《Deus.exe Machina: The Well of Souls》


 C.1 The End is Just the Beginning

    Despite the warmth of the day, Piper wrapped herself tight in her favorite knit shawl. It seemed with every passing day, she became more and more and more useless. Her wizened body barely managed to keep herself sitting upright anymore.


    Her son-in-law had brought her down to the garden with him while he worked. She had never imagined that she would live to be so old that she would become a burden. When had she become a thing that needed to be cared for, rather than the one doing the caring?


    After all she had done, all that she had gone through, to ensure her family¡¯s survival and safety, she should have appreciated being able to rest now, to hand over the reins to the younger generation.


    Yet, part of her still wanted to protect them, not just from the troubles of the world, but from the terrible things you had to do in the name of security. The impossible choices she had to make had worn her down more than any physical demand. She deserved to rest, she told herself again. Let others carry the burden of those hard decisions.


    She shivered and pulled her shawl tighter. Alex, her son-in-law, smiled at her from his perch on a ladder, high among the flowering branches of a scraggly orange tree.


    ¡°Are you all right, Gram?¡±


    Everyone had taken to calling her Gram after her first grandchild had been born. It somehow both pleased and annoyed her at the same time. After so long, she still hadn¡¯t make her up mind if she liked it or not. ¡°Yes, yes I¡¯m fine¡­ it¡¯s just a little cool in the shade.¡±


    ¡°I could move you into a sunnier spot, if you¡¯d like?¡± He offered.


    ¡°I¡¯ll just be too hot, then. Don¡¯t worry about me. Do your work.¡± She commanded, and he obeyed. Perhaps looking a little bemused as he went back to the painstaking task of hand pollinating each blossom to ensure a good harvest.


    It never failed to annoy her that people found her orders to be ¡°cute¡±, as if she had somehow aged backward and was now an imperious child, too well loved to be put in her place, but also never taken seriously.


    Elsewhere in the garden, a group of children¡ª mostly her own grandchildren, or possibly her great-grandchildren, Piper was never sure these days, listened intently to a young woman explain how to grow and care for the plants. Seed packets and little pots of seedlings lay strewn about them. They would be planting radishes at their young age. Radishes were very easy to grow and children needed to start off on the right foot with an esteem boosting success.


    She didn¡¯t recognize the woman. Not one of her children, too young. A grandchild? Or maybe she was from one of the other families? She sighed. It didn¡¯t matter, and if she asked, she would only forget and need to ask again. It embarrassed her that she could no longer keep track of the people in her community.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Could she be an outsider? When was the last time they had taken in anyone new? Would anybody bother to tell her if they had? She snorted to herself. Of course they wouldn¡¯t. They¡¯d keep the new people away from her because she was a suspicious old woman who would only make a fuss.


    A vague itching sensation at the base of her neck distracted her from her growing frustration and anger at what her life had been reduced to. She rubbed at the spot.


    The false skin there felt ragged and rough with age. Once it had blended into her natural skin seamlessly, hiding the external port of the implant she had received so very many years ago when she had been a soldier at Fort Rollins. So young and full of fire back then. Ready to fight and die, but not understanding what that really meant yet.


    For years she had barely thought of the thing, a relic of a past long gone and better forgotten. Lately, though, the skin around it had become irritated and bothersome. She was sure it couldn¡¯t be the implant itself. That had been dealt with decades ago. They could not risk having live implants after all that happened at Fort Rollins.


    After she had met Miguel. After she had learned what it meant to stand for something. She smiled at the thought of him while her heart ached at the same time.


    Another twinge pulled her from her memories. Maybe she should have someone look at it, make sure there wasn¡¯t some sort of infection or a rash.


    She winced as a sharper pain spread along the base of her skull.


    ¡°Gram, you ok?


    No, she was not ok. She was old, and she was tired, and now she was in pain too. She glared at him until another stab of pain contorted her face.


    It felt like electricity sparking off her nerves as it shot through her skull. Her fingers tingled with the sensation of a thousand pins sticking into them. She needed her daughter, Mirabel. This wasn¡¯t a rash. It wasn¡¯t the patch.


    ¡°Gram!¡± Alex was already at her side. When had he come down the ladder?


    ¡°It¡¯s not the patch,¡± she said


    ¡°What do you mean, what¡¯s not the patch?¡± He looked around for help, or maybe he thought she meant the garden patch. He didn¡¯t wait for an answer. ¡°Get Mirabel!¡±


    Her head throbbed with every syllable of his shout. Yes, Mirabel, her daughter. She would know what to do if anyone did. She knew about the old implants. Piper had to tell her because she was their doctor, or at least the closet thing to a doctor they had here.


    Old secrets and memories that would have been best forgotten ran rampant through her mind. They would haunt her to the very end, it seemed.


    A familiar sensation, a feeling of disconnect, and otherness, flooded her senses, pushing the memories away. A sense of calm control took over.


    It can¡¯t be¡­


    She had broken it, ruined it.


    She looked into Alex¡¯s panic-stricken eyes. She wanted to tell him, warn him, but her voice failed her. His lips moved but she could hear nothing but the static in her own head.


    Whatever happened now, Piper couldn¡¯t help, couldn¡¯t shoulder the responsibility, couldn¡¯t make the hard decisions. They were on their own.


    Each breath became more labored than the next. Her eyes slipped closed, and when they finally fluttered open again, the garden was gone.


    Enveloped in darkness, unsteady on her feet, she waited for eyes to grow used to the lack of light. Details emerged, first the blinking lights¡­ red, green, white, yellow, as if the shadows were filled with all manner of electronics, each blinking its power and usage status into the void.


