SciFi and Fantasy Stories: The bewitched well

The bewitched well.

A tale by Sandra Viglione.

Nadruk and Sagraz’s adventures.

And the door opened at last.

The door opened to a yard full of light. It was dawn. After the darkness of the Castle, either the sorcerer or the gypsy welcomed it. Sagraz ran outside not caring of anything else.

‘Watch out! We’re not out yet,’ Nadruk grunted.

He began to make sure, carefully, that nothing was lurching behind the portico. He waved his wand, searching for signs he only saw. Not even Sagraz’s giggles convinced him for a long time. At last, he came to the light, one foot, then the other. No reaction. He came out and stood on the step.

Click! The door closed and locked behind him. He turned round irking.

‘Damn it!’ he let out.

‘What happens?’ the gypsy’s voice came from behind the flowered bushes.

‘The door is locked. We can’t go back,’ he said in bad mood. She laughed.

‘Nothing in the world could make me come back that way. Don’t be so grumpy. The exit must be near. And in the meantime, look! This place is beautiful.’

‘Don’t touch anything. This is a bewitched place. Don’t trust any…’

Nadruk broke off. Sagraz came giggling, the face stained in purple. She handed some berries to Nadruk. He made a grimace, and the gypsy laughed again.

‘Come on, Drukka, Don’t be so grumpy,’ she said.

‘Don’t call me such! I’m a great sorcerer, not a silly quadruped!

Sagraz shrugged.

‘I do like drukkas. I kept one when I was a child.

Nadruk turned his back on her. The enormous Castle towered behind them, dark, cold, invincible, cutting their escape. Behind and at both sides, enclosing them in then asphyxiating hug of its bulwarks.

‘There must be a way-out.’

‘Let’s look after it, then.’

The gypsy started along one of the little paths that opened under the luxuriant vegetation. Every step she took, her bracelet and the beads of her necklaces sounded like little bells. Nadruk thought of casting a silent spell on her, like down there, but the only memory of the darkness they had been trapped so long made him shudder. The woman walked briskly, drawing aside the hanging twigs and the bushes that hindered her way. The yard was not so big.

‘Over there,’ she said in triumphal tone.

It was true. A little ahead, in the gray wall there was a barred door.

‘Watch out,’ he warned for the umpteenth time. ‘It might be a trap.’

‘Another trap, I know.’

Although her enthusiasm, Sagraz knew as well as Nadruk, that the castle was full of tricks, and any missed step would take them again to the dungeons. She wouldn’t like that.

Nadruk advanced cautiously, wand up. Sagraz kept at his back. Step by step, they made up to the door. Nothing happened. Nadruk touched the lock with the wand. Still nothing. Trough the bars of the door they could see the outside. A little less green and luxuriant, but it was outside. The exterior. Freedom. Sagraz shook the bars with her hands.

‘Nothing!’ she cried. In spite of her always being in good mood, desperation had won her. They had spent too much time in there.

‘Calm down. There must be a way to open it.’

‘There is not! Can’t you see it? It’s another trick. He had taken us from one place to another like puppets, and here we are. Can’t you realize? He’ll never let us out!’

Nadruk looked at her with the perennial calm that only a sorcerer could keep. Her eyes burned like fire.

Calm down,’ he repeated. ‘I’ll find the way… Let me see.’

Sagraz got apart from the door. It was getting hot.

Nadruk leaned toward the lock humming something. Nothing happened. Magic, bound to call the words that kept the secrets, for some reason wasn’t working. There must be an indication. The Great Sorcerer liked riddles. He’d never left a guess without clue.

The upset noises from Sagraz took him away his concentration. He turned round to her.

‘What’s up now?’

‘Ain’t you going to do something?’

‘I’m trying. What’s bothering you?’

‘It’s too much hot. Don’t you feel it?’

‘Yes, and so what?’

‘It isn’t normal.’

Nadruk let out a broken laughter.

‘Nothing is normal in here.’

‘I’m thirsty.’

‘You shouldn’t eat those fruits.’

‘It’s true. I’m very thirsty, and it’s too much hot.’

Nadruk lost his temper.

‘So, you go fetch water!’

Sagraz looked at him shrewdly. She was about to scorn him again but she rather left things that way.

‘You’re right. I’ll go.’

Hours slid slowly. This day seemed as long as an entire year. Nadruk went on working on the lock, and Sagraz hadn’t come back. Heat was unbearable. Sweat ran under his robes, but he didn’t want to pull it over. He’d have time for it later, when they’d be on the safe. He smiled involuntarily. When they’d be… the both of them. He had started this trip alone, and now… It had been weird the race along the black corridors not listening the clinking pace of his partner. Yes, he had started alone and helpless, and now…

‘Damn it!’

In wrath, he cast a stone against the door. It struck the lock. The stone glimmered and disappeared. It was too fast. He withdrew a couple of steps and looked after another stone.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Look at this, and tell me what you perceive,’ Nadruk said.

He aimed carefully, and cast the stone. In touching the lock there was a glimmer. And something else; a noise.

‘Water?’ Sagraz asked.

Nadruk smiled triumphantly.

‘Yes, it opens up with water. I think we must wet the lock to get the door opened.’

‘Excellent. I found a well in back, but…’

‘Let’s go.’

Sagraz led Nadruk along another path. Heat was now more than evident. The leaves on the trees lolled withered, and there wan no hint of breeze.

‘It’s very hot,’ Nadruk said.

Sagraz snorted.

‘I told you that hours ago. I thought you didn’t feel either heat or cold.’

