Three Wells of the Sea- The Complete Trilogy Read online

  Three Wells of the Sea Series

  The Complete Trilogy – 3 Book Box Set

  Three Wells of the Sea

  The Salamander’s Smile

  Halls of the Sunless

  Terry Madden

  Copyright © 2019 Terry Madden

  Complete Trilogy Box Set Published June 2019

  Digital Fiction Publishing Corp.

  All rights reserved. 1st Edition (Box Set)

  ISBN-13 (Kindle): 978-1-989414-16-3

  Contents

  Contents

  Three Wells of the Sea Three Wells of the Sea – Book 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  The Salamander’s Smile Three Wells of the Sea – Book 2

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Epilogue

  Halls of the Sunless Three Wells of the Sea – Book 3

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Thank You!

  Also from Digital Fiction

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Three Wells of the Sea

  Three Wells of the Sea – Book 1

  Terry Madden

  Copyright © 2016 Terry Madden

  Edition Published April 2016

  Digital Fiction Publishing Corp.

  All rights reserved. 3rd Edition

  ISBN-13 (Paperback): 978-1-927598-32-0

  ISBN-13 (Kindle): 978-1-927598-33-7

  For those I love who’ve crossed the well, until we meet again.

  Chapter 1

  “Druids claim that they alone know the workings of the gods and the secrets of the stars. Living in deep forests, they teach that the shades of the dead do not descend to the silent, colorless underworld of Erebus, but that self-same spirit inhabits other bodies in other worlds. . . Death is but a point of change in the midst of continuous life.”

  - Lucan, “Pharsalia,” 61 C.E.

  Connor focused on the painted blue eyes of the Virgin Mary. The statue was perched on a corner pedestal in the principal’s office between bookshelves and windows striped with blinds that let in slices of sky. Mary peered over Father Owens’ shoulder, deaf to the principal’s tirade describing in detail Connor’s lack of character, moral compass, humility. Connor was about to confess that his failings were far more substantial. Instead, he distracted himself with wondering how many Mary statues there were in the world. He imagined an assembly line of plaster Marys—same sky-blue cloak speckled with stars, bashful smile, northern European skin tone. Probably made in China.

  Father Owens pushed his chair from the desk. When he stood, his red face eclipsed Mary’s. “Mr. Quinn, have you heard a single word I’ve said?”

  “I heard the part about me being a disgrace to St. Thom’s, sir.”

  “Have you anything to say for yourself?”

  “No, sir.”

  Connor was halfway out of his chair when the office door swung open. Dish, Connor’s English teacher, rushed in. He pulled up a chair beside Connor and held his tie as he sat like some hotshot lawyer.

  “I thought someone should speak on Connor’s behalf,” Dish said.

  Connor took his cue from Father Owens and sat back down, saying, “I can handle this myself, Dish—Mr. Cavendish, sir.”

  “It’s time we sorted this out,” Dish said.

  “There’s nothing to ‘sort,’ Cavendish,” Owens said. “It’s all crystal clear. This young man confessed. He acted alone, correct?”

  “Just me and my phone, sir.”

  Owens deposited the device on the desk in front of Dish. “Father,” Dish said, “there are things you need to know—”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Cavendish.” Connor raised his hands in surrender. “I’m ready to accept the consequences of my actions.” He tried to stand, but Dish’s fingers dug into his shoulder.

  “This is rather hasty,” Dish said. “Wouldn’t it be wise to consult Connor’s parents before such a weighty decision is reached?”

  “I think my mom is in Vegas, and Dad is probably on a business trip somewhere.”

  “I don’t see that there’s anything to discuss,” Owens said, “other than setting a time for them to collect their son.”

  “It was a prank!” Dish said. “Expelling him for something like this—”

  “He made a mockery of the Bishop. The Bishop, Mr. Cavendish.” Father Owens spread his palms on the glass desktop and ratcheted to a standing position.

  “But there are circumstances—”

  “I don’t deserve special consideration,” Connor said. “I planned it. I did it. I’m glad.”

  “For Pete’s sake, Cavendish, he wants expulsion.”

  “Indeed…” Dish sucked in his lower lip and gave Connor a long look. “May I ask that Connor wait outside whilst you and I speak?”

  Owens rolled his eyes and dismissed Connor with a flutter of his doughy white hands.


  Shit.

  Connor shut the door behind him and slumped into a chair, his back to the wall of Owens’ office. He rubbed the worn knees of his navy-blue pants, hitched halfway up his skinny shins. At least his mom wouldn’t have to buy a new uniform.

