The Well of Death, part 2
Instead of the corpse, Jack and his cousin discover something more weird
“Grab some blubber and rags,” the caravaner told his cousin. “And don’t forget a rope. I still want a good look at the dead bastard. Someone I know—someone who promised to help—will definitely want to see the corpse. Oh, and by the way—seen anything strange in the sky lately?”
“The neighbors did,” Fred muttered. “Said something flew out over the sea and vanished. A damn machine maybe… glowing, lighting up the water. You think it’s connected?”
Jack rubbed his broad forehead, eyes narrowed in thought.
“I don’t know…” he said. “Can I see Annie?”
“Just for a bit.”
The stairs groaned under his boots as he climbed to the tiny room where his niece sat curled on the bed. She looked wrecked—eyes swollen, a purple bruise blooming along her cheekbone.
“That from the bastard who attacked her?” Jack growled, rounding on his cousin.
“No. That was me…” Fred admitted, voice low. “Lost it. She kept sneaking out at night, and now she won’t say a damn word… You get it, right? Her reputation’s ruined…”
Jack didn’t answer. He just swung. A clean, hard punch—Fred hit the wall with a thud and slid down, dazed.
Jack was no saint. But lay a hand on a woman or child in front of him, and you’d regret it for the rest of your days.
“Do it again,” he said, voice like gravel, “and you’re no brother of mine.”
He turned and sat beside Annie, her face pale and shell-shocked.
“Sweetheart,” he said gently. “You still don’t remember who it was? We need to know. Someone else might get hurt.”
“There was a man,” she said after a long pause, eyes downcast like she was the one who’d done something wrong. “At first, I thought it was Goran… but he was taller. And his outfit was strange.”
“Strange how?”
“Like orca skin. Shiny. Black.”
“Did you see his face?”
“Not clearly. It was dark.”
“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“No one would believe me.”
“I believe you. What did he do?”
“He asked how to get to the nearest city. Then…” She swallowed. “Then he grabbed my hair and sprayed something in my face. It smelled like flowers. After that… nothing.”
“That scarf I gave you—were you wearing it?”
“Of course, Uncle. I wanted Goran to see.”
Jack stared at her a long moment. Then he drew a slow solar circle in the air, fingers trembling.
“May the Greater and Lesser Sun guard you from the night,” he whispered. Cold crept up his spine, sharp and steady. “Fred, you got a gun? Crossbow won’t cut it this time.”
“I got one—but the trigger jams. No clue where to get it fixed. That crook Zachariah—may he rot in boils—wants a damn fortune for repairs.”
“Fetch it anyway.”
Fred did as he was told, still blabbering under his breath that bullets weren’t much good against unholy things. Truth be told, Jack was just as rattled—and scared half to death. This strange, skin-crawling madness was almost as terrifying as Heldrich’s wrath.
Outland had two wells. One dried up about five years ago, and the villagers, needing water for their gardens and livestock, dismantled their homes and moved closer to the working one. The “dead” well they left uncovered—just threw a wooden grate over it so the kids wouldn’t fall in. Clearly, that hadn’t stopped whoever—or whatever—had used it.
Jack spotted a faint trail of footprints leading from the well toward the main road—the one people took to reach Seven Winds. The tracks were small, lighter than Fred’s or his own.
“You see these?” he asked.
“I dunno... It was still dark,” Fred said, chewing nervously on his mustache.
“Looks like your corpse didn’t wait to be collected. Crawled out and walked off.”
“Don’t talk nonsense.”
“You remember what boots Annie was wearing?”
“Uh... felt boots. Waterproofed. Shit—that’s her tread!”
“Exactly. Get the rope. I’m going down. Hold it steady.”
The stench hit hard—foul and clinging, like a whale rotting in the sun.
“Right? A whale!” Fred offered, and Jack had to restrain himself from punching him again. The man wasn’t stupid, not exactly—but he sure wasn’t sharp.
Jack wrapped a scarf over his mouth and lowered himself into the well. At the bottom, he found bones—cat, bird, mouse. Trash too. But no human corpse.
Wait. What the hell was that?
A white, slick mass lay slumped near the far edge. Shapeless. Slimy. Like boiled fish skin. No—thicker. Shark-thick. Skin. Jack nudged it with the toe of his boot. A chunk broke off, wobbling like gelatin. He picked it up between two fingers, gagging slightly, and slipped it into an empty pouch. Vassilevsky might know what the hell it was.
Hauling himself back up, Jack snapped, “You dumb ass! Couldn’t even have your future son-in-law keep an eye on the damn guest?”
“You mean he left?”
“What do you think?”
“Then... what the hell was that thing down there?”
“Something that used to belong to it. To be its part, maybe. And I’ve got a feeling I’m gonna be hunting it down back home.”
Fred made the sun-circle sign with trembling fingers and stared into the throat of the well. Jack pulled up his hood and lit the oil-soaked rags, tossing them in. The fire caught fast, hissing and snapping below.
“Do what I say,” Jack muttered. “Grab the kids and go. Railtown. The power station. The engineer there’s good with villagers. Take Goran too—he’s solid, and you’ll need help. If Heldrich comes sniffing around... things could get ugly.”
“But how would he even know Goran was involved?”
“Oh, he’ll know,” Jack said flatly. “You think no one around here would sell you out for the mill? Make your move. Fast. I’ve got a friend to meet—someone who can help track this thing.”
Fred tried to stall, offering excuses. The fence needed fixing. There was pie in the oven. But Jack saw through it—Fred was scared. Scared out of his wits and clinging to the only steady head around just to keep from falling apart.
Under any other circumstances, Jack wouldn’t have needed much convincing.
“If I don’t leave now, I’ll never find the devil,” he said, turning away. “Take care of yourselves.”
Jack hurried back toward the shore, chest tight with anxiety. His thoughts buzzed like maddened flies, refusing to line up in any kind of sense. Confusion bred panic, and panic bred speed.
He remembered when life had rules. Don’t go where it’s dangerous. Watch the skies. Treat the dogs. Steer clear of leaders, no matter their uniforms or their gods. When had it all come apart? The sea leopard that took his arm? Heldrich’s rise? Or that green-eyed woman who blew in like a warm front and never quite left?
It’s hard for people to accept chaos. They look for patterns, blame bad luck or other people. The wiser ones see their own choices reflected in their misfortunes. But a rare few understand the hard truth: sometimes there’s no connection at all. Sometimes, you die for no reason. Sometimes, good people vanish like smoke.
He looked up at the sun as if it might give an answer—then shook the thought off and rushed down to the sea.
But it was already too late.
The boat, riding the backs of glistening black waves, was halfway to Seven Winds.
“STOOOOP!” Jack shouted, waving his right arm and the stub of his left. “BOY! I’M COMING! TURN BACK!”
He scrambled down the rocks, slipping and cursing, risking a broken neck. But Lauri kept rowing. Never slowed. Never looked back.
He’d seen Jack. Had to have. He just didn’t care.
Wind was shifting. The tide was pulling. Nothing personal—just business.
Jack spat at the ground. The wind caught it and hurled it back in his face.
He dropped to the rocks, landing hard on his ass, and watched the boat shrink into the distance. Beams of sunlight spilled through the clouds, bathing it in golden light—like even the sun had chosen someone else to bless.
With a groan, Jack pushed to his feet. Ivan would want answers. And Jack would give them—eventually. For now, he turned toward the road that led back to Seven Winds, walking into the teeth of the early dusk. The night was catching up.
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