The Well of Wyrding (Revenant Wyrd Book 3)

by Travis Simmons

  “It could be that we just think the trees are greener here because we have not seen anything but white fog for the last few weeks.” Jovian looked around, answering a question he knew they all must be thinking. “Do you think Fog Month is finally drawing to a close?”

  “Has it been six weeks already?” Angelica asked, coming to a halt as her eyes adjusted to the new sights. “Wasn’t it midday when we were in the fog?” Angelica asked them all, her breathing erratic.

  “Yes, it was,” Joya answered as she looked around, her breath feeling heavy, her head slightly light. She noticed the same thing Angelica had — within this new wood the light was fading rather quickly, as if they were in the late evening.

  “It could just be that the trees are so thick here,” Jovian said.

  “That could be it,” Angelica agreed.

  “The air is different also, as if we are at a high elevation,” Jovian commented.

  “I think I can see mountains just up ahead,” Joya said, walking to a part of the path where the trees parted enough to glimpse the snowy peaks of a mountain range.

  “Did we get off track?” Jovian asked, coming to stand beside his elder sister to look through the canopy with her. “We couldn’t be in the Barrier Mountains, could we? I don’t remember climbing at all.”

  “We couldn’t have,” Angelica said joining them. “Tegaris has been leading us the entire time.” Which hadn’t been exactly true; none of them had been able to sleep well since Porillon’s recent attack and had instead decided to travel through the day, keeping up the same track Tegaris had led them on. As foolish as this was, traveling without their guide, they figured they were safer from attack while traveling than while sitting still. “At least we couldn’t have gotten that far off track,” she corrected herself.

  “No, the strangeness that we are feeling is wyrd. This place is absolutely filthy with it, and yet it is not the corrupt wyrd from the Well of Wyrding, either. I think I know what this place is,” Joya said as a welcoming feeling flooded through them. She felt pure wyrd for the first time since Porillon had poisoned the Well of Wyrding. This place seemed like home, as if it were more a part of them than even the plantation had been. “This is our ancestral home; the Shadows Grove.”

  The moment that she said this they knew it was true. They looked around them and at once the hard dirt walkways with their pine needle carpeting, the thick green foliage, flowering trees, tall bushes and warm hospitality was familiar to them, as if this had been a part of them since even before their births. This forest, mysterious and unknowable, was like a trusted friend. They knew that no matter how long they were to stay among the branches, they would never be able to learn all of the secrets the Shadows Grove possessed.

  They stood in awe at the scenery around them, which looked large enough to harbor giants, for truly the trees were larger than any they could imagine. The sounds of animals were welcome after having traveled so long in dead silence. Birds chirped noisily overhead even as rabbits and deer dashed through the bushes. One deer bounded out of the woods and stopped in the trail, looking at them as if curious about what they were. It truly had been long enough since there had been humans there that maybe the animals didn’t recognize what they were, for the deer began walking toward them, cautiously at first, its deep brown eyes watching them. Angelica thought that within those eyes she could almost glimpse the secrets of life and nature, so wild and knowing was the look within them.

  As if realizing what they were, finally the deer gave ground, turned and dashed off in a zigzagging pattern up the trail away from them. Then, suddenly, the deer flashed a deep blue, and became a ball of light hovering in the path ahead, bobbing around playfully. Jovian was not sure what it was, but he got the impression that it was once more watching them.

  “I do not think that is a normal deer.” Jovian itched the back of his head, perplexed.

  “Whatever gave you that clue?” Joya asked with a smirk, the muscles of her face twitching slightly.

  “What should we do?” Angelica asked, but Joya already started moving forward. “Do you think that’s wise?” Angelica called after her, but Joya strode away from them, turned left, and disappeared within the underbrush.

  Jovian and Angelica gasped, for she had not disappeared into the brush, but had disappeared by merely touching the brush. Angelica dashed forward, but Jovian halted her.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Joya’s gone!” she said in exasperation, as if it had escaped his notice.

