Down the Well, page 24
Lore’s arms ached under the weight of the mouse’s grief she finally couldn’t bottle any longer. It poured out through snot and tears.
“You were a great leader, and I always wanted to be like you when I grew up.” The bat paused through sniffles. “It may have taken you a while, but you always ended up doing what was right in the end. You were the moral compass of our little band of adventurers. I see you in Mathilde. Her headstrong nature was one of your most admirable qualities.” He took a few steps back and sighed as he placed his hat between his ears. “As much as I look forward to our reunion, Gannon, I hope that day isn’t today.”
The group stood there as the alligator’s daughter’s tears eventually ran dry, and all that she could choke out were painful sobs.
Lore leaned into her. “Hey, let’s go home.”
Mathilde steadied her breathing and hugged the headstone before she placed a trusting hand in Lore’s.
THIRTY-THREE
The curtains of the yellow manor wiped over the sharp edges of broken glass—the remnants of the windows tore at the sheer threads. And the heavy oak door was off its hinges, but this was what all the houses looked like, or close to it. When the party walked up onto the porch, the steps didn’t groan the same as they once did.
Mathilde’s hands trembled as she went inside.
Lore followed closely behind. She wasn’t sure which was worse—the inside or the outside. The kitchen table was knocked over, the mushrooms were missing from the mantle, and the flowers on the walls were still and lifeless. No fire burned in the hearth, and no pitter-patter of mouse footsteps came down the staircase to greet them. The house was completely sacked and empty.
Mathilde balled her hands and Lore had a hunch that the knuckles beneath her velvet soft fur were stark white. Her jaw pulled as tight as her bow as she notched an arrow, pulling the string back. Ready to fire. “Let’s bag an opossum,” she muttered, holding the weapon with such ferocity that if Lore was spat up from the well today, she never would have guessed this was the mouse’s first day holding a bow.
* * *
Their footsteps echoed in the empty town of Charmsend. There was not single a trace of the villagers anywhere. Just abandoned houses and glass glittering on the ground. Not even the street lamps were spared from whatever rampage had sailed through the town.
The air felt like it was shrinking and thinning the closer to the market square they walked. The once colorful area was now muted shades that left the taste of ash floating amongst the settling dust clouds. It made Lore’s lungs sting. Closer to the well. Lore began twisting the Band of Life on her finger, the silver chains of her bracelet clanged as she did. The jingle carried on a breeze that blew past them, announcing their arrival.
Her eyes fell onto the orange well, whose bricks were cracking. A flickering green light emanated through the open veins. She shifted her focus to the three bodies that circled the wishing well. First was Lyudmilla, whose blank expression revealed she was somewhere far away from the eye of the storm. Then she locked onto the withering figure of Sable, trapped in a blue orb that seemed to be devouring her very essence. The magical sphere was attached to none other than Crinkle, who radiated an aura that froze the atmosphere around him, like the first layer of Winter’s frost.
“Where are my sisters, you monster?!” Mathilde demanded with the silver string pulled tight, ready to launch her very first shot.
Crinkle let out a laugh so low it sounded like it dragged across gravel. He waved his staff. The blueish-green rock glowed. A rush of water followed it from the well like liquid metal to a magnet. As he spun the tip of his staff the, water spun into a flat circle that took the shape of an oval mirror. Behind the swirling liquid, the figures of the townsfolk became clearer behind the iron bars that imprisoned them. “I’m keeping them safe, sweetheart. I was always keeping you all safe.” Crinkle’s voice walked a fine line between genuine softness and rampant madness. At any moment, he could contort one way or the other.
“Lyudmilla!” Merlin called. “Lyudmilla, I know you remember me. I know deep down you are better than this.”
The wolf’s stoic face twisted in a painful expression. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to know,” she uttered. Tears left the corners of her pink eyes as she heaved her ax above her head. “I know I want freedom and Dina’s safety. And you’re in my way!” She swung her double-sided ax downward, missing Merlin by a whisker.
