Jack L. Chalker - WOS 3 - Gods of the Well of Souls

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GODS OF THE WELL OF SOULS

ebook ver. 1.0

This one's expressly for

David Whitley Chalker and Steven Lloyd Chalker- To the future, wherever it leads!

A Few Words From the Author

THIS IS THE THIRD AND FINAL BOOK IN THE NEW WELL WORLD project. The Watchers at the Well, which

began with Echoes of the Well of Souls and continued in Shadow of the Well of Souls. It completes

the massive novel.

If you've just come across this and haven't read the other two, you should immediately look for

them where you found this copy. Any reputable, responsible, intelligently run bookstore should

have the previous two so that anyone happening on the third one by chance doesn't have to hunt

for them just to read the entire work. If they don't, tell them what they aren't and find a

better bookstore!

There are also five original Well World books. You don't need them in order to read Watchers, but

it would be a good idea to start at the beginning. The first was Midnight at the Well of Souls,

followed by (in order) Exiles of the Well of Souls, Quest for the Well of Souls, The Return of

Nathan Brazil, and Twilight at the Well of Souls. All are still available from Del Rey Books, and

don't let any book dealer tell you differently!

The Well saga now spans sixteen years, although with a twelve-year break. Will there be any more?

None are intended, but I didn't intend to write this one, either, and I'm quite pleased with it.

Those of you who have been waiting, I've planted some good action, added a lot of nasty plot

twists (but you were ahead of me on those already, right?), and tied up all the loose ends in

nice, neat knots. You may not like all the things I do (I am expecting some adverse reaction to

the very last one), but they are, I assure you, carefully and logically thought out. And if,

along the way of entertaining you, I've raised a few points and made you think a little, well,

that's fine, too.

And now (drum roll, curtain up) here's the way it works out ... Jack L. Chalker Uniontown,

Maryland August 1993

Between Galaxies,

Heading Toward Andromeda

The Kraang had been wondering much the same thing. The limitations placed on it still prevented

it from direct contact with beings on the Well World unless, thanks to the happy accident that

allowed it net access, someone was in the transitional stage, totally energy within the net in

midtransmission. Otherwise it was strictly read only, and that was proving less amusing now than

frustrating.

Monitoring the lives and thoughts of these beings had reawakened in the Kraang a feeling it had

thought long dead, a taste of what it was to be alive again. It wanted that now more than

anything; the lust for it was cracking its heretofore absolute self-control, bringing back

longings that it had believed it had long outgrown.

The Well perceived no threat to itself or its master program; it only desired that what it

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considered an anomaly- the relinking, however tenuous, of the Kraang to the net-be rectified. A

simple matter, really, for anyone capable of plugging into the net; not even seconds to find,

comprehend, and repair, cutting the Kraang off once more from the system. Brazil was the threat-

he'd been there many times, been changed into the master form, and would hardly even think twice

about it. He'd do whatever the damned Well said and be done with it, and he would understand the

threat sufficiently to be impervious to the Kraang's entreaties and offers. There was nothing

Brazil really wanted except, perhaps, oblivion, and the Kraang wasn't so certain that the captain

would really take it if it were offered in any event. Brazil was so damned .. . responsible. Duty

above all.

No, if the Kraang were to effect a return, it would be Mavra Chang. Human, inexperienced, self-

involved, and unencumbered by any sense of duty or mission. Mavra Chang would listen before she

acted and believe what she wanted to believe. She was certainly tough, no pushover, but she was

far too-human-to blindly obey the dictates of an ancient race she neither knew nor understood.

According to the data, she'd been close to being a goddess before, going from world to world,

taking many forms, playing both explorer and missionary to the misbegotten.

The Kraang could deal very comfortably with an activist.

Brazil was at the moment romping in mindless joy with that silly girl on that speck of land in

the ocean, but the Well would never leave him there. If Mavra Chang's progress to the Well had

been stopped, then Brazil would again get the nomination and be forced to accept. The longer

there was no movement or probability of movement by Chang, who was by far closer to the Well gate

than Brazil, the more likely the Well would be forced to make the switch. The others would never

find her, and it would be all the worse if they somehow did track down Campos but never

recognized Chang in her current form.

Campos was the key. Such a limited mind! Not stupid, not by the likes of the races there, but

sadly warped. Campos was so enjoying her revenge and was comfortable enough in an environment not

all that different from the one back on the home planet that had bred and shaped her, that she

was in danger of losing sight of the ultimate game. The Kraang had not counted on her adjusting,

though, and that was the real problem. Since Campos had been a male from a background that had

little value for women, the Kraang had been certain that she would be driven to the Well to

reclaim her manhood.

It wasn't happening.

If Campos had gotten hold of Mavra Chang earlier, it would have, but the Well had its own ways of

subtly adjusting a subject to a form. The brain chemistry, the hormonal balances, and being

completely immersed in a new culture eventually took hold. A transformation that seemed horrible

when first discovered began to seem normal; prior life and existence were distanced in the mind

as it adjusted, becoming more and more remote. If one were to go mad from the process, it tended

to happen rather quickly; otherwise that barrier the mind erected became progressively

insubstantial until it either shattered, as in the case of Lori and Julian, or, as in Campos's

case, just slowly evaporated to nothingness. Without even realizing it, or perhaps admitting it to

herself, Juan Campos no longer thought it odd. or even wrong, to be female, let alone a Cloptan

female. She had managed in a relatively short time to gain a fair amount of power and influence,

in part because she was attractive to male Cloptans who already had that power and influence, and

she was actually enjoying it. Experience counted. The Well might have played a joke on Campos by

making her female, but it also had dropped her into a totally familiar milieu. Being the tough

girlfriend of a drug lord wasn't much different from being the son of one. and the knowledge and

ruthlessness actually made her a valuable asset to the organization. After that first month she

hadn't even experienced much of the fear and insecurity that being a woman in such a society

inevitably produced; everybody dangerous knew how suicidal it would be to mess with the boss's

girl and how vicious that girl could be if she perceived one as a threat.

