The Wells of Malakai

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

The cryptic words were etched into the ground with deep, uneven scratches—the beginnings of a sepulcher that never made it further than the blueprint. A hundred feet below the forest floor and rimmed by towering trees with thick trunks and full canopies, the sinkhole was perfectly hidden. The well was not devoid of life at the bottom, however. In fact, it was thriving except for one small macabre anomaly. Amidst a field of lush grasses, ripe with berries and wildflowers of violet and yellow, a circular patch of dried, dead earth nine feet in diameter marked the resting place of five great men centuries-dead and nearly forgotten. At the center, a long-dead king of legend sat cross-legged and upright, regal even in death. His crown still rested on his head, and the sword that named him was buried point first in the ground with long bony fingers entwined around the hilt. Fragments of long-ago frayed garments clung to his bones in scarce patches.

The king’s disciples encircled him in a similar pose. Their swords buried nearly a foot into the dead ground and their heads bowed in respect toward their king. Every corpse sat just as they had died. In the centuries that passed since they’d fellowshipped for the last time, not once had their resting place been disturbed.

Until now.

“What does it mean?” Esan, the scout who had been instrumental in ensuring their safe passage to this discovery, seemed worried. It was not fear. No, these men had been weathered by battles, and fear was one of three things each had mastered. “Some kind of warning?”

“A warning for what?” Valerin, the red-headed mountain of a man who shouldered as many weapons as the others combined, scoffed at the question.

“A warning indeed, I think,” Stragabor, the tracker, mused softly as he stepped cautiously into the circle. “There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but there certainly are dragons here now. Of that, we have firsthand knowledge. So, what was it that kept them away? What power? What kind of beast? And is it friend or foe?”

Stragabor examined the clearing with a discerning eye. The dirt was dull brown in color and had the appearance of sandstone. Yet, it couldn’t have been all rock. As he examined it closer, the tracker could pick out bits of glass embedded in the ground. It was not as if a bottle had broken, though. The glass was part of the ground and radiated outward from the cryptic phrase etched at the dead king’s feet. Stragabor placed his hand gently on the king’s forehead, careful not to disturb his eternal slumber. “There’s an energy to this place,” he gasped as his eyes went wide. He took his hand away suddenly. “And a lack of energy as well.”

He looked around and saw the fields of tall grasses and flowers moving gently in a soft breeze that swept down from the opening above. Stragabor reached his hand toward the barrier of grass between the two and felt the breeze on his hand. Inside the circle, however, there was nothing. “What does this mean?”

“It means we are getting close to what we came here for,” Malek, their leader, appeared from the grass with the fifth and final member of their highly decorated party. Malek and Kaibon were two of the most honored officers in the current King’s employ and lifelong friends. They led this small party of some of the most experienced and powerful warriors this world had yet seen. Their collective strength, sadly, had not been enough, however.

The dragons were too strong and too many.

“There weren’t always dragons here because this valley had a power that kept them out,” Malek began in the grandiose way he liked to talk. He was the tallest among them and the most handsome with wavy shoulder length black hair and chiseled features. His auburn eyes had flecks of green which sparkled when the light caught them just right. He was as powerful a speaker as he was a fighter, and in the latter he had no equal. “Our ancestors took that power and unlocked the true potential of mankind. With each generation came new abilities and new victories. We expanded our borders, claimed valuable resources, and drove those vile creatures to the brink of extinction. But then came Esteban the wise,” Malek motioned in sarcastic contempt toward the dead king. “My ancestor believed that power was not meant to be ours. That we had taken it without the land’s permission.” He spat on the dried, dead ground. “So he took the well stone and disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again.” Malek moved to the center of the dried ground and knelt in front of the king. He spat again. “Until today.”

He lifted the crown from the dead man’s head. It held a special significance to Malek after all. His direct line to throne ended at Esteban’s disappearance. His younger brother had assumed the throne, and history took care of the rest. Cousin to the king meant little to all but a few. Malek stood and eyed each of his men in turn. These men knew. These men believed. They followed where he led, and they had tasted countless victories because of it. But there had been defeats too. Far too many defeats. Malek was tired of losing. He tossed the crown to the side.