The last sound Lore registered was her own gasp at the sight of a Grayshade Crinkle magically unveiled. She didn’t hear its hungry cry, only felt the ground shake under the beast as it charged them.
* * *
The next few movements happened fast, Lore could barely catch her breath as she felt her body be pulled to the side just in time for a blue beam to crackle through the air and burn the spot she was just in. Everything felt like moving through water—slow with an invisible weight crushing her from above and pockets of air far too away from her lungs. Just like her journey down the well that landed her here in the first place.
She saw Killmoore locked into a standoff with Lyudmilla just like they had been back at the mad Wielder’s home. The only difference was that now, with the magical braces of power, the fox didn’t lose any ground.
Merlin leaped on Lore’s back and launched into the air to hurl a series of fireballs at Crinkle, whose skin was splitting to reveal the same magical and radiant blue light that held Sable captive.
The opossum flung the weakened hedgehog in front of him to absorb the fiery blows.
Lore swallowed down the fear rising in her throat and bolted toward the well. It was then she felt a sudden pain in her stomach as the Grayshade’s tail flung her away from the orange bricks. She rolled to her side and coughed so hard, her throat burned from the dryness.
The earth trembled once again as the beast charged her—only to be stopped by a rain of purple-tipped arrows. Most of which hit the beast head-on. One even stuck out from its pulsating electric blue eyes. An angry howl bellowed from its chest as it stopped in its tracks, too pained to continue its attack.
Lore scanned the area but couldn’t find Mathilde anywhere.
Merlin waved fiery fists that formed into a flaming rope. He whipped it around Crinkle’s staff, making it smoke as the blaze licked the wood.
Lore saw an opening and began to close the gap between her and the well. Her fingertips itched from the memory of running them over the crack—the keyhole. Another step closer.
Another bolt of magic was loosened from Crinkle’s staff.
Lore flinched, but this time, tentacles of green smoke emanated from the Band of Life and absorbed the blast. She took another quick step.
Killmoore was sent sliding across the stone, but quickly shot back up and ran back to the jaws of peril. Lyudmilla was unyielding as she swung her weapon at him. Anything near her was liable to break under her strength. But the fox moved quickly and struck faster. In and out, a dance of hit and dodge.
Another roar erupted from the Grayshade as it stormed toward Merlin’s unprotected back.
“Behind you!” Lore shouted.
Without missing a beat, Merlin blew a single puff of air from his mouth to the ground and it shot him up into the sky. The beast ran right under him and crashed into a smoking Crinkle.
The bat’s gold eyes shot over his shoulder. “Quickly, now! The—” But his words were cut short by the sound of ice shards hissing in the air. His attention shifted, and a dance of ice and fire ensued.
She watched as arrows fell from the sky between Lyudmilla and Killmoore, keeping the latter safe as he put a bit of distance between himself and the white wolf.
Lore was so close to the well now, and she was finally able to draw a filling breath. She lunged, and her hands felt the smooth orange paint. They shook frantically as she tried to unfasten the bracelet.
The face of an old woman sat with her at the helm of her thoughts. “You can do it,” she cooed. “There’s nothing you can’t do, Lore.” Her honeyed voice felt so close, yet she wasn’t there at all.
The sizzle of magic behind Lore made her freeze. Her ring absorbed another attack.
Another rain of arrows fell from the sky, successfully stalling the Grayshade stomping towards her.
Another blast of ice shot over Lore. It made contact with a building an alley or two over. Pink sparks erupted as it froze over. The weight of the ice crumpled the structure in on itself.
Her heart dropped and her fist tightened. Mathilde.
Despite her worry, she saw nothing else aside from the keyhole. The cries of battle, clashing of metal, and magic smoke melted away as she felt a rush of cold water pool over her. The silver charm gleamed in the glimmering green light, as Lore pushed it in like a quarter in a quarter machine. She tried to turn it to lock whatever door was powerful enough to seal the magic away, but nothing happened. The liquid around her became colder and colder, lulling her into a dangerous sleep.
