Chapter 5

Lavina pulls out an ornate knife. She must notice the look of alarm on my face because she put up a hand, "Don't worry, dear. I just need a lock of hair so I can keep track of you."

Before I can even ask for further explanation, she reaches out and shears off a lock of hair. "I should have done this for John. Then I would be able to scry for him. As it is, I can only hope that he is still in his house."

"Scry? Do you mean spy?" I ask.

"No, scry, dear," she says. "Although I suppose it is a sort of spying, magically,"

"Like with a crystal ball?"

"That is the general idea." She waves one hand impatiently. "Later, later. For now, you really must be going. Be careful. Our enemies have more sinister weapons that confused and frightened townspeople at their disposal."

She then steps back and fades from view, leaving me alone.

I am familiar with the well she spoke of. When I were twelve, I had the misfortune of being too curious and lacking in common sense. While exploring the small scrape of forest north of town, I found the entrance to a tunnel that seemed to lead toward town.

I remember entering the tunnel, and I clearly recall winding up at the bottom of the bottom of the town's disused well, but what happened in between has always been a muddle of rot. Just the thought of returning to it makes me shiver, but right now, it's my best way out.

I take a deep breath, then climb the stairs and exit the metal hatch to the streets.

I move through the streets in short, quick bursts, from one cover to the next, all too aware of the shouts and running footsteps through out Marooner's point. The well isn't too far from the caller, but I can't take the chance of a mad dash.

As I sneak through the streets, the events of the evening creep up in my thoughts. The sudden strange behaviour of people I've seen every summer since I was small. The revelation that Uncle John really is more than he seems. The fact people are chasing me. Most of all, I keep returning to that strange sensation of power I felt earlier.

I didn't realize how lost in thought I am until I see a torchlight coming around the corner ahead. I flatten myself against a wall. As far as I can tell, am behind the town's pub, which means the well should just be a couple of streets over. If I make a run for it now, I might reach it, but this patrol will be right behind me.

A stack of old barrels stands beside the pub's back door. I might be able to wedge myself behind them, but it would be tight and I sure don't want to knock any over.

The patrol's footsteps are right around the corner. From the sound, I estimate there is to be at least Four of them. I take a deep breath. Run or hide? Another option is to use my power to blend in with my surroundings. This is new to me, though, so it might not work. Alternatively, I could attack them and hope they are stunned enough for me to get away.

I wedge myself into the space behind the barrels, bumping one of them in the process. I grab the top of the barrel and hold it in place, hoping no one heard the noise.

A raised touch comes into view from the side street. "You hear that?"

I hold my breath and curl into a ball, hoping no part of me is visible.

"Check around there."

Two pairs of footsteps move towards my hiding place. They stop from time to time, but always start coming towards me again. A bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. I need to breathe, but I don't dare.

One of the men stops just within reach of the barrels. He must be able to see the top of my head from there. The muscles in my shoulder quiver. If they find me now, I'll be cornered. I squeeze my eyes shut.

A loud bang echoes through the night, followed by distant shouts.

"That'll be her. Come on."

The tension in my shoulders melt away as the patrol moves down the street. I allow myself a moment to recuperate before leaving my hiding place and taking the dirt street. From there, I should have a clear path to the well.

The old well stands in a small yard that was once the center of town. It has been dry for as long as I can remember, but the bucket still hangs down from the crossbeam.

I glance over the edge. It's dark down here, but I remember it clearly enough. If nothing has changed, there is a kerosene lantern hanging from a hook just inside the tunnel. I remember the way it's glass caught the ambient sunlight. That glow was what led me out of the tunnel.

The inner wall of the well provides plenty of footholds, at least as far as I can see. Despite my mother's earlier protests, I'm wearing sensible shoes and so I could probably scale it if I don't trust the ancient rope and rotten crossbeam. Otherwise, I could risk taking the time to search the yard for a safer way to get down.

The yard is clear of debris, for the most part. In one corner, however, lies an alcove packed with scrap wood. Among the old barrels and discard planks, I find a ladder. It feels rickety, and a number of the rungs are missing, but it would be safer than scaling the wall or shimmying down the rope.

I lower the ladder into the well, then climb onto it. My stomach clenches as the ladder slips in the mud, but it soon comes to a stop. I loosen my death grip on the top rung and begin my descent.

The air cools as I climb down the ladder. I take my time, always feeling for the next rung with my foot and stretching past the ones that aren't there.

As I climb, I keep my eyes focused upward, on the circle of dim light at the mouth of the well. At least, when my foot searches for a rung, it finds the slick muck at the well's bottom.

The only sounds I hear are a distant dripping and the sound of my own breathing. I reach out a trembling hand to search for the wall. Though I do have a matchbook, I only have one or two matches left. Better to save them until I find the lantern. The stones feel smooth and cold under my fingers. I trail under hand along the wall until I find an opening.

I close my eyes, though it makes no difference in this darkness, and grope along the tunnel entrance for the lantern. It has to be there.

At last, my hand bump against cold glass. I take the matchbook from my pocket and strike a match. I light the lantern, then remove it from it's hook. Orange light glistens on the damp stones.

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