The Well of Wyrding (Revenant Wyrd Book 3) (20 page)

“Okay, we stay here the night,” Uthia said, and led them halfway around the wall, where there was an entrance. The stone embrasures of the door were tangled with vines and wildflowers, which only added to the beauty of the place. Inside they saw that at one point in time this had been a manor of some considerable size, but now it had collapsed and remained little more than framework and doorways with skeletons of stone walls reaching up to the night sky. The rain had washed many of the surfaces and turned the surroundings a gray so dark it was nearly black.

Straight ahead of them was a large stone platform connected to the house, and from the looks of it, it had been the veranda. This was where Uthia intended to spend the night.

Fortunately the rain had stopped and they wouldn’t have to worry about getting wet, unless the storm found them, and then who knew. It wouldn’t have been the first time they had spent a miserable night together, and Jovian was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

They shifted their gear off their shoulders and began setting up camp. Tegaris rustled around a little and finally burst free of the muslin pouch as the last rays of the sun died away. He was still a little sluggish and wouldn’t gain a lot of energy until the moon rose, but Jovian motioned him over nonetheless.

“Tegaris,” Jovian said as he bent to gather some wood.

“Not that one, Jovian,” Uthia said, coming to him and slapping the partially living wood out of his hand. “Go for the dead ones.”

“This one will be dead enough soon,” Jovian said.

“Yes, but it is not dead yet,” Uthia scoffed. “How would you like it if they lit your pyre below you before you were dead? After all, it would be the same, right? You would be dead soon enough.” Jovian rolled his eyes and dropped the wood. They had been through this several times. Uthia scolded him every time he grabbed a piece of wood that was even close to being alive.
Clear up the dead ones first, it will allow that which struggles for life better chances to grow and live. Don’t grab that one, there is still a little life in it yet, I don’t want to listen to the tortured sobs of a fallen comrade all night while you sleep.
So it went nearly every night. If he did happen back to camp with one she considered too close to living, it would quickly get tossed aside. This meant that each night Jovian had to gather double the dead wood, for it burned faster.

This also meant that they lived mostly on rations, which were quickly running out, for Jovian had no time to hunt. That’s if Uthia would even allow hunting. It was a topic that hadn’t arisen yet.

“What is it, son of the Hairy Woman?” Tegaris asked in his surprisingly deep voice.

“We are being followed,” he told him.

“Ah, very perceptive you are,” Tegaris said, coming to rest more fully on Jovian’s shoulder. “I see that not all of your mother’s intelligence was lost on you.” It was not a compliment, and Jovian didn’t take it that way. Before, he would have thought fairies were the most peaceful and loving of creatures; he was quickly realizing how sarcastic and rude the diminutive creatures were.

“I was wondering if you knew, or if you could find out where Porillon is,” Jovian came back to camp with his arms full and stacked the wood near the fire. Tegaris was a faint glimmer of light on his shoulder which slowly grew brighter the darker it got and the higher the moon rose. Uthia began rummaging through his pile, tossing aside pieces she found unacceptable.

“I know not where she is, but I will start scouting at night,” he informed Jovian, and launched himself up into the air to come to rest on an apple tree near the veranda.

“Jovian, that was five pieces that didn’t pass.” The first night Uthia had said this Jovian thought she was joking. Now he wondered why they had brought the damn tree with them.

“‘
Jovian, that was five pieces that didn’t pass,
’” he mocked. “If you are not careful I will chop you up in the middle of the night and use you as fuel, you big-mouthed, overbearing, good-for-nothing bird-holder.” It was childish, he knew, but Jovian was not in the most amiable of moods. Five pieces of wood, as large as they had been, was nearly all of what he had carried back to the camp.

They traveled fast and hard the next day, though due to the fact that they traveled downhill they were not as tired at the end of their hike as they had been before. All in all, they made good progress. That night they camped by a river, which allowed them to refill their stores of water with a fresh supply, and also to bathe.

Jovian paid special attention to the scrapes on his shoulders where the backpack had rubbed his skin red and irritated the day before. When he dressed in fresh clothes he felt nearly like a new person.

That night was the best they had slept in some time, and when the next day dawned it was bright and clear, devoid of fog, though the sky threatened rain.

“Another two weeks, I would hazard, and we will be out of the Sacred Forest,” Uthia told them, and though they were happy to finally see the end of their travels in the woods, they were not at all looking forward to the threat of the Shadow Realm.

Through the next few days the tension between Uthia and Jovian grew more and more, until he was picking still-living pieces of wood just to spite her. That didn’t last long when he realized he wasn’t only irritating her, but also creating more work for himself.

Not only did the tension grow between them, but also the feeling of a presence hunting them. Day in and day out they could feel whatever it was stalking them grow closer and closer until they half expected to look behind them and find the thing looming up out of the earth.

It had reached a point where Uthia finally stopped settling at night and instead stood constant vigil. The Germinant Gob began feeling as though his presence was required at night as well, and while he and Tegaris didn’t get along, the three fey creatures created a barrier around the camp at night so that the LaFaye youths could sleep in peace.

