The Wells of Gems

I'd been finding sparkly rocks for as long as I can remember.

My mother hated me for it. No matter where I went, down to the brook or up the path to visit Granny or into town, I'd come back with a bit of stone that flashed light in my eyes as I walked. I kept them in the bottom of the bed box - who would care but me what I slept on? I cleaned out the rushes regularly and kept it tidy, so why should she care? But she threw out my rocks twice. I found them all the first time, since she just tossed them at the edge of the meadow. The second time she had to fish me out of the brook, many times, screaming. Father had to holler at her something fierce because she kept dragging me back to the house, and I'd leave to fetch more of my pretties, and he finally threatened to tie her to something and let me be. If I was hurting no one, and it didn't dirty the house, what was her problem?

The third time, she never got to touch them. I think. All I know is I came home, and she was covered in scratches, and she never entered my room again.

It was like sleeping on the biggest pile of smug cats that night. I dreamt of warm, sunlight-filled glades, and gently-smoothing water, and of growing in the deepest secret-filled caves where it was so dark that light was a distant imaginary thing.

Rocks have long, long memories.

We all have to do pilgrimage, of course. The wells, all nine of them, are scattered across our kingdom. Some are close to cities, some are in the back of beyond, and some make no sense, unless you think like a rock.

How much money you have is how long or often you do pilgrimage. There are now hostels everywhere, a day's stay away from the last, leading to each and every site. You get a reasonably clean bed and some cheap food for pennies a day. I've heard of some families where they take only some kids and foist the littles off on family who has the misfortune of living nearby, and pitch a fit if you ask about how they're supposed to pay for more mouths to suddenly feed.

That would have been me, if Grandma hadn't stepped in and paid for us all to go. We were pretty sure Mother and Father would take my younger brothers and leave and never come back.

Grandma'd never done the pilgrimage either, she said, so she thought might as well make a virtue out of necessity. She showed me how to pack my single dress, and other things I would need for the road. Bed sheets, socks, a comb, a tooth stick, soap, mouth paste. Stuff like that. We were also pretty sure Mother would "forget" to pack anything for me.

Grandma also had me sneak all my rocks to her house, and she locked them in her little cottage, to keep them safe. One of the near-ish neighbors would come by on the regular to make sure the place was safe. But she wouldn't trust Father or Mother with a key, ever.

The hardest part was deciding which five rocks to take with me, since they were curious about traveling. It's not a thing they do much, unless there's very fast water or they're very very hot. Or unless they're falling, and that's really not the same thing at all.

Going on pilgrimage isn't all that exciting. It's the same stuff you do at home, without knowing where all the bits are to get the job done. They tried to make me do all the chores, to keep me from trouble, they said. It didn't keep me from knowing they packed special snacks and trinkets for the littles that they didn't want to share with me. Grandma guarded my pack when I was sent on water-fetching or firewood hunting, and then she'd refuse to let them force me to cook on top of that. Grandma made them share the chores, and if my brothers got treats for helping and I didn't, well Grandma would buy me a treat on the way and share it with only me. We walked in the back anyway, away from them.

Walking all day is no fun either. Grandma sent the littles packing up to the front again and again when they came back and begged to be carried. Eventually Grandma marched them back to the front where my parents walked proudly with the most Important People and tore a strip or two out of them, for making us take care of the children they produced. Suddenly Grandma and I were invited to other campfires, and given better food, while the pilgrims glared daggers at my parents. Father was very unhappy, and Mother's face was purple with rage.

Grandma found one of her friends in our group of pilgrims, some lady she knew from long ago. That lady would walk with us, and they shared memories and giggled a lot over my head. This lady was a lot like Grandma, didn't put up with people treating each other like they were peasants to be misused. She was paying attention, even while walking and talking, and would go and sort out the problems you expect when a bunch of snoots have to travel with poor people.

