The Well of Wyrding (Revenant Wyrd Book 3)

by Travis Simmons

  “My name is Cianna,” she began, not giving them her last name. “I’m from the north and I travel to the Realm of Fire, to the Necromancers’ Mosque.”

  “Ooo,” Pi said. “A necromancer!”

  “Yes, we heard,” Flora said, smiling at Pi’s exuberance. “You travel into my aunt’s realm. Azra Akeed is the Realm Guardian of the Realm of Fire.” Now that she mentioned it, Cianna could see the dark tanned quality to Flora’s skin. She hadn’t thought anything of it, for Flora was such a common name, not one you would expect to come out of the Realm of Fire. She was not as dark as most of the people that lived in that realm, either. Though they could not be called black, the people that lived in the Realm of Fire were still dark. Cianna figured that no matter how much time you spent out of the desert, you never fully lost that inborn tan.

  Cianna didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything and continued eating.

  “We are actually traveling there. We left the wyrder’s academy not long ago and struck out with Flora, who is our teacher. She’s taking us to the Realm of Fire to be with her aunt, in hopes that we can at least find a home there,” Pi informed Cianna.

  After a time they all began to chatter around the fire and the night passed. Cianna was surprised to have found such a group of happy people now, when the lives of wyrders seemed so bleak. It was refreshing.

  “Alright, it’s time Chy and I hit the hay,” Flora said. “Chy, go say goodnight to your sister.” Chy, who had been nearly asleep on Flora’s lap, stumped over to Pi and gave her a big hug and kiss goodnight before retiring with Flora.

  “My parents settled here in the Realm of Earth a few years back,” Pi told Cianna. “I had to transfer out of the wyrder’s academy in the Realm of Water and enroll here. My skill with the language was not that good when I first moved here, and for that reason alone I almost didn’t get admitted. Flora took Chy and me under her care though, and she has been good for us.” Cianna thought Pi had assimilated well; she could barely detect an accent on her at all.

  “Why don’t you just go home, to your parents?” Cianna asked.

  “They live in Brashenar, and since wyrders are being hunted down, I think it would be safer for them if I didn’t return home.”

  Cianna nodded at the wisdom in that.

  “So do you think Azra will give you all a place to live?” Cianna asked as she made up her bedroll next to Pi’s.

  “She has to, or where else will we go?” Cianna had a pretty good idea of two Realm Guardians that would take them all in, but she didn’t say so just yet. She was new to this crowd and didn’t want to tell them anything more than was necessary. That, and she hated making deals with people she liked right off, for who knew how she would feel tomorrow; maybe she wouldn’t want to honor the deal.

  As Cianna settled down to sleep she caught Devenstar watching her across the fire. She thought that maybe things would get more interesting along the way, and with a smirk to herself she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  As the march to the gnomes’ unknown destination continued, Joya slowly made her way back between Angelica and Jovian, Maeven directly behind her. The march was going slow, and at times they thought the gnomes were nowhere around them, but in actuality the gnomes had the ability to appear and disappear at will. Just because they weren’t visible it didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  As they continued to walk, the fog gave no signs of letting up, and frequently the only light they had to see by was the pink light cast by Joya’s orb.

  “We can’t let the gnomes use us as bait, we have to escape,” Joya whispered, hoping the gnomes didn’t hear her. They gave no indication that they had, continuing to glare at the path ahead.

  “They’re elementals,” Angelica said, overwhelmed by the prospect of escaping them. “We can’t use wyrd against them; I’m sure they would revoke their power of protection over our wyrd if we tried. Also, they can travel through the earth, just look at the way they keep coming and going.”

  “Angie, you three don’t have to worry about that,” Maeven muttered behind them. “You’re anakim after all.” They chose not to hear him, still not able to come to grips with their angelic halves. All three of the Neferis youths thought of themselves as purely human and in need of the protection of beings not reliant on the Well of Wyrding.

  “The only other alternative is to let them tie us up and wait for Porillon to come. And I have a feeling that they are leading us north when we need to go south.” Joya cast a glance back at Maeven for confirmation.