    Next, the space revealed itself to be a large room carved out of solid rock. A cave, maybe, but one that had no passage in or out.


    A silken voice from the shadows spoke. ¡°Hello, Piper. It''s been awhile...¡±

 C.2 The Well of Souls

    Runa took her usual position in front of the Well of Souls. The liquid within glowed a faint, pale blue infused with the lingering mana of the last six harvests. Cyrillus took up his place opposite her own.


    ¡°Ready?¡± He asked. He crooked his head to the side, making his neck pop loudly.


    ¡°Beyond ready,¡± Runa said. ¡°I can¡¯t wait for this day to be over.¡± Seven straight weeks of harvesting had drained her, and this last batch had been nothing but troubles on top of problems.


    ¡°Thank the Gods, this is the last one.¡± Cyrillus dipped his fingers into the Well.


    Runa grunted her agreement while she prepared herself to harvest the seventh soul. She had drawn the short straw for this batch. Four souls to Cyrillus¡¯s three, and each one had been more exhausting than the last.


    She dipped her own fingers into the warm, viscous liquid that filled the Well and nodded to him to begin. Together they manipulated the mana laden contents of the Well of Souls until it glowed bright blue with potential magic. Then, carefully, she tore a hole in the Veil that separated their world from the Void, and began the hunt.


    Strands of power extended from her fingertips, zig-zagging their way down until they disappeared into the depths of the Well.


    Runa had been harvesting souls for a long time. Longer than any of the other Harvesters. She took her job seriously. Too seriously, some said, but she ignored that kind of talk. There was nothing more important in all of Novalis in her estimation. No Champion ever stood on the winner¡¯s podium without being harvested first, and she had harvested more champions than anyone else.


    She had a knack for choosing the right souls. While all Harvesters had some sense of the worth of a soul, she had a particular prescience about it.


    One of her strands brushed against a soul and entwined it. It felt dull. Grey. No spark. No color. She flung it away.


    Long ago, it had taken more effort to find souls at all. Harvesters cast their strands far and wide, the effort so great one could only manage a single soul a day. Yet, in a way, it had been a simpler task. The souls were few, but they were nearly all strong and worthy.


    Now, souls gathered thick at the Well. It seemed to draw them in. It made it easier to catch a soul, but they were seldom of a quality that Runa would waste her efforts on.


    She snagged a second soul, which met the same quick judgment. Sickly yellow¡ª a coward, a weasel.


    The third looked promising at first. Its pale green seemed bright enough, but underneath there were streaks of black and red. She associated those streaks with cruelty and arrogance. No, a good champion had to be strong and honorable. She flung this one as far as she could. Other Harvesters might take it, seeing only its surface strength. The longer it took to get back to the Well, the better.


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Runa knew that nobody else could feel the colors of the souls like she did. It was why she was so much better at it than anyone else, but her success hadn¡¯t stopped the other Harvesters for mocking her when she had first mentioned her ability. She never spoke of it to anyone again.


    Sweat broke out on Runa¡¯s brow as the hunt continued. The fourth and fith souls were as dull as the first. The sixth, an interesting mix of muted blue that shifted ever so slightly into lavender here and there. A healer maybe, but she had already harvested a similar soul earlier in the day. Still, she lingered over it, but in the end, she released it


    ¡°So close,¡± she said.


    Cyrillus sighed with impatience. She ignored him as she often did. He was the newest Harvester and not as conscientious as Runa would have liked in a partner. He made up for it by being more adept than Runa in dealing with the results of their harvest: confused, dripping wet, clueless mortals.


    She took a deep breath and sent more mana into her casting lines. She brushed against several souls without even bothering to take a better look¡ª they were nearly free of any color at all, poor things. She didn¡¯t know why some souls were so faded and she would not harvest one to find out¡­ none of them would. They could all feel it. These souls were not right.


    Then she settled on another likely candidate. It felt bright and fresh, a newer soul. She liked the modern ones. They integrated with the System much more readily. That made everything that came after the Harvest so much easier.


    Cyrillus must have seen the intrigue in her expression.  ¡°A good one?¡± He asked, eyes shining with anticipation.


    ¡°Maybe.¡± She didn¡¯t know what to make of the colors. While the soul felt bright, the colors were not actually that vibrant¡ª or stable. They shifted as she probed. First green, then blue, then a burst of multi-color swirls. Very pretty, she had to admit, but what did it mean? She hesitated.


    ¡°Just take it, Runa.¡±


    She shook her head slightly, still undecided. She hated when things didn¡¯t fit into the neat patterns she was used to.


    ¡°Nobody expects the seventh soul on the seventh day to be perfect.¡±


    ¡°There is no such thing as a perfect soul,¡± she snapped. But there were such things as bad souls and good souls, and Runa expected all her harvests to be good. Better than good.


    Only, she wasn¡¯t sure she had it in her to try again. Her hand literally shook from the effort of holding on to this one. She gave it one more look, but it still refused to settle down into something she understood.


    She didn¡¯t get a sense of wrongness from it like those faded souls had, and if she harvested this one then she would know what these changing colors meant. It¡¯s how she learned it all in the first place, nobody had handed her a guide. Blue souls equal this, and green souls that.


    ¡°Fine.¡± She spoke through gritted teeth. ¡°But, if this one sucks, it¡¯s your fault.¡±


    Cyrillus rolled his eyes at her. She pretended not to notice and pulled the soul toward the surface. The mana rich fluid formed and congealed around the soul, creating substance where none had been before. Cell by cell, organ by organ, a woman emerged from the depths.


    Runa released her casting lines and the mana, freed from her control, wrapped itself around the not quite alive body of a new Adventurer to complete her transformation from an untethered soul to a living mortal.