  “I know, but I don’t feel as though there’s anything wrong.” Once he said it, Angelica could feel it too. There was a sense of calm that permeated this place, infusing them with serenity and peace like they had never known. There was no need to worry, for there was nothing here that would harm them, nothing here that would cause them stress. They needed only be, and follow that beautiful light. This was, after all, the home of their mother and aunt. The very home, it was said, that might have created itself merely for their use. If there was ever to be a less malignant place for the LaFaye children, wouldn’t it be the Shadows Grove?

  “We’ve gotten into trouble before by believing something that seemed too good to be true,” Angelica told Jovian as they took their first tentative steps toward the bobbing blue orb.

  “We’ve also gotten into trouble countless times by following bobbing orbs of light,” he smirked.

  “If this is our death, then I will go happily,” Angelica said, and Jovian had to agree.

  As they neared the end of the trail and the bobbing blue light, the orb dashed off, shooting with incredible speed across an overgrown clearing. However, once Angelica and Jovian entered the clearing, a most amazing thing occurred.

  A gigantic building began to appear. It wasn’t as if the building suddenly came into being, but instead vines and leaves that had seemed to build a great wall across the clearing from them began to abate. The dead leaves and vines of the wall decomposed rapidly back into the earth as stone walls were revealed. The stone of the building was grimy and dingy, but even as they watched it became pristine as the day it was cast. Flowers and bushes rapidly grew in the courtyard of the large building.

  Angelica peered at the flowers and bushes within the courtyard and shook her head. The flowers, as the trees, were incredibly large, and she bet that they would stand, if not up to her shoulders, at least to her elbows. This abnormal size was the way of everything here, and Angelica felt for a moment that she had shrunk, or that she was just not tall enough. It was not the first time she had ever felt this way; she remembered keenly being in the Realm of the Dead and standing before Baba Yaga’s place.

  A dilapidated sign hanging from the archway righted itself. The wood of the sign reconstituted and once more read in curving script: The Haven.

  “That’s the tavern Grace was telling us about,” Angelica said to Jovian. They stared in awe at the sprawling, three-story building. Through the large windows Angelica could see a fire crackling in welcome in the hearth and the smell of freshly baked bread issued from the tavern to her nose. Was it possible that there was someone in there? Well, there had to be, right? The only alternative was that the building had made the fire and was preparing a meal and that was just absurd…

  They were too interested in the building to notice the other changes that were taking place around the clearing.

  Bushes and flowers seemed to perk up, reaching for the sun. Trees stretched wide and shivered in an unfelt wind. All around them the forest came to life, welcoming one of the sacred blood back home. It was as if this were truly the first time since Pharoh and Sylvie had died that the Shadows Grove was alive.

  Joya appeared suddenly before the door of the Haven just as she had disappeared, and Jovian called out her name, but she didn’t hear him. Instead she grabbed the crescent-moon door handle, turned it, and stepped into the warm golden depths of the Haven. Angelica and Jovian started to follow, but the blue orb bobbed eagerly again to their right. With
an uncertain glance at one another they followed the orb.

  Angelica and Jovian found themselves approaching the orb once more, only to see it shoot off into the woods, up yet another winding path. It paused now and then to make sure they followed; that they didn’t lose sight of it, though Angelica was unable to understand how they were to lose sight of a pulsating blue light in the growing darkness of the evergreen grove.

  “It would be good if we had some light,” Angelica commented, and suddenly another orb sprang to life, only this time directly over their heads, bobbing like a little sun spitting light out all around them in a soft golden glow.

  “It would be good if I had a thousand gold!” Jovian commented gaily, but nothing happened, and Angelica laughed at him.

  “I think it can tell what’s necessary,” she said.

