the tips of trees high above. The birds lamented the early morning sky, tinged in hues of orange, pink and lavender.
Grace thought then of the fairies that had led her here; about now they would go into suspended animation, without the light of the moon to keep their little bodies going. Sylvie’s children were being led by a fairy, which meant they would be settling down to sleep just about now, if Porillon had not already caught up to them and finished them off. Grace looked back at the room with a thought that maybe that was not the case at all, maybe Porillon was the one being finished off. After all it had been Porillon the ceiling had fallen on; Grace knew because the sorceress had come out of the building last, looking rather beaten up.
“Not necessarily,” Rosalee disagreed, breaking the spell of the moment. “Whenever Pharoh showed us the Well of Wyrding it was in this room, yet not of this world, almost as if this chamber were the portal that transported us to the well.” The redhead looked at the other two. “Remember, the Well of Wyrding is found within a grand hall; it doesn’t look like this place at all. It is at the end of that hall we always found the well.”
“Even so, we would still have to assemble here, and at our age I do not trust stealth to keep us atop all that fallen stone.” Grace pointed to the glowing masses of stone piled twice her height in the center of the room. The head and hands of the Goddess statue at the back of the temple could be barely seen in the glowing light of the lamps Grace knew rested at her feet. Though the stone had toppled from its original foundation, it still glowed softly in response to the moon, now fading due to the rising sun.