Well of Souls

Once upon a time, there was a small lake which sat at the base of an ancient magnolia grove. Every autumn, the blossoms would tumble to the ground, never blemishing the water’s surface. The people who lived in villages nearby had taken to calling it the Well of Souls, for the men who had ventured beneath its depths and never resurfaced.

On a night similar to this one, two brothers, Sun and Wind, journeyed to the lake. Having heard whispers that it held the power of the stars, they each sought to claim it for their own. Unbeknownst to either of them, both Sun and Wind were willing to double cross one another if it meant gaining control over such power.

When they reached the lake at last, they scrutinized its surface. The water shone with an intense starlight, as if the universe had left a part of itself behind. Small stars sat among the lake, a frigid sea of apples ripe for the taking. Almost immediately, a large fish with silvery scales rose to the shore.

It spoke in a gravelly rasp, ‘Like many who came before, you seek to wield the Moon’s power. If you seek to be victorious, you must succeed in taking a star from the lake, or suffer returning empty handed.”

Sun shoved forward, cupping his hands together to ladle a spoonful of lake water into his mouth. His eyes shone in anticipation, sure he was about to triumph over Wind at last. But the moment he raised his palms to his lips, the star vanished, its reflection shrouded by the magnolia branches.

Wind, having noticed Sun’s mistake, sent a gust of air to rattle the trees and allow meager rays of light to peek through. Prepared to reign triumphant, he did not notice the water leaking through his fingers, until not even a single droplet remained.

‘You have both failed,’ the fish said with a sneer. ‘Now begone from this land, unworthy fiends.’

So, bowing their heads in defeat, Sun and Wind trudged through the woods, each one already planning his next attempt.

~

From above, the Moon spared a laugh at the events she had just witnessed. There would always be those who wished to challenge her power, but few so foolish as to stoop so low. They would return, as all men did, demanding more. She would give them a second try, offering to grant them access to all the power hidden in their souls. The Moon would give them what they wanted, trapping them in her “well.” There they’d remain, living life as a star. One just as dim as the fiber of their soul.

However, for those soulless few, the Moon made a unique exception. A particular example was a man who had appeared before the Moon a few years ago—which to her felt like the barest of minutes.

He had demanded to hold the power of the stars, boasting about his strength and wit. Unable to deny a direct request, the Moon obliged. With a single brush of moonlight, she granted the man what he’d yearned for most.

Well, he was a man no longer, in anything but spirit.

The Moon chuckled, watching the bewildered fish attempt to gain his bearings.

‘It is not so easy now, is it? I wish you well, my slippery friend. Perhaps now you will remember to mind your manners when begging for something out of your reach.’”

~

A young girl hides in the woods, high up in a tree. She watched Sun and Wind trudge past, already forgetting their failure. Once they have gone, she descends from her perch, nimble as a monkey.

She has heard stories of this well and the souls lost to it, passed down from her mother and grandmother warning her against the arrogance of men. She has been warned against travelling too far outside the village since before she could walk.

Monsters will scoop you up and swallow you whole-and that’s if they’re feeling kind, her mother warns.

Walking to the edge of the lake, the girl watches as a koi fish floats in precise circles. She mimics his movements, dancing round and round like a galaxy in motion. She spins faster and faster, until she can bear it no longer. She lies on her back as her vision refocuses, feeling damp grass prod her arms and legs. She pulls a ripe mango from her pocket and begins peeling it with her teeth, watching comets race past overhead.

The koi fish watches, transfixed. He does not remember what it feels like to stand on solid ground. To fall or trip over one’s feet. To shiver at the prick of leaves or grass. To lick away the nectar of mango juice staining one’s arms and chin. He swims to the surface, hesitant. The girl notices him and reaches out with a piece of mango pulp. The fish snatches it away, devouring greedily.

Somedays the girl tells the koi about her day, her mother ‘s lectures and her endless chores. Other times, they sit in silence. This dance continues. Day after day. Month after month.

The girl grows into a woman, tall and proud. Her dances span hours and hours, each step shaking the earth. The fish, however, has grown bloated on a steady diet of mangoes and attention. His circles are lazy, his eyes half-shut.

One evening, instead of a mango, the woman brings her heart. A gaping wound in her chest, pooling blood across the grass. Her parents have arranged for her to be married, sent to live in a village far away. Her days of dancing are over. Soon, there will be nothing but housework, blank smiles and empty eyes. Nights spent staring up at a suffocating ceiling. No stars in sight.

The fish feels an echo of sympathy, but says nothing. Truthfully, he cares little for the woman’s struggles, only her sweetness.

She pleads to the Moon for refuge. The Moon offers her no sympathy, only the same challenge, to reach into the lake and pull a star free.

The woman is furious. Her blood boils, teeth bared like a lioness on the hunt. What help will a single star be? Even if it's enough for her to escape, what good will it do the next girl who ventures past the wood, who looks up at the stars and wishes to live free as a comet?

She thinks of the Moon’s departing words to the two brothers, Sun and Wind, neither of whom have been seen since their travels to the well.

“Remember to mind your manners when begging for something out of your reach.’”

But she is tired, so tired, of begging. Of yielding her side of the road, of asking to venture outside, of averting her eyes and bowing her head.

Eyes darkening, she begins a dance, not one of compassion or vulnerability, but rage and fury. Neither the Moon or the koi can bear to look away, their attention snared like rabbits in a trap. With every thump of her heel, every jut of her hips, the earth trembles. Fissures slice through the lake, sending the stars in every direction as water seeps into the soil. Before long, there is nothing remaining in the lakebed, merely an eclipse. The koi’s body flops limply in the dirt before giving out with a sigh.

At least he can die having remembered the touch of the earth. It is a mercy he does not deserve.

The Moon shrivels, her power diminished. But the woman is not done. With a flick of a wrist, she brings the woods tumbling down. Now, even the shortest, shabbiest hut is bathed in starlight. Villagers stumble outside, gazing up at the starlit horizon with awe. They dip their heads in respect as the woman turns from the village and walks until she reaches the ocean.

There are so many stars, she thinks. Too many to count.

Yet she tries, again and again, as she dances in the shallows. Each day she wades in a little deeper, until she becomes one with the currents themselves. She raises tsunamis and storms, sending waves crashing to the shore with every movement.

~

At least, that’s the story the women of the village tell their sons and daughters when they need to remind them of the Ocean’s power. Though the Moon waxes and wanes, the Ocean is a constant. Unwavering. She inspires her devotees to reach for the stars and beyond. That nothing is out of their grasp. She does not view those that venture to her shores as trophies to be collected or children to be coddled, but as what they are. Galaxies spinning of their own accord, in need of nothing but direction.

Each one a well of souls.