  “Actually more northwest, but definitely not in the direction we should be going.” The horses snorted behind him as another gnome puffed out of sight, to be replaced by three on the other side of their steeds.

  “So what are we going to do?” Angelica asked.

  “Well, I don’t want to openly attack them, but we need to try to get away from them,” Joya said.

  “But how?” Jovian asked. “They can travel through the earth, like Angelica said, I imagine instantly.” Another glance at Maeven and a nod told him that he was right. “So then how are we going to do it?”

  Joya seemed to be thinking, then shook her head, before it dawned on her. In her excitement it was hard for Joya to keep her voice low enough not to be heard. “Jovian, you are terrible with using your wyrd. You saw how it affected them all when you cast that simple spell; it nearly blinded them.”

  Jovian thought he knew where she was going with this and didn’t like it one bit. “But it nearly did the same to everyone.”

  “I can take care of that,” Joya reassured him.

  “Won’t they feel you working your wyrd?” Angelica asked.

  “That’s a good question. I honestly don’t know,” Joya answered truthfully. “I would say yes if we used earth wyrd, but otherwise maybe not, unless they were anticipating it and feeling for it.”

  “We really won’t know until we try it,” Maeven said quietly. “The best chance we have is to do all of the wyrding at the same time. Can you work your end quickly, Joya?” he asked.

  “I believe so,” she said, looking concerned.

  “Then when do we do this?” Jovian said, rubbing his now-sweaty palms on his trousers, his stomach nearly sick with nerves.

  The gnomes, it was becoming apparent, had noticed that Joya was no longer walking where she had been moments before. They began studying the group with increased annoyance, but Angelica thought it might be because the little orb Joya had wyrded was buzzing frantically around the heads of the gathered gnomes. It appeared that the orb was tied to Joya in an emotional way, so what she was feeling was reflected openly in its actions.

  “Okay,” Joya said. “Now!”

  Jovian frantically fumbled with his wyrd, and as the gnomes began to converge on them, he felt a calm, reassuring presence swell up from somewhere within him. This time it didn’t take complete control of him, as it had the night in the Lunimara, but instead it dimmed his frustration and fear. He felt the channels between himself and Angelica open wide, as they had that night, but instead of becoming as one they stayed in their own separate minds.

  Angelica fed him her wyrd, giving him all that she could, willing it into her brother. She wasn’t even sure if she was doing it right, but as that other presence was forcing her actions, she figured something was happening. The stigmatas on her palms began to burn and prickle as they normally did. She gasped through the pain and pushed harder.

  As Angelica and Jovian worked together they felt a wyrded shield slide into place over their heads. Before long Jovian could not hold the wyrd within himself anymore and it exploded out of his burning hands, lighting the forest in a blinding red flash. At the same moment the pink orb Joya had created became unimaginably large, rolling through the clearing and literally knocking gnomes this way and that. The fear and anxiety that Joya was feeling affected the orb in a most topsy-turvy way and it pounced around the trail, squashing gnomes into the ground and knocking some completely off their feet, s
ending them scattering and flying into the woods.

  Needless to say, they escaped, though they had to kick a few befuddled gnomes out of their way to do so. As they were running off, a new orb floating above Joya’s head, they could hear the curses and rummaging of the gnomes. They figured they had a few more moments left before the gnomes were on them again.

  The consuming presence that seemed to come to Angelica and Jovian’s aid when they needed it most began to slip away. However, Jovian noticed that with each coming of the other mind, the channels between Angelica and himself were forced more and more open. He wondered if soon they would be nothing more than two people controlled by one overbearing mind.

  He wondered if the presence was a blessing after all.

  “What did you do with the orb?” Angelica asked her sister.

  “I didn’t do anything, it just happened!” Joya sounded as bewildered as the rest of them.

  They ran back the way they had been brought by the gnomes for what felt like hours, Maeven in the lead, his sword drawn in case they came across any danger. Jovian, Angelica, and Joya were fast on his heels. They dodged this way and that, ducking under branches and jumping over fallen trees as the fog slid around them. Joya cast her hand forward and the orb obeyed, flying to the front of the group to lead Maeven in his flight through the Sacred Forest.