  As they walked their attention was drawn to other paths that wound off in either direction. To their right they saw a large manor, and like with everything else the manor house, made artfully out of each color of the four elements, began to reshape. The rotten wood became whole again and fused back together, the paint became lush and fresh once more in such a manner that their eyes could not have followed the revivification if they had tried. The shutters and glass mended and sat themselves aright with a strange tinkling noise, almost as if the breaking of the glass was flowing backward even as time ran forward. The large porch become sturdy and level again, and lights began winking on within the massive building that Angelica was sure could have housed a hundred people comfortably.

  They watched the house rebuild itself in awe, even as they had watched the Haven, and no matter how many times that evening they saw things wyrd themselves whole once more and become livable, Angelica and Jovian would never get used to it.

  By the time they reached the end of the path, the orb was entering a large keep built into the side of the mountain. Outside, a huge fountain stood, though it looked in grave disrepair, moss growing all around it and within its basin. The iron gate of the keep looked just as bad as the fountain, and Angelica was amazed that the keep was even standing because the stone which comprised the foundation looked crumbled and little more than dust in some parts.

  Once Angelica and Jovian entered the courtyard of the keep, the Shadows Grove worked its wyrd. The fountain sprang to life, shooting geysers of water into the air, and where the water fell musically it erased all traces of the moss which had previously been there. The clearing of the moss spread quickly from within the basin to the moss which clung to the sides and outside of the bowl. The gate seemed to instantly clean itself, and the stones of the keep became more substantial and sturdy.

  Inside one of the many picture windows on the ground floor Angelica and Jovian witnessed a light flicker on. They hesitated. The idea that someone was in there was one that filled them with curiosity and fear at the same time. They didn’t think they would come to harm in the Shadow’s Grove, but they also weren’t sure.

  They hesitated for a time at the partially opened doors, wanting to step in, but at the same time afraid for some unknown reason of what might be inside. Around the door they could see the pulsating light from the orb that was just out of sight. They could also see other lights, firelight, that had nothing to do with the orb. Glancing back at the darkening forest behind them and the nocturnal sounds that were starting to stir they took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

  The blue orb hovered in the center of the long entrance hall. The hall was made out of some rich gray stone, and decorated with blue hangings. The golden rug beneath their feet, which looked to be Balageshian, was thick and full of luster.

  The opposite end of the hall ended in a large interior court, but they could not see the details of what was within that court. Lining the hall to either side were numerous doors, and Angelica and Jovian wondered where they led.

  “To various sitting rooms and libraries,” they heard a woman say within their head as well as outside of them in a strange, echoing way. “Here, let’s make this easier.” Their attention was drawn to the blue orb, for that was the only other thing in the hall with them that they could see.

  With the words a dizziness came to them. Angelica felt weak for a moment, and took hold of Jovian’s arm as the floor heaved beneath her feet and her head swam sickeningly. After the vertigo had passed Angelica cleared her throat and stood erect once more.

  Even as the sensation left them, the light of the orb dimmed and became velveteen. It wasn’t glowing anymore, but was now pulsing with different movement. It extended down to the ground, and shifted and shuttered. They were not sure how it happened, for they had been watching the whole time, but at once the shift was suddenly complete, and before them stood a woman of medium height and small frame.

  The color of the orb, one of the richest blues either of them had ever seen, had become this woman’s gown, cut low over the breast with tight arms and bodice, but flowing skirts, all made out of crushed velvet. Her light coffee-colored hair was held back from her face by a silver coronet, and a thick braid extended down her back, interwoven with silken scarves of the same blue, and silver.

  She folded long bejeweled fingers at her waist and smiled at them. Her amber lupine eyes, so like that of their sister, took them in lovingly. Angelica and Jovian stared back at her pale form in awe. They knew who this woman was, and they didn’t need her confirmation moments later.