  The school secretary raised her eyebrows at him and answered the ringing phone, “Saint Thomas Aquinas Preparatory School.”

  A freshman stood at her desk pinching a wad of tissue around his bloody nose. The receptionist pointed to a chair opposite Connor. The boy sat and tipped his head back to the wall while holding his nose. From this position, it was clear the boy was trying to steal glances at Connor. The freshman had witnessed, with the rest of the school, Connor’s masterful work with the sound system.

  Connor felt like a rock star.

  Leaning back to stare at the acoustic ceiling tiles, Connor pressed his head to the wall of Owens’ office and discovered he could make out pieces of what they were saying inside.

  “… a mockery of the sacrament.” Father Owens.

  Don’t forget, I’m failing three of six classes. He’d forgotten to add that part. He’d been trying to fail religion, but discovered it wasn’t possible.

  “It’s been one year today since his brother…”

  Dish knew what day this was? The man had a memory like a machine.

  Dish’s voice grew louder, drawing the attention of the freshman.

  “If you expel him, this school will have failed him.” Connor raised an eyebrow at the kid.

  “Mr. Cavendish,” Owens’ voice boomed, “your quixotic tactics have proven ineffective in at least three cases I can think of—”

  “Connor is quite different…” Dish’s voice dropped again and only murmurs seeped from the office, then the squeal of Owens’ executive chair.

  The office door burst open and Connor stared at the carpet as Dish strode past.

  “Come with me.”

  Connor shot to his feet and kept pace, past the reception desk and out the door.

  “You have running shoes, I presume?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Connor said. “But, why?”

  He had to jog to keep up with Dish. They crossed the courtyard, passed the fountain, and headed back toward the dorm. “I’m expelled, right, Dish?”

  “That’s Mr. Cavendish, and no. Not yet. When you’re not in class, you’re with me. All your privileges are revoked, if you still have any. Where I go, you go. Be at the van promptly at four.” He glanced at his watch. “That’s fourteen minutes. If you don’t show, I’ll find you. Welcome to the cross-country team, Connor.”

  It took Connor thirteen minutes to stuff his backpack with anything worth anything. He headed out his dorm room and through the common lounge, rehearsing in his head what he would tell his mom when he got home. He wished it were true she was in Vegas; it would make running away from school easier. He decided the old anger and abandonment scene might work on her.

  Trudy, the cook, was the only one in the kitchen when he went through.

  “No ice cream before dinner,” she said.

  “No worries.” Connor headed for the back door that opened past the chest freezer. He eased the screen closed without slamming it, bounced down the stairs, and almost tripped over Dish sitting on the bottom step.

  “You don’t look ready to run,” Dish said, nodding at Connor’s jeans and skateboard shoes. “Or perhaps you do.” He stood and tipped his chin toward the school van parked a stone’s throw away.

  “I’m just…” Connor sighed. “I’m ready.”

  “Right. Off we go, then.” Dish brushed eucalyptus leaves off his butt and strode toward the van without even a glance over his shoulder.

  Connor could make a run for it. His grandma’s old Audi was parked just behind the maintenance shed.

  “I’ll be needing your keys,” Dish said.

  Jesus, was he psychic?

  “What keys?”

  “The ones that fit your car.”

  “Isn’t that illegal or something?”

  “Not here.” Dish pulled the handle and the door of the van slid open.

  “You can’t do that, Dish, Mr. Cavendish, sir. C’mon. That’s my car!”

  The cross-country team appeared around the corner of the dorm. The boys ambled toward the van in running shorts and shoes, whispering behind their hands, their eyes flitting to Connor. Then laughter.

  “Your keys.” Dish held out his hand.

  “That’s bullshit. You can’t do this—”

  “Watch me.”

  Connor dug the Audi keys out of his pocket and slapped them on Dish’s open palm. He’d only had the car for two weeks.

  “Shit.”

  He slid across the bench seat, his backpack between his knees. The team tumbled into the van after him.

  Aaron, his roommate, jabbed him with an elbow as he took up most of the seat. “Since when are you on the team?” He pointed at Connor’s jeans. “How you gonna run in those?”

  “I thought you’d be on your way home, D.J.,” Kyle said. One of the guys in the back started wailing, “In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight…”

  Connor jabbed his middle finger over his shoulder.

  These guys had no taste. It was a classic prank. All Connor had to do was pop the mic jack out of the mixer board during the all-school Mass, replace it with a 3.5 millimeter male-to-male audio jack that converted his phone mini jack into an old-school plug, and voilà, The Tokens’ ball-busting falsetto had rung out through the gym like an orgasm.