  In time they stopped in a ring of willows and collapsed, out of breath. There was no indication of the gnomes, but still Jovian fell to the ground, looking in the direction they had just come, wondering where the gnomes were, and why they weren’t giving chase. It couldn’t be that their wyrd had affected them that greatly, could it?

  “Where are they?” Angelica asked.

  “I’m not sure, but I’m counting us lucky that they’re not following us,” Joya said. “Maybe they gave up?”

  “You sound a little too hopeful,” Jovian told her, and stood once more with the help of an ancient, moss-covered willow that Maeven was looking at curiously. “Is something wrong?” Jovian asked him, but the other man shook his head.

  “We lost the horses back there.”

  “I’m sure they’re in good hands,” Jovian said.

  “Can you be sure? We weren’t in very good hands,” Maeven argued.

  “No, but the horses mean nothing to Porillon and they are creatures of the earth, the gnomes will take good care of them … I hope.”

  The wind played through the willow circle lazily, eddying the fog which was much thinner inside the stand of trees.

  “So what now?” Angelica asked. “Do we rest here or move on?”

  Joya watched Maeven studying the trees and frowned, the muscles of her face twitching oddly. “I’m not sure. I think we could use a break, but I don’t know how long the gnomes will hold off.”

  “It doesn’t matter, the gnomes can catch us anywhere, right?” Jovian asked.

  “If it is gnomes you fear, there is no need to worry about them here,” a resonant voice spoke from around them. They turned to see where the man was; only there was no man to find. They noticed, a little bewildered, that the voice had not so much come from the air around them as through the earth. They had heard the voice, but it had been more of a vibration under them than tones on the air.

  “What was that?” Angelica asked, coming to her feet and loosening her mace. They all stared in wonder at the ground

  “There is no need for weapons,” the voice hummed through them again, and the willows moved lazily in the breeze. “There is no harm coming from our quarter. We seek to protect you, children of the LaFaye, no matter what our youthful gnomes feel.”

  “What do you mean youthful?” Joya said.

  “The averanym,” Maeven said gleefully. “I knew there was something different about these trees, they looked too … wyrd.”

  “That we are, the elders of the race of gnomes, and are feared by them as much as revered. We are what become of the Gnome Kings, the Germinant Gobs, once they settle and pass from life as a gnome.

  “We have stood guard here when the elves themselves were not a thought in the minds of the Mikak’e. We know of your blood, and of your intentions.” The voice was clear, commanding, and all the LaFaye youths remembered lessons with Destra. They knew the averanym could take any plant form they desired, which meant that the ring of willows they stood within was one such gathering of ancient elementals. “Pharoh and Sylvie were grand masters of the Goddess. We revered them, us who are revered by many within this realm. We know the importance of your wyrd, and will not let it be tainted and abused by our youth. It is lucky you stumbled upon us when you did.”

  Joya looked to her feet and noticed the flowers perking up there. She wondered if all the plants within the area were averanym, for indeed these very flowers seemed to be sniffing her, as if they were scenting her worth or basking in her fragrance, which she doubted was very pretty after so long without a bath. Still, she could not help but smile at them.

  “You came to our border just after your display of wyrd, which is why the gnomes would not follow, for they could not. We knew their intentions, and stopped them from coming within our borders, stopped them from retrieving you for their foul plans.”

  “For that we are most grateful,” Maeven said.

  The averanym did not respond, yet there was an air of approval about all of them that told them their words were accepted.

  “It might be wise, weary traveler, for you to seek shelter here for the night. There will be no need for watches, for none intent on harm can enter here while we stand watch.” The voice was soothing, calming, and instantly they all felt the air around them thicken, as if sleep itself was something tangible, something contagious like the yawns they were all trying, with little success, to stifle.