  “Hello, children. I’m Sylvie LaFaye, your mother.” There was a moment in which they stared at her, and she allowed them time to come to grips with who she truly was before the growling started. From behind their mother padded a silver wolf larger than any they had ever seen, its eyes the same amber as Sylvie’s. It stopped when she placed a hand on its head. The wolf was easily taller than Sylvie’s waist. “And this is the true Misha,” she informed them.

  “However, there is a lot that must be explained, and answers that must be given. I ask that you hold off on that for a moment as we make ourselves comfortable,” Sylvie held out her hand, indicating with grace the door that she stood directly beside. She stepped within, and a moment latter Jovian and Angelica had come back to themselves enough to follow.

  They had never thought they would see this woman they somehow knew without ever having met, though what they knew of her was largely fabricated by textbooks and tales. For instance, all accounts held that Sylvie LaFaye was diminutive, and they had believed it too after having seen their Aunt Pharoh. Pharoh was short, but Sylvie was not. They wondered what else was not true about her. It was obvious that she was a shape-shifter, for they had just seen her wear two different forms, that of the deer and the orb.

  This was shaping up to be a strange night indeed.

  The room, they noticed, was a lot like the hall had been, with the same gray walls and blue décor. A highback sofa sat with its back to them, facing the fire, and when they rounded it a low table and chairs came into view. There were three chairs, one on one side, two facing it on the other, cut in the same fashion as the couch with high backs, wide cherry-colored arms, and thick, dark blue cushions.

  On the cherry-wood table sat a silver decanter and three silver goblets. Sylvie was filling the goblets with amber liquid from the decanter as they sat down in the two chairs provided for them. They were handed the liquid, and small cakes appeared out of thin air on the table before them.

  Sitting down, Sylvie appraised them as she took a sip of her liquor.

  There was one question which had been burning in their minds ever since their meeting with Porillon, and when they finally found their voices they promptly asked it.

  “Did we really kill you?” Angelica rushed in, watching their mother for any telltale sign on her face.

  Sylvie sighed. “To put it plainly, no, I killed myself. You were stillborn, how were you to have killed me?”

  “Why did you kill yourself?” Jovian asked.

  “I prayed that you would live, even promising to give my own life to the Goddess for my two youngest to live.
Some people say that it was the poor medical treatment I was receiving that killed me, and the large number of children I bore. It could have been this, but I feel that Grace was sound medical care.” Somehow they were not surprised that Grace was the one who delivered them.

  As if spurred by the thought of their birth, Jovian reached for his sword.

  “Father gave this to me for our twenty-first birthday. It’s supposed to have some kind of power, but I’m not sure what it is or how to make it work.” Jovian held the shin-buto out to his mother. Sylvie leaned forward and took it from him, cradling it in her lap.

  “The shin-buto, when I had it, enhanced my fighting ability.” Sylvie looked down at the blade lovingly, and the steel pulsed with the same white radiance that emanated from their mother. “When your father passed it on to you the power changed. He gave it to you out of love, and a desire to keep you safe, and so that is what the blade does. This shin-buto, now that it’s yours, will keep you safe from the harm of dalua.”

  “But I died,” Jovian protested.

  “An event that was necessary. However, you were brought back,” Sylvie pointed out with a nod of her head.

  “By the nependier,” Jovian corrected her.

  “Who’s to say it wasn’t the wyrd of the shin-buto that drew the nependier to you?” Jovian did not have an answer to this question. “I tell you now, the shin-buto works, whether on its own, like drawing in Porillon’s lightning maelstrom, or through a catalyst of some other type, like the nependier.

  “The shin-buto is a weapon of wyrd, and we aren’t to fully understand how wyrd works, for when we fully understand and grasp the magnitude of wyrd then we will be like gods ourselves.

  “There is wyrd in everything,” Sylvie continued. “Every choice we make bears the weight of consequence. Consequence, one might say, is the true form of wyrd, for wyrd is something that has come to pass, or something you are causing to come to pass. I will tell you now about the two times in my life that the strongest wyrd ever known to man gripped me.