  “I hope you like running, Connor.” Dish eyed him in the rearview mirror. “You’ve got an additional mile.”

  “I love it, Mr. Cavendish, coach, sir.”

  The eye wasn’t amused, or even angry. Just watchful.

  Yeah, but the lion sleeps tonight.

  One of the perks of Malibu was the beach, at least for most people. Connor hated the beach almost as much as he hated running. The fog would be surely be rolling in when they got there.

  The van spun down the long estate drive and through the gates of St. Thomas Aquinas Prep, an old Spanish-style mansion the Church had salvaged and converted into a boarding school. Its nickname had been “The Foundry” for the past eighty years, the perfect symbol of a place where a person’s essence and intellect were melted down and poured into an obsolete mold to harden into Dark Age self-denial. It was nothing more than a slag heap for the offspring of doctors, lawyers, and corporate execs with enough money to pay a school to fix what they broke.

  Dish’s eye flitted to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. Not only was he Connor’s English teacher, he was also his dorm counselor, and one of the few teachers who lived on campus. Connor had been wondering long before today what a young, slick, Oxford-educated Brit was doing at The Foundry. Dish didn’t fit the inquisition theme.

  The boys spilled out of the parked van and headed down the path that wound from Pacific Coast Highway to the beach. Connor shaded his eyes and scanned the coastline. Far below, breakers roared and reached for the toes of a string of beach houses, all teetering on struts and pylons, waiting for the next big storm. Mist from the surf smudged the distant cliffs of the point. The autumn days were getting shorter and the beach was totally devoid of bikinis.

  With a sigh, Connor set out after the others, but had to stop to re-tie his shoe.

  “Do you always make people wait?” Dish asked.

  The other guys were almost to the sand when Connor hitched his jeans over his skinny ass and jogged to catch up to Dish.

  “I try,” Connor said.

  Dish was waiting for him, which could only mean one thing.

  He was going to give Connor “the talk.”

  Once on the beach, they fell into an easy rhythm, side by side. Dish set a slow pace, as if letting the others go ahead. The wet sand gave way just enough to make Connor stumble. It wasn’t long before his jeans were soaked to the calves and dragging to a low-rider position. He felt blisters coming on. He started t
o sweat. He finally took off his shoes and left them on the beach.

  Again, Dish waited for him, but still no talk.

  Connor rolled up the cuffs of his pants. It felt good to be barefoot, pure somehow, like he could feel every grain of sand through the tender soles of his feet. His stride matched up with Dish’s and the shadows of their legs looked like stilts dancing over the sand. Connor wiped his nose on his T-shirt and ran faster. They passed the colony of beach houses and headed out toward the point where the cliffs rose straight up from the sand.

  Connor couldn’t take the silence any longer. “How’d you know? That today was the day?”

  “I remember.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me to get on with my life? To let go?”

  Dish looked from the beach to Connor. “Would you like me to?”

  Dish wouldn’t talk about the rage that rotted in Connor’s gut, or the waste of his brother’s life. Connor shook his head and ran faster.

  The rest of the pack had grown small ahead of them. Water filled their footprints with the red shimmer of the setting sun.

  “Okay,” Connor said at last. “I’m your shmuck, I got that. Make me run, make me do homework, keep me out of trouble.” He glanced at Dish. “Don’t you have a life?”

  Dish wiped at his mouth with his sweatband and gave Connor a look. “I’m doing my job, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

  His job? Connor was just a job? He pushed the burn deeper into his legs, faster, faster, flying over the wet sand, trying to leave Dish behind.

  Dish’s voice trailed after him, “Your brother is dead, Connor, but you’re not.”

  Connor lost himself in the rhythm of his legs, imagining he’d left Dish far behind. In his mind, Connor opened the door to his brother’s dorm room and saw. Nothing could make him quit seeing. The vomit and blood, the sweaty canvas smell of the firemen’s yellow suits, the garbled voices on their walkie-talkies, his brother’s pale surrender to OxyContin and coke.

  When Connor finally turned and looked behind him, he saw that Dish had stopped about a quarter mile down the beach.

  With hands on knees, Connor panted, then headed back, his jeans making a whoosh-whoosh of chafing denim.

  Dish was standing at the base of the sandstone cliff. Waxy gray plants, plump with stored water, grew from cracks in the rock, their flowers nothing but shriveled stalks. They got their water from the sea mist that dampened the sandstone and darkened it to golden tones, layers of ancient sediment stacked and sculpted by the pounding of the sea. At Dish’s feet, a depression in the sand formed a still pool of water where the sunset reflected blue and orange.