“Esan, without your eagle, we would not have found safe passage through the valley. And without your owl, we could not have rested at night. For you I am grateful.” The birds that Esan used to scout their route remained in the trees overhead. Neither had wanted any part of descending into the sinkhole.

“Valerin, without your strength, this journey would have taken a much harder toll on all of us. For you I am grateful.

“Stragabor, without your prescience, we could never have found this place nor avoided the dangers as often as we did. For you I am grateful.

“Kaibon, without your masks, we would have surely drawn the interest of more dragons than we could handle head-on. For you I am grateful.” Malek acknowledged and held each man’s gaze in turn. His voice echoed with tones of gratitude and serene respect. Every man nodded and saluted him, fist to chest. He paused for a long moment to let his appreciation linger in the air. When he spoke again, his tone turned a different kind of serious.

“The well stone is here,” Malek said. “Today, our destinies change forever.”

Malek reached his hand out and a brilliant spear of light and flame came alive in his hand. The glowing spear took on a shape as solid as steel, but as incorporeal as a flame. He plunged in into the ground where Esteban the wise had scratched his final message.

The dirt began to glow, and the rock started melting away.

The well stone was an object of otherworldly power. When Malek’s ancestors had taken the stone eons ago, they had used it to bestow powers upon their closest and most loyal allies. Those powers were then passed down from one generation to the next. When the stone was returned by Esteban, the powers began to wane. No new abilities were granted, and attrition thinned the remaining gifted as time wore on. Men died before they could pass on their gifts. Now, those with power were fewer and fewer. There were only a handful remaining. Malek’s five represented nearly a third of all the wielders left.

Esan was a scout. The oldest of the group, nearing his 55th year, he could see through the eyes of animals once he had time to forge a connection with them. The birds that accompanied him now had been with him for more than a decade, and he could use them to great effect. Rarely was their band of warriors surprised by anything. Due to Esan’s flighty companions, they always knew what they were heading into. It was also the eagle’s keen eyes which had spotted the sinkhole initially.

Stragabor was a tracker. His ability was two-fold. Some called it the ability to see the future, but Stragabor never explained it as such. It was more a feeling or an itch. He was called a tracker because his instinct could tell him which way to go when he was looking for something. Though it had taken weeks to traverse the danger-fraught valley to this spot, Stragabor had led them here in almost a straight line. The other aspect of his power was the ability to sense danger, whether it was a tangible threat or illusory.

Valerin was simply a bruiser. He had immense strength, but there was nothing simple about him. Battlefield tactics and weaponry came easily to him, and he was a highly skilled combatant. Valerin was one of two living men who had slain a dragon by himself.

Kaibon was a mask. He had the ability to hide things from others. When the group stayed close together, Kaibon could make them undetectable to those around them, including dragons and other predators. He was also Malek’s most trusted and loyal companion. The two were inseparable and, at 30 years of age, the youngest of the group.

Malek was a fire-lancer. He could instantly heat the air around him and form it into shapes and projectiles. Typically, fire-lancing was the most difficult power to learn, and most that had the ability had only ever managed to conjure small constructs such as flames and soft light. Malek had mastered the skill to the point where he was only limited by what his mind could conjure. He was without equal and, without question, the most powerful human alive.

Malek’s spear of fire descended deeper into the earth. The searing hot flame melted rock and turned it into magma as the spear delved further still. He could sense the power below his feet, buried deep. The well stone was calling to him as if it longed to be freed from its prison. When he reached it, Malek wrapped the stone in tendrils of molten flame, like a lasso, and pulled it free. He dropped it to the ground at his feet, its surface steaming from the flames. Finally, the well stone was his. Finally, he had the power to reclaim what had been lost. Finally, he had the power worthy of a king.

The stone let off tendrils of smoke as Malek let the fiery lasso construct disappear. The well stone was the size of a human fist and pulsated like an unnatural heartbeat, changing colors with each slow beat. The edges of the stone glowed, and the power locked within could be felt in an odd, inexplicable way. Malek knew it was there. He could feel it; he just couldn’t explain how. Not that it mattered. The well stone was power, and it granted its bearer the ability to gift it. But for Malek, he was more interested in the stone’s darker side—the side few new about. Malek’s lineage had some of the earliest transcripts of the research done on the well stone when it was first discovered. One of its features had been hidden from all but a few. The well stone stored cosmic power, and it could be tapped and released. But it could also be used to siphon power as well. Nature always came with a balance, a give and take. Few knew of this. Malek knew.