It was a strange sight to see the Germinant Gob, all leaves and branches sprouting from his body, standing menacingly. Gob stood only a little over two feet, somewhat tall for gnomes. Tegaris hovered in the air, lighting the night a third of the way around camp. Uthia was the one they counted on to really protect them, her large frame standing loosely with her wooden sword in hand.

Jovian had asked her about that sword once, for where he came from wooden swords were only ever used for practice. Uthia had let him hold the sword, which they all imagined was somewhat hard for her to do and informed him that her sword, Cataresh, was sharper than any metal sword and could cut nearly everything except other wood. In fact Uthia told him that the dryad who tried to cut wood with it would die instantly.

The next day Uthia informed them that they would be traveling through the village of Greenwood. Angelica was happy that they would finally get to spend some time among humans.

Little did they realize then that spending time with humans now, while the Well of Wyrding was corrupted, was not precisely what they wanted to do.

“So what’re we looking at?” Mag, the Senator of Montaria, asked, leaning forward, her elbows perched on the dark wood surface of the table behind which the other senators sat. The bodies of Congress all seemed to be perched, ready for the words from their Realm Guardian which would inform them of the current situation of unease.

“I’ve been informed that a group ventures into the Well of Wyrding to correct the illness there,” Sara informed them. Today she was alone, sitting on one of the two thrones upon the raised dais in the center of the circular chamber.

“That’s a relief,” the older Senator of Brashenar said, leaning back in his chair. The wood made an audible groan under his massive frame and Sara looked around at all of them wondering if maybe today she should tell them of her concerns regarding the chaos dwarves. She drummed her fingers against the arm of her throne and watched as each and every one of them began talking. Those of the provinces which resided within the Sacred Forest would soon be able to go home, their people returning to the homes and lives they had left behind. Finally there was a little light at the end of the tunnel for them.

“Yes, it’s fortunate,” Sara said, her thoughts turned inward. She was beginning to feel ill, something that reoccurred, it seemed, every day about this time. She could feel the beginnings of a headache, and rubbed her temples with the tips of her finger. Her robes of state, dark hunter green, were beginning to stifle her, so she undid the top few buttons which felt like a vise around her neck, choking her around the jaw line.

She wanted to tell the senators about the development with the chaos dwarves, and knew that she would have to soon. Sara looked across the room, toward the open door which led out upon the sunlit halls of the iron tower, draped with sashes, curtains and carpeting so that the material which made up the Guardians Keep would not seem so harsh to the eye.

Sara saw her assistant there, and Vanparaness smiled back at her. She nodded her head and he looked grave. He knew what that meant, that she was not feeling well again. There was something in his eye, something which troubled him, and she knew that it was the illness she felt every day. He worried for her health. He nodded once and strode off down the hall toward the stairs which climbed up to her tower apartments.

She cleared her throat and shook her head, hoping to clear it of the fog growing somewhere in her mind. Today was as good a day as any, and she raised the scepter in her lap for silence.

Quickly the noise of the previous discussion drew to a close and Congress stared back at her from their raised benches which lined the walls, climbing halfway up like the council hall was an amphitheater. She looked around at the heads of state, the advocates, the constables, the judges, and the other advisors and officials from various boards which made up Congress. The silence was growing, and soon the room was alive with the ringing of noiselessness. High above, wind blew through the open windows and rustled the pinions and banners of the various provinces that made up the seat of Sara’s and Annbell’s shared power.

“There’s other news, news that is more important than the Well of Wyrding, or at least news that will soon outshadow the threat of the well.” The delegates looked at one another, beginning to mumble again. Nothing, they thought, could be as horrible as the Well of Wyrding.

“An ancient enemy of my throne arises, and seeks to reclaim what was once theirs,” Sara told them, and they all fell silent. There was a brief moment before the ensuing uproar in which silence once more reigned supreme as Congress tried to understand what Sara was telling them. “The chaos dwarves, even now, gather en masse around a powerful weapon, which will allow them to usurp the power of our delicate Congress.”

“That’s absurd!” The chief constable yelled, and many other voices followed his. Sara looked to the senators, and while some of them had joined the melee, two didn’t: Mag, and Trevon, the Senator of Greenwood. Both of them were wyrders of some power, only recently elevated to the status of senators in a way that sorcerers had not been in some time. They understood, for they remembered the stories of the ferocity of the chaos dwarves in a way that no others gathered did.

Sara raised her scepter, and eventually the din hushed to a buzz, and then vanished all together. “This weapon, I’m told by one who has experienced its affects, has the ability to strip wyrd from the body in a most painful way. It is worse than the corruption of the well, for it takes away even the ability to wield wyrd. More than that I don’t know. Fortunately the person who was in contact with the item, dubbed Wyrders’ Bane, wasn’t in its presence long, and retained her ability to touch her wyrd.”