When we finally got to the first well, it was near a town that had formed just because the well was there. Lots of stuff to buy, or eat, places to spend money to say you were there. Even rare things to eat, and places to stay and sleep if you had the coin to pay for it. And places to have your clothing fixed or cleaned or redyed if you wish. We stayed in the hostel, though this one had a place where it was easier to clean up before you visited the grove. I aired out my one dress, since I'd been walking in sensible trousers and tunics on the road. Cut-me-downs from Father's old castoffs. Grandma even helped me clean them sometimes, when I'd hauled a bit more water to wash up. They both made sure we three had first dibs, and then let my brothers mess up what was left. Even that stopped when Grandma threw it on them when they slopped it all over, and tried to get it on me. Mother and Father were mad at me like it was my fault, but took over washing themselves and their kids after that, and didn't let them play in the dregs. They howled all night, being told "no" and having it stick. Important People didn't want to talk with them so much after that. Important People don't like their sleep disturbed by bratty kids.

How can I tell you about the wells?

Each one gives shiny stones in a different color for each spot. No one knows when they pop up like soap bubbles from the middle, or how they form down below. You visit as many wells as you can, to see if one of the gems is for you. If it is, it will come right over to you. If nothing happens, then try the others; it just might not be the right color for you. It doesn't happen often, so to get one means you're meant to be Someone Special. But for what, no one knows. Sometimes it only shows up many many years afterwards, when you can look back and see what moment in life was what they call a "nexus".

Sometimes you and your neighbors never figure it out, and it only comes out at your funeral. Maybe.

The wells look kinda the same, though there are small differences at each one. Most have a curb surrounding half, and a kind of dome around the other half like a scallop shell pulled upright. There are glowy runes and statues and pretty gardens leading to them, usually gifts from grateful people who went on to become Someone Important after they got their gem. Some even have strange twisty mazes or glades where you can have camps and bonfires and singing contests. One is near a lake that has boating races, and one is near a volcano that has a garden where you can see what looks like shining stone trees left from when it exploded long long ago. At one, the stone garden looks like melted people, frozen with their mouths still open. Creepy, that one is. All of them are, in weird beautiful ways. Some are just more obvious than others.

When you're ready to see the well, you put on your nice clothing and walk the path through the whatsis till you get to it. You can sit on the curb and watch the water, to see if it bubbles and pops. Most times the water swirls on its own, makes little splashes at the edge to delight the littles. It's rare to have a gem pop up, they say, once a year. Not at each well, at all of them put together. There are guardians there, priestesses and soldier types, to make sure no one gets rowdy.

We heard the whispers all morning as we got ready at the hostel. The water was bubbling already, so someone was likely going to get a gem today! There were a lot of excited people preparing for it, and more and more arriving from the nicer hostels in town for the morning's walk.

Mother and Father were, of course, in the front, chatting with more Important People who just joined this pilgrimage from different paths. The pack of my siblings was running around, as usual, being nuisances. Grandma and the lady just smiled a little, and took up places farther back in the procession as we walked into the garden singing the Song of Morning.

Purple flowers, purplish leaves on trees and bushes, purple-gray sparkly rocks to sit on if you needed a rest. Some tree that had a purple-red bark, and another that has purple-blue clusters of flowers. I wanted to sit and talk to the rocks, but I had to keep going, so I waved to them as they sparkled in the sunlight. They were happy, chiming with the people-song, singing so high it sounded like glass when it's touched gently by metal.

We could hardly see the well when we got there, since so many people showed to see who'd get the gem. The guards would allow a group to sit for a while, then move them along or back to let the next group sit. Most people would accept this, but of course there were some Important People who'd protest they had the right to stay, or take a second turn, since obviously the well must have it wrong. Well grounds are sacred, and the guards and priestesses have final say on what goes on, so there were a lot of Disappointed People who got moved outside. It was a lovely day, and there were all those nice rocks to talk to, so why were they complaining? I was sure Mother would be the same, even though she was ahead of us, in complaining she didn't have enough time to get chosen. I figured Grandma and the lady and I would sit at the well for our turn, then walk through the rest of the garden, and maybe they'd let me say hi to some rocks as we leave.

The well looked like someone was boiling soap for cleaning when we finally got to the curb, even all foamy and stuff. The guards were moving the last batch of pilgrims out of the way, and the people were begging to sit longer. One priestess was staring at the water like she'd never seen it do this before, and another priestess was firmly telling someone in velvet robes - in summer! - that he could stuff his attitude where the sun doesn't go if he thought he was too good to follow their directions.