He struck at Valerin first, for Malek viewed him as the strongest threat. Reaching out into the air between them, Malek wrapped the bigger man in similar ropes of fire as he’d used to lasso the well stone. The reactions from the others were immediate and not unexpected. Both Stragabor and Esan had their swords out while Valerin struggled against his fiery bonds.

“What are you doing, Malek?” Stragabor exclaimed in disbelief. “This was not part of the plan!”

“Let him go!” Esan added with authority. These men were leaders, all of them, and not one of them would ever back down from anyone. “You’re burning him.”

Kaibon drew his own bladed staff and stepped between the two and Malek.

“And now the truth finally reveals itself,” Stragabor said as he eyed Kaibon with distaste. “You weren’t just masking us from the dragons. You were masking your intentions, so I could not see the danger until it was too late. We are betrayed by those we trusted the most.”

Valerin growled and grunted with effort.

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Kaibon spoke softly, his jaw set, but there was a genuine sadness cast about his eyes. “I never would have wished for this, but I have put my trust in Malek. I believe in him, and sacrifices must be made.”

“Greatness does not come without sacrifice,” Malek said through gritted teeth as he continued to tighten the restraints on Valerin. “I could not have made it this far without you all, and for that I will be eternally grateful. But now that I have the well stone, my need of you has shifted.”

As one, Stragabor and Esan attacked. It took teamwork to take down a dragon, so fighting together was second nature to them. Kaibon met them with a clash of blades that echoed off the walls of the sinkhole. Kaibon was as skilled a fighter as Stragabor and better than Esan. His masking talent negated Stragabor’s ability to predict his movements, which put them on equal footing. Esan was the wild card. The longer he stayed in the fight, the more the advantage swung in his and Stragabor’s favor.

The advantage of Kaibon’s staff was that he could turn a defensive maneuver into an offensive strike with the simplest change in direction and momentum. It also allowed him to keep his distance from his two adversaries until he chose to move in closer. The staff allowed Kaibon to dictate the nature of the engagement. Esan came in close and aimed a sweeping strike at Kaibon’s neck. Kaibon blocked the blow easily with the butt of his staff and then thrust the blunt end into Esan’s nose, breaking it. Blood poured from the wound as Esan staggered back. Stragabor took to the offensive to try to cover for his wounded friend, and Kaibon spun his weapon back and forth as he blocked successive strikes. Stragabor succeeded in buying time for Esan to recover, but Kaibon concentrated on the fight at hand. He knew that it was only a matter of time before Malek finished with Valerin and joined him. Then it would be over for Stragabor and Esan.

Malek fought back a wince as Valerin tried to break free of the hold he had on him. The fiery chords blistered the big man’s flesh, but the anger in his eyes fueled his defiance. Malek tightened his grip and began building a fireball in the air above his shoulder. It was then that Valerin unleashed his fury. The man’s burning flesh began to grow with his rage. Malek strained against added strength as Valerin’s size began to increase. Forgetting the fireball for the moment, Malek allowed himself a tiny smile. It was not uncommon for power wielders to hold back abilities from allies and even friends. Valerin continued to grow until Malek could contain him no longer with his fire-wrought lasso. The big man broke free with a vengeful roar once his body had reached nearly twice its normal size. Valerin glared, the fire in his gaze as hot as Malek’s lasso. Malek chuckled. The big man was not the only one who had hidden talents.

The air around Malek began to glow with increasing intensity as he heated it in seconds. The surrounding atmosphere became so hot that his body became one with the heat. It had been an accident when Malek had discovered his skin was impervious to his own flame, and that had been the catalyst to a wonderous discovery. Malek could become the very fire he created. His body took on the form of a living flame. The fire burned so hot that it heated the air around him to burning as well. The air itself became part of him. The effect was not instantaneous, but it was frighteningly fast nonetheless. To the untrained eye, it would have seemed as if Malek just ceased being in one place and then appeared behind Valerin, but in fact he had moved with the air as it heated. He moved so fast Valerin had no time to react. Malek re-materialized behind the big man and lashed out with a spear made of fire. The spear cut through his back, severed his spine, and pierced his heart. Valerin crumbled to the ground; his rage slowly faded into fear which was quickly replaced by resignation.