‘Of course I feel them. But complaining isn’t going to solve this problem, is it?’

‘Why are you complaining now then?’

‘We’re almost out. I bet outside it is not so hot…’

‘Forget it…’

The well stood now in front of them. The vines on the bow were withered and dead.

‘… it is bewitched too.’

Nadruk didn’t need her to tell him. All around the well the ground was dusty and cracked.

‘Is there any water?’

‘Yes. But you can’t draw it out. When you get the bucket up, it’s empty or full of sand.’

‘Damn it.’

Sagraz went and sat down on one of the wooden benches that surrounded the well.

‘I spent the whole while trying to get the water out,’ she said.

Nadruk got closer and sat by her. He laid his hand on hers.

‘We’ll make it… somehow.’

She stared at him in desperation. She opened her mouth and closed it before saying anything. She licked her lips and shook the head.

Nadruk looked around. Since they entered the withered circle, it had spread.  He stood up and pulled Sagraz standing.

‘Let’s go to the shadow,’ he said not to alarm her. She looked in his direction.

‘It’s growing, isn’t it?’

‘Calm down. I’ll take you out of here…

But they couldn’t reach the trees’ shadow. Every step they took, the dry circle advanced before them. Aspens lost their leaves, and roses dried up in front of them.

‘No, wait. We’re going to kill it all,’ Sagraz said.

‘We must reach the shelter. This sun is going to roast you…’

Sagraz let out a laughter broken by the thirst.

‘I don’t care about the sun. This sun is not real. If it was, it should go west now. Day must be ending.’

However, the sun kept on, brilliant in the zenith.

‘Let’s go to the well’s shadow.’

The shadow was minimum, as every noon shadow. They curled up there, one against the other, waiting. At times, Sagraz leaned the head against Nadruk’s shoulder and dozed. For a long time they didn’t say or do anything.

‘I’m thirsty…’ Sagraz mumbled. Hours had passed. Sun hadn’t moved. Nadruk moved with effort. His robes were creased and dusty. The air went on heating. He helped Sagraz up.

‘We must do something,’ she said, raucous.

Nadruk took her to the wooden bench and she dropped on it.

‘There must be a way,’ he mumbled.

He watched pensively the well. The curbstone was covered with engravings he hadn’t seen before. He got closer and crouched by the first of them. Dust didn’t allow him seeing, so he cleaned the carving with the corner of is robe. He restrained a cry. The answer was there; it had been there all the time. He went around the well, cleaning the images one by one.

‘Drukka…’

The voice, weak, came from the bench. He neared her.

‘I can’t stand it… I’m thirsty…’

Nadruk kissed her forehead. She had her eyes closed. He leaned her on the bench. He must get the water now.

The bucket hung on its chain. He reached it without effort. He placed it on the white brick, and touched it with the wand, spelling the conjuration for dryness. Then he let it down slowly.

Splash!

A green light came up through the hole of the well. Nadruk let out the bucket chain.

‘Who dares wake me up from my dream?’ a nasty voice said.

Nadruk made a grimace. The Great Sorcerer.

‘Show up, Ancient,’ he demanded with calm. Of course, it was not he in person, but one of his many spells, which got personality and a life of its own with the centuries. The spell of the Ancient took the form of a greenish head. Nadruk observed it attentively. It was the head of the Sorcerer, as the pictures in the castle showed him… when he was not older than four decades. As the stories told, the Great Sorcerer has reached the millennium, helped by his powerful spells and his magical elixirs.

‘Who are you, and which is your wish?’ the head asked.

‘Water from you well.’

‘Who are you?’

‘That is not important.’

The green head laughed.

‘That is the important thing,’ it said. ‘You shall have no water unless you know who you are.’

‘My name is Nadruk. I’m a sorcerer. And she is…’

The head seemed to see her that moment.

‘A gipsy!’ The grimace deformed it completely. ‘No water for her!’

Nadruk looked the head of the Ancient with repulsion. He wasn’t going to argue with that.

‘Then, give it for me.’

‘All right. Only a sorcerer could draw the water. Come and have it…’

Nadruk neared cautiously, brandishing his wand. But the head got stepped aside, and water bubbled up, to the mouth of the well. Nadruk almost could touch it with the hand. He took the bucket to fill it with water and the water withdrew. The head twitched with laughter.

‘No, you fool… You must find the right recipient.

Damn it, Nadruk thought. He didn’t work with concrete magic. Only with symbols and energy. Magic from plants and stones were Sagraz’s things. They were gypsies’ and wandering wizards’ things. He had always believed that… He broke off. He went toward Sagraz laid. The bench was a wooden one. Where the breath of the gypsy had touched it, it looked new and shiny. The rest was dry ad full of dust. He retired her with delicacy, and touched that piece of wood with the wand, drawing a circle. He thought of a goblet, but a wooden cup would be enough. He returned to the well. This time, the water did not withdraw when he sunk the cup on it.

‘You gave me the water. Now it is mine,’ Nadruk said, coming back to Sagraz. The head disappeared in a furious burst of green light.

‘Sagraz, look… Water…’

‘Mm… No, no, the door…’ She refused the drink. Nadruk forced her to drink.

‘You’ll break the spell if you don’t drink. Come on.’

Patiently, he had her drinking all the cup content. When he came back to the well, the mirror of water was still there. He filled the cup for the second time.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said.

The wooden door got opened when they poured water on the lock, and the night on the outside, fresh and scented, opened for them.

Registered by Sandra Viglione. 2005.