Midnight at the Well of Souls

* * *

Datham Hain awoke with a very strange set of feelings and yet not aware that over ten days had passed since she was first introduced to the land of the Akkafian.

A Markling with the insignia of the Baron Azkfru entered and saw that she was awake. “You must be starved,” the newcomer said pleasantly. “Follow me and we will take care of that.”

Starvation was close to what Datham Hain actually felt at that point, and she needed no further urging to follow the servant. The feeding room was filled with pens of large, white-ribbed worms that were indigenous to the soil of the land. Hain had no qualms this time about eating such prey, and found them most satisfying.

“The baron raises his own fikhfs,” the guide explained as she gorged herself. “Only the best for this household, till midnight at the Well of Souls.”

Hain suddenly stopped eating.

“What was that you just said?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s just a saying,” the other replied.

Hain forgot it for the moment and continued eating. When it was clear that her hunger had been satisfied, the guide said, “Now, follow me into reception, and you’ll meet the baron.”

Hain obediently followed down several long and particularly plush corridors to a wide anteroom covered in that downy fur with a low-volume “music” background, pleasant but not lulling as the other had been.

“Just relax for now,” the baron’s servant told her. “His Highness will call you in when he is ready.”

Relaxing was just the thing Hain felt least like doing; extremely awake and alert, she wished idly for something active to do, something to look at. A rack in one corner held a series of scrolls in that funny writing, but it was just random dots.

Not even any pictures, she thought glumly.

She paced nervously, awaiting the baron’s pleasure.

* * *

The baron was already entertaining a guest—or guests, he wasn’t sure which. Although he had communicated with a representative of whatever government this creature or creatures had, he had never met any of them and knew nothing about them. He still didn’t, he realized sourly, and he didn’t like the situation, either. The Northern Hemisphere was a place so alien to him that he felt more kinship with the most different of the Southern races compared to the closest of the North.

The object of his speculation and apprehension was floating about three meters in front of him. Yes, floating, he decided—no visible means of support or locomotion. It looked like a slightly upcurved strip of crystal from which a set of dozens of small crystal chimes hung down, the whole thing about a meter long and ending just short of the floor. On top of the crystal strip floated a creature that seemed to consist of hundreds of rapidly flashing lights. Their pattern and their regularity suggested that they existed in a transparent ball fitting in the crystal holder—but, try as he would, he couldn’t make out the ball he somehow felt was there.

The Diviner and The Rel might be looking at him in an equally odd and uneasy way, he realized, but he would never know. He would not like to be, would not ever be, in its world. But it was in his, and that gave him a small measure of comfort.

“Will this Hain stay loyal to you?” The Rel asked, apparently using its chimes to form the words, which gave it a total lack of tone or coloration.

“My technicians assure me so,” replied Azkfru confidently. “Although I fail to see why she is necessary to us in any event. I feel uneasy trusting everything to someone so new and unknown.”

“Nevertheless,” replied The Rel, “it is necessary. Remember that The Diviner predicted that you would receive one of the outworlders, and that the solution to our problems was not possible without an outworlder present.”

“I know, I know,” Azkfru acknowledged, “and I am grateful that it was me who was contacted by your people. We have as much stake in this as you, you know.” He fidgeted nervously. “But why are you sure that this one is the outworlder needed?”

“We’re not,” The Rel admitted. “The Diviner only knows that one of the four who came in that party is needed to open the Well. One was destined for Czill, one for Adrigal, one for Dillia, and one for here. Of the four, yours was known to be psychologically the most receptive to our offer.”

“I see,” Azkfru said, uncertainty mixed with resignation in his tone. “So twenty-five percent was better than zero percent. Well, why not just grab the others so we’re sure?”

“You know the answer to that one,” The Rel responded patiently. “If we missed just one of these Entries, it would hide and we couldn’t monitor it. This way, we will know where they are and what they are doing.”

“Um, yes, and there’s the second prediction, too.”

“Quite so,” The Rel affirmed. “When the Well is opened all shall pass through. Thus, if we keep one of them with us, we will stand the best chance of going through with them.”

“I still wish I were going with you,” the baron said. “I feel uneasy that the only representative of my people will be a conditioned alien of known untrustworthiness.”

“One of you is going to be conspicuous enough,” The Rel pointed out. “Two of you is an advertisement for hundreds of other uneasy governments. Right now, neither of us knows if our agreement is duplicated by others with any or all of the other three.”

That idea made Azkfru more uncomfortable than ever.

“Well, damn it, you—or half of you, or whatever—is The Diviner. Don’t you know?”

“Of course not,” replied The Rel. “The present is as closed to The Diviner as it is to you. Only random snatches of information are received, and that in rather uncontrolled fashion. Getting this much is more than we usually get on anything. Hopefully more pieces will fit together as we progress.”

Rather than disturbing him further, this news reassured him instead. So the damn thing wasn’t omnipotent, anyway. Still, he wished he knew more about the creature that stood before him. What were its powers? What tricks did it have up its sleeve?

The fear that most consumed him was of a double cross.

The Diviner—or The Rel—seemed to sense this, and it said, “Our hexes are as alien as can be. We have no commonality of interest or activity. You are an incomprehensible people to us, and your actions are equally so. Never would we be here, in peril of our sanity, were it not for the urgent single commonality our races share: survival. We are satiated in the summing process, and active in the coefficient of structure. Our sole object is to keep everything just the way it is.”

The baron didn’t understand any of it, but he did understand that mutual survival was a common bond, and the assurance that they wanted to preserve the status quo. The trouble was, he could say exactly the same thing and not mean a word of it.

And now all of his future rested on Datham Hain.

The baron gave the Akkafian equivalent of a sigh of resignation. He had no choice in the matter. That conditioning must hold!

“How soon do you wish to begin?” he asked the Northerner.

“A lot depends on your end,” The Rel pointed out. “Without Skander the whole scheme falls apart, the sum clouds and changes to an infinite number.”

“And you can point him out, only you,” the baron replied. “I’m ready when you are.”

“No more than a week, then,” The Rel urged. “We have reason to suspect that Skander will move out of reach shortly after that.”

“Very well,” the baron sighed, “I’ll condition two of my best Markling warriors. You don’t need Hain for this part, do you?”

“No,” responded The Rel. “That will do nicely. We’ll have to work at night and hide out during the day, so it will take a good day to set us up once there. Another two days to get there, inconspicuously, if possible. Can you be ready within a day period from this moment?”