Malek reached out and pulled the well stone to him. He held it in his hands and shoved it into Valerin’s chest. The big man’s last gasp was not given as a curse directed at his betrayer. The look of fear returned at the shock of having the power he had grown so accustomed to ripped away from him by the well stone. The surprise and terror still showed on his face even after he died.

Malek had no time to revel in his victory. Birds attacked him from above. There was no sound with these birds, however. They moved unnaturally fast and were barely discernible with the naked eye. He could make out near-translucent shapes swirling around him as they tried to distract him. Malek almost allowed himself a smile, but when a sharp set of wraithlike talons gouged his cheek under his left eye that smile evaporated and was replaced by a tangible anger.

He lashed out at the source. Malek sent a small fireball in Esan’s general direction, causing the older man to dive for cover. The momentary barrage broke the scout’s concentration, and the spirit birds let up for the briefest of moments. Malek used the respite to engulf himself in flames and rush to Esan’s side. Esan’s eyes widened in shock when a flaming spear pierced his throat. There was no time for the surprise to blossom as the well stone stole his power because the flaming spear through his neck caused the air in Esan’s lungs to catch fire. The conjured birds disappeared with his brief dying shriek as the fire consumed him from the inside out.

In the end, it wasn’t the spinning staff that got Stragabor but the literal knife in the back he never saw coming.

Kaibon had masked his intentions to perfection, spinning his staff so quickly that Stragabor fought hard to keep his eye on the sharp blade at one end. When Kaibon finally came out of the spin and thrust for a killing blow, Stragabor was able to block the blade away. His momentum caused his body to turn just enough for Kaibon to slip a knife into his off hand and plunge it into Stragabor’s back. He fell to his knee at the shock of the pain and looked up into the face of his killer. Kaibon had tears in his eyes as the man fell.

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Kaibon tried his best to hold back tears as the sword fell from Stragabor’s hand. “There is just no other way. Malek will set things right. You have my word. Your death will not be in vain.”

“You stupid fool,” Stragabor managed through painful breaths. “Now that the mask is gone, I can see his true intentions. The danger does not end with me. He means to kill you too.”

Kaibon spared a glance toward Malek, who dropped Esan’s lifeless body to the ground, the well stone thrumming and pulsing in his hand.

Stragabor reached up with the last of his strength and pulled Kaibon in close. His breaths were ragged as he placed his hand on Kaibon’s forehead. “Know what I know. See what I have seen.”

The shock of memories and visions flooded into Kaibon from Stragabor’s firm grip. Images flashed by in quick succession until it landed on one fixed scene, one memory meant to be preserved—a scene of a dying king and his loyal followers, burying a stone that had doomed them all.

Malek appeared next to the fallen Stragabor and used the stone to siphon his power as his last breath slowly escaped his lips. His hand fell to the ground, but his dead-eyed gaze lingered on Kaibon. There was little time to contemplate what had happened, however. Malek was looking at him, and it was not a welcoming gaze.

A quick glance at their surroundings showed that all this carnage had happened in the same circular space where the wise king and his followers had held their last council. So much death for one small patch of ground.

Kaibon slowly stood to face his friend, the man he had sworn to follow to his grave.

“Surely you saw this coming,” Malek said. “A secret this dark cannot be kept but by one alone. Only one of us was ever going to leave this place alive.”

“I don’t see the necessity of it,” Kaibon chose his words carefully. He still held his staff in his right hand but was careful not to move it too quickly. “We are both guilty of this atrocity. Secrecy is imperative to both of us.”

“Guilty?” Malek visibly scoffed as anger flashed in his eyes. “Guilty, you say? A king is not guilty when he does what is necessary. The king is not subject to scrutiny when he has a war to attend to.”

“Yet you are still not the king,” Kaibon said. “Not yet.”

“It’s only a matter of time now,” Malek said as he pulled fire from the air and began his final attack.