Behind her heavy eyelids, she saw a ghostly stag standing on a crescent-shaped lake. It made no sudden movement and posed no sign of threat. It only stood there staring with eyes deep and as blue as a rage-filled ocean.
She walked toward it. Each time she plunged into the water, an unseen weight dragged her under. She fought to the surface to gasp for breath. She didn’t dare look down at whatever was getting in her way. Until she didn’t have a choice.
When she did, she saw her own face. The glowing silver light of the stag emanated as it walked on the water above her. She kicked against herself and tried to swim to the surface, only to be dragged down once more. She kept trying until she couldn’t dish any more punches. Then she allowed herself to be pulled down to the bottom of the lake, where she heard the sounds of her own cries. The darkness of the deep waters curled around her as she searched for herself. To find a little girl hiding, crying.
Uncomforted. Unloved. And alone.
Lore felt tears warm her own cheeks as she pulled the shadow of her younger self into a hug.
Her eyes snapped open, and the reflection showed they were now glowing the same deep rich blue as the elusive stag. From her dark brown hair, large, ethereal antlers sprouted, and she felt waves crashing within her. Power she held. Power she could wield. Then the vision—the lake and stag—disappeared, and she was back in the battle.
With a scream erupting from her stinging lungs, she turned the bracelet’s charm in the keyhole. The well shuddered and began to crumble, making Crinkle wail in defeat.
As weakness spread through her body, she shifted her gaze toward the corrupt opossum. He was crumbling away as if he was made of sand. It didn’t take long for the Wielder to become dust in the biting autumn wind.
With him gone, Sable was freed, and the stolen life force was returned to her. Merlin stood in the ashes of his former friend and picked up the blueish-green stone that still pulsated faintly.
Lore’s eyes fluttered over the body of the lifeless Grayshade, its corpse riddled with arrows. She went to stand, only to fall to her knees again. Her gaze lazily landed on Killmoore, who had Lyudmilla pinned against the ground with his axes crossed over her thick neck.
The last thing she saw before completely giving in to the exhaustion was Mathilde running towards her from the alley.
THIRTY-FOUR
Pink blossoms that searched for drops of sunlight welcomed Lore. She saw that the curtains half-hung off the walls and out the busted windows of the mayor’s mansion.
“Good to see you awake,” Killmoore’s voice was smooth as he sipped on a mug of tea in a nearby seat.
She sat up in the bed, noticing the bandages that were wrapped around her arms as she did so. They itched and her head buzzed with a faint recollection of what happened along with a pressure that could be the start of a nasty headache.
“Mathilde!” she called as the image of the frozen roof of Dina’s collapsing played in her head.
“She’s fine,” the fox said as he walked to the foot of the bed.
The door opened and the red-clad mouse leaped onto the bed to hug Lore. Then promptly grabbed her by the shirt collar and shoved a finger in her face. “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that again!”
Lore laughed. “I won’t. I promise.” When free from the mouse’s strong grip, Lore’s fingertips played with the ends of her loose hair that had been tickling her cheeks. “It’s been so long since I’ve worn it like this,” she admitted quietly. Then she ran a hand through her brown waves and as she went to split it into three sections… then she noticed it. Her jaw slackened and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. No, no it can’t be, it was just a dream. A vision. The mortified feeling that welled in her gut must have read obviously on her face.
“It’s okay, Lore,” Mathilde said in almost a whisper.
But the soft velvet kissing her fingertips at the roots of her hair made it a reality. Continuing her hand up the surface it then became smooth and broke off into multiple Y branches. Lore took a deep ragged breath. The sudden realization made the weight on her head feel all the heavier. I much rather have a pressure headache.
“Wha–” She stopped, if she said it then it had to be true. If a human was a monster then what beast am I now? A tear ran down her cheek and Mathilde’s finger wiped it away. “It’s like a crown.” The mouse whispered to her friend. “A beautiful crown.”
Lore bit her bottom lip. “But I didn’t ask for a crown.” Her voice cracked as another tear escaped the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t ask for any of this.” her hands gripped the bed sheets tighter as she bawled her fists.