You're supposed to sit and put your hand on the water, like you're petting a dog. So we sat, and I watched Grandma petting a boiling spot like it was her favorite cat, and I did the same to a small water-bump in front of me-

The POP echoed through the grotto, and everyone suddenly got real quiet. In the center, a large purple gem floated on the water like gems aren't supposed to. The water was already getting calmer, the bubbles fading away like when you take a pot off the fire. It floated over to me, and I reached out to scoop it up. I wanted to say hello to it.

Mother's hand shot down between me and Grandma, and she was pushing me out of the way to get to it first, to take it before I could touch it. I fell, and I banged my elbow on the curb pretty bad.

Mother snatched the gem, held it up triumphantly. The room seemed to get dark.

I heard the rocks change their song. It went from high chiming, to kinda like a high screeching, then louder, and louder. The song overlapped, like ripples in the well. They gathered, they focused, they gathered again, overlapping, getting bigger.

Grandma moves fast when she wants to. She and the lady grabbed me up pretty quick, and carried me over to the guards and the priestesses. More guards hustled people who seemed to be frozen out into the sunlight, away from the ripples, away from the peak of sound.

Mother - was frozen. I could see her face clearly from the other side of the well, and you could see her trying to move, to talk, do anything. She looked like she wanted to throw the gem away from her, but her arm wouldn't budge.

People were clapping their hands to their ears as the song got so loud that everyone could hear it. They screamed at the pain, and many ran away. It didn't hurt me. I could feel the waves build, and build - and they broke.

They broke Mother.

Her eyes were the last thing I saw as her body melted. She couldn't even scream, she just folded up and folded in and turned into this gray stone twisty-thing. Even as a rock, she couldn't scream. I could hear the gem still clutched in a drippy tree-branch-like shape giggling madly.

The ripples of song got quieter. The overlapping of song softened like the waves on the edge of a river, and people pulled their hands away from their ears. They stopped screaming. The rocks in the garden chimed again.

I could still hear the water boiling in the well.

They let me sit at the curb while someone looked at my arm. It hurt a lot, but I just stared at the lump of limestone that surrounded Mother. I didn't know how to feel.

One of the priestesses motioned to some guards. "With most everyone gone, do you think you can get a cart in here, to load it up? It needs to go to the Ninth Well."

"Sure, sure. I'm sure we can find a nice prominent place in the gray garden for such a distinguished guest. Here, Bertand, let's go around the back way and pick up some friends to help..."

"The others, too," I whispered. Grandma heard, nodded. I could hear Father and the brats in the garden, screaming, inside the twisty rock things they'd become. Mother still couldn't. Would never.

The well was simmering. One bubble kept popping under my hand, which I let dangle over the water while they wrapped my other arm. No one seemed to care, so I gave it a little pat.

POP.

Another big purple sparkly gem lay on the ripples in the center of the well. This one swam right to me, humming happily to itself.

Grandma gently touched my arm. "Go on, sweetie, take it. It's yours."

"Will it melt me?"

"It only melts thieves, that take what don't belong to them."

"But, don't you want it?"

"Oh, sweetie, I already have one! This one's for you and you alone."

"But, wait, didn't you say...?"

"Honey. Your gem. It's waiting. Pick it up." She gently took my chin, made me look in the pool, where the crystal was bumping up against the side of the curb and chiming its distress.

I scooped it up, cradled it against me, cooed to it till it stopped mewling like a lost kitten. I could hear the rocks in my pack singing to it too, since I brought my bag along. No, I didn't trust anyone, not even in the hostel.

Of course, only one thing stuck in my mind. "But, Grandma, you said you never went on pilgrimage!"

"Technically, dear, I didn't. I grew up in Saydentown, and the well is right at its center." She reached in her tunic, pulled out her cottage key. Handed it to a guard. "Jalen, would you be a dear and trot back home and get my stuff? All of it? I no longer need to stay in that wretched town for a second longer." He nodded and hurried off.

"Grandma, you're not coming home?"

"No, and neither are you, sweetling. We're both staying, and I get to be a priestess again, and help you be one, if you want."

"I...can stay here? With the happy rocks?"

"As long as you want to, sweetheart!"