Kaibon disappeared.

On instinct, Malek became flame and moved to the other side of the clearing. Through the well stone, he reached out with his senses and asked for power. Esan’s birds, both eagle and owl, were still perched in the trees overhead. Malek directed their gaze to find Kaibon’s footprint or his movement through the waist high grass. Even the subtlest of disturbances could not escape the eagle’s predatory gaze. He saw grass moving in the opposite direction as the breeze. Malek lashed out with a spear of fire, hurtling it toward the disturbance that was sneaking up behind him.

He heard a gasp before he felt knees hitting the ground behind him. Kaibon fell, not three feet away, a spear of fire through his chest. He tried to crawl away, but he was too late. Malek grabbed the well stone and stole the power of his closest friend as nonchalantly as he had taken his life. By the time death took Kaibon, his body lay half in the circle of dead ground and half in the field of flowers and grass.

Malek, now alone, wasted not even a second to mourn his friends. He lifted the well stone to the sky and asked it to bestow all the power within to him. He howled in maniacal glee as he was flooded with power. Finally, Malek would get what he was owed.

And any who opposed him would fall. Victory only made him stronger, and Malek felt the need to grow.

Kaibon’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped for air like he’d been holding his breath for centuries. Pain shot through his body as if every single nerve fiber, down to its basest components, were aflame and at the same time frozen in ice. His limbs shook and his head pounded. The only distinguishable sound was an intense buzzing of indiscriminate noise. Nothing he could see made sense. His mind seemed to be alternating between memories and whatever the current optical input was, which was nothing more than swirling colors, and infinite darkness. It was Hell. This had to be Hell.

He heard voices, or at least a voice, but he couldn’t make out any of the words through the buzzing in his ears. His breathing came in ragged breaths, gulping for air like a drowning man fighting desperately to stay above water. His stomach heaved and he tried to sick up, but he could produce nothing but pain and foul air. The stench of it made him even sicker, and the cycle continued for an agonizing amount of time. When it finally subsided, his shaking had lessened a bit, and the buzzing in his ears had calmed some. The swirling colors were replaced by alternating shades of green, yellow, and violet and indistinct shapes, but even indistinct shapes were better than disorienting swirls. The voice spoke again, this time almost understandable, with what he thought to be a female tone.

“. . . It’s best just to lie still for a bit,” the woman’s voice was saying. There was something familiar about it, but Kaibon had too much going on to place it. “It’s hard work coming back from the dead.”

“What?” he tried to say, but his voice came out like a dried squeak.

“I said it’s hard work coming back from the dead,” the voice repeated. “All that blood and oxygen finally pumping again. It takes a while for all those systems to get up and running like normal.”

When his head finally stopped spinning, Kaibon managed to sit up. He focused on the voice and an image appeared before him of a woman with fiery red hair, a freckled face, and welcoming blue eyes. She looked young and full of life, just as he remembered her.

“Mother?”

“Well, I’ve been called many things, but that’s certainly a first,” the voice said. “I usually manifest as your current need, so perhaps what you need right now is understanding and support. So, Mother it is.”

“Who—or— what are you?”

“Esteban called me his cosmic conscience,” she said. “That was always my favorite explanation.”

“Esteban?” Kaibon mumbled. He slowly, and with great effort, pushed himself to his feet. He was standing in a field of wild grass and flowers, inches away from an all too familiar clearing of dead ground and dead bodies. He saw and remembered Esteban and his four disciples, but he also saw three more skeletons mixed in. Their bodies had long decayed, and they were in the same state as those that came before, all bones and bits of fragmented clothing. “My God, how long has it been?”

“Tough to say,” he heard his mother say. It was soothing to hear her voice again. “Time works differently here. All I know is that you were lucky to have fallen where you did. A few more inches in the dirt, and the well could not have revived you.”

“But the well stone is gone,” Kaibon was confused. “And all the power with it.”

“The stone is not the well,” the voice explained patiently. “But it is an important part of the system, and it must be returned. That’s why you’re here, after all.”

“What?”

“You are tasked with retrieving and returning the stone to this place and burying it to keep it safe. Only then will you be allowed to go back to being dead.”