Killmoore tilted his head and his ears lifted. “Sometimes we get gifts we don’t ask for.”
Lore’s brow pulled tight as her tears turned bitter. “There are stag antlers on my head, Killmoore!” Her voice was strained and tired. “I can’t just return to sender, now can I?”
The fox winced at the harshness Lore had not displayed before. Not to the Grayshade that attacked them, the townsfolk who scrutinized her every move, not even to Crinkle.
“I’m sure your family will still love you,” Mathilde assured.
Lore’s throat tightened more. Shit. I haven’t even thought of that. She swallowed a now soured sentiment of a happy reunion with whoever was looking for her. “Who could welcome me like this?” Lore’s eyes stung at the mere thoughts of rejection. “I’m a monster.”
“No, no,” Mathilde mused as she ran her small, thin fingers through Lore’s glossy hair. “You weren’t a monster before and you aren’t one now.”
Lore’s lip quivered as she tried to focus on Mathilde’s words. Then the mouse wrapped her arms around the human’s neck. “You can’t let what others may or may not say about you define who you perceive yourself to be.”
A warmth radiated from Mathilde and washed away the what if’s Lore had swirling around her.
She thought it rather pathetic but all she could muster out was a ragged, “thank you.” That was all the mouse had needed though.
Minifred came in with a tray of tea. “Sable said you need to drink this when you woke.” She set it on the nightstand where the photo of Gannon with his five mice daughters was still displayed.
“Thank you.”
The coal-colored mouse smiled. “Thank you, Lore. You’re the human who helped save our town from the unseen spell that had ahold of us all.” With that, she left. The door silently shut behind her.
Lore waited to see if the other sisters would visit, but when they didn’t appear, she looked out the broken window as Mathilde hopped off the bed to pour the water from the kettle into the daffodil mug. Gannon’s cup. She smiled down at the comforting design.
Killmoore had silently moved over to the window where he watched the folk of Charmsend pick up the shattered pieces of their home in the streets below.
“The well is broken,” Mathilde said. “The thing she used as an entrance is now gone.”
Lore chewed the inside of her cheeks. “It’s impossible then?” her shoulders slumped forward as she began to pick at the skin around her fingernails. “Maybe I’m never going to find my way home.” She fidgeted with the wooden ring on her middle finger.
“Don’t forget,” Mathilde chimed as she handed Lore the teacup. “I made a promise to get you back. No matter what.”
Lore’s fingers wrapped around the painted gold flower. It was a beautiful cup. “But how?” she asked. “Getting home seems like an impossible dream now.”
The mouse didn’t have an answer but patted her shoulder in comfort.
“The well is impassable,” Killmoore said as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his blue coat. Then he cleared his throat and his amber eyes drifted back to Lore and Mathilde with a familiar glint of excitement. “But my dear friends,” his warm laughter filled the broken room, “nothing is impossible.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As vain as it may seem, I’d like to thank my past self for actually finishing Down the Well.
This was the first story I ever wrote ‘the end’ on. I did it as a first-time mom who was writing during nights when my oldest was restless, then continuing to write during the long days between naps, mealtimes, and play. It was something I set out to do as a way to prove to my children and to myself that you don’t have to stop chasing your dreams because you became a parent. You can have both, but it will be work. It will be hard, and there will be times you want to give up, but it will be so worth it when you taste the sweet flavor of the victory cake. So, a very big thank you to my Moonbeam. I never would have been determined enough to reach the end without you on my hip.
Thank you to Grandpa Robb for printing out my first draft and binding it for me all the way back in 2019.
Thank you to Zara, who not only had the tedious task of fixing this Appalachian’s every spelling and grammatical error but also took a risk on signing this trilogy. I appreciated your presence along the way as I cleaned each draft as my editor, but also as my friend. I wouldn’t have been able to get through the days that imposter syndrome grabbed me by the throat without you. Thank you for believing in me as much as I believe in you.