  One by one they all relinquished their hold on wakefulness and crumpled to the ground in sleep. Not even the thought that soon Porillon could be on them kept them from sleep’s sweet embrace that night. Their dreams were filled with visions so pleasant that they never wished to wake. For the life of them they could not remember when was the last time they had a truly good sleep free of some ominous dream.

  The next morning when they finally woke they were greeted by the most amazing breakfast. It tasted all the better, not only because it was taken in a most fantastic grove, but also because they had not had a meal of this caliber in such a long time.

  The breakfast consisted miraculously of all the things they liked most, including coffee and cream. Bacon and eggs, ham and toast, porridge and fruit, butter and bread, all of this they had. Odd as it was for such items to be found in the grove, none of them asked how it came to be there, greeting them in a most welcome fashion. There were no complaints, for the bread was still warm, and the butter fresh, and their stomachs growled in thanks to whatever power brought this to their palates.

  In time, bellies full and wide awake, the group began to cast around wondering what to do next. They were certain that as long as they were in the Grove of the averanym they were safe, but also the longer they rested here the closer Porillon got, and all she really had to do was wait outside the ring of willows for them to leave.

  “There is no need to leave right now,” the resonance came through their bodies again as the averanym spoke. “Your steeds are on their way here as we speak. Friends of ours have come to our aid, have reproached the gnomes, and gathered your horses for easier traveling from here.”

  “Who are they?” Jovian asked. “Those who are bringing our horses?”

  But they were not to find out until the evening, when it seemed that they would be staying another night. Out of nowhere more food appeared before them, and they feasted yet again, wondering if possibly it was the wyrd of the place realizing what they wanted or needed, and providing it for them.

  They heard the horses at about the same time they came ushering through the ring of willows. First was Maeven’s white stallion Ernet, followed by Jovian’s dappled stallion Methos, Joya’s tan mare Daisy, and Angelica’s roan st
allion Jesse.

  It wasn’t the sight of their horses, appearing for all the world now cleaner than they had when the party had left them behind, that shocked them. Instead what gave them pause were the creatures that led the horses into the clearing.

  The skin of the feminine creatures leading the horses from the danger of the gnomes was like wood, weathered, creased, and knotted, yet as beautiful as any tree could ever be. Over the wood of their bodies laid thin bark of differing colors, from the shade of poplar trees to the dark, near blackness of wet pine. Their fingers nothing more than twigs, pliant yet strong, and longer than human fingers.

  A few of the women were bald, but the majority of them had long willow leaves that extended from their heads like hair should, while others had various leaves that made up the hair of their head. The willow leaves drifted aimlessly around their bodies as if caught in a perpetual wind. When they walked it was like listening to wind blowing through the forest.

  The women let the horses go, and each of them made their way over to their waiting humans. None of the horses attempted to graze, though they were hungry, for they realized the near-sanctity of these woods.

  “Ah, the Wooden Shepherdesses arrive at last,” the averanym said.

  “Dryads!” Angelica said in awe, a leg of chicken still clutched in her hands. She was suddenly aware of how graceless she appeared. The thought ruined her appetite, and she laid her food down on the ground, taking a deep breath.

  The rest of the group watched as the dryads came further into the clearing, moving as gracefully and beautiful as trees blowing in the wind, a near-liquid movement to their limbs that one would not think possible in forms so stiff. Of course some of them, like the dryads of pine, had a hard time moving as gracefully as the others for the wood they were comprised of was harder.

  One dryad came toward them. There was no doubt by the white color of her, scored with strikes of brown-black bark, that she was the representation of a poplar. She had no nose, only slits where a nose should have been, and she had no ears, only knotholes where ears would rest on a human. Her hair bunched around her a little less like silk in the wind as the others’, and instead appeared as velvety emerald leaves falling down to the back of her knees. Her hands reached out toward Jovian almost imploringly, as if her fingers were strumming a harp, or she was trying to grasp the strands of wyrd surrounding Jovian in her twig-fingers. Her mouth and eyes, though full and strangely wide, were the deepest black Jovian could ever remember seeing, like pools of ink that he could fall right into. While it was an eerie color to see on a living being it was not frightening, but instead hypnotic.