Not that Campos didn't want to get at all the power the Well represented; it was just that she

was smart enough to know that before she let Mavra Chang near the Well, her control had to be

ironclad. And until Juan Campos figured out how to do that or was forced by circumstance to

gamble, she'd keep things pretty much the way they were.

It was frustrating to the Kraang. If only Campos would go through a Zone Gate. Then some contact,

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some influence, could be attempted. But Campos wanted no part of those Gates if she could avoid

them. She remained where she could ensure protection.

Somehow there just had to be a way to kick Campos in the ass. There just had to be!

But until and unless it found a way to make contact, the Kraang knew it had to depend on forces

beyond its control. The psychotic former Julian Beard-now turned into a complaisant wife for that

female astronomer turned male swordsman who was now gelded and trapped as a courier for the

Cloptan drug ring-was showing some promise, after all. Aided by the Dillians, who were somewhat

in the pay of the Zone Council, she might well disrupt things sufficiently to cause a major

move. When one no longer cared if one lived or died unless one attained one's objective, it made

for a spicy and dangerous time for all those in one's way. The threat there was the Dillians. If

they did come upon Mavra Chang by some miracle, helpless though she was, would the Dillians'

first loyalty be to their former Earth comrades or to their new leaders and lives? Unknown to any

of them, forces were moving in on the region and the situation was getting very, very dicey as

the council and the various hexes weighed their own options. If they captured Chang, no matter

what her form, while the surprisingly resourceful Gus liberated Brazil, everything could go

wrong. Of course, there was always the colonel ...

Possibilities! Far too many! This was getting much more difficult than the Kraang had originally

thought. And there were far too many ways for things to go wrong . . .

Buckgrud, Capital of Clopta

lately, IT was always pretty much the same dream. A dense, living forest filled with strange,

twisting plants shimmered in a nearly constant but gentle breeze. Not familiar in any waking

sense, yet familiar somehow to her in her dream. Comforting, safe, secure.

She would awaken into this living darkness in the Nesting Place, along with many others of her

kind, and then proceed out from the hollow tree and onto the forest floor. Most of the night

would be spent in the hunt, sometimes searching out and sometimes lying in wait as still as one

of the bushes that were all around, waiting for prey to venture forth. Tiny animals, large

insects, it didn't matter, so long as it was alive and small enough to be swallowed whole. There

was always plenty of prey, for they bred all the time, or so it seemed, but much needed to be

eaten to satisfy, and it was a task that consumed much of the night. There was no particular fear

on her own part, though; there were no natural enemies in this forest for such as they, and the

Big Ones who lived among the treetops ate no flesh and seemed appreciative of the service she and

her kind did in keeping the crawling things in check so that they could not become so numerous as

to threaten survival. She knew each by the scent and by the sounds it made.

The scent from a small mound nearby told her that there were delicacies inside; she moved to it,

and her powerful claws dug into it, and she bent down so that her long, sticky tongue could go

inside and sift through and find and draw the little Insects Into her beak . . .

It was near dusk when Mavra Chang awoke. She slept more than she was awake now, it was true, but

that was blessed relief in more than one way. It not only meant escape from the sadism and

torments of Juan Campos, when, of course, the Cloptan was awake and not busy with other things,

it also was relief from the strange and unpleasant sensations that seemed unending.

There were feverish flushes, dizziness, unexpected pains of varying degrees in various places,

and, above all else, a nearly universal itch that was driving her crazier than Campos ever could.

At first she thought that the sadistic surgeons employed by the drug cartel had been butchers as

well, but over the passing weeks she had come to realize that it wasn't that, either. Something-

strange-was happening to her, something even someone with her vast life and long experience in

what evil could do had never undergone before. Still, that life allowed her to understand to a

degree what was happening, if not exactly why.

She had been surgically altered, mutilated, disguised, but that was only the start of it. She had

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become other creatures before, but always the way the Well did it: quickly, without pain or

sensation. She was becoming another creature again for the first time since she had last been on

this world, but by a different method, and slowly by the standards of the Well but with

astonishing speed by any other means.

She knew that now for several reasons, not the least of which was that what the surgeons had

removed, such as her arms, had not even begun to grow back. She recalled that sensation well. Her

body was changing. Grafted feathers were being replaced by real ones just as colorful and even

more dense. Her center of gravity had moved down, and her midsection had thickened, while her

head seemed to be enlarged and set flush on the shoulders, but with a neck that could pivot the

head amazingly far. All this had been at the cost of an already shortened height; she was now a

bit under a meter tall, but somehow she knew she would grow no shorter.

Her backbone had become increasingly limber, to the point where she could bend backward and

almost touch the floor with the top of her head while still standing or lean forward so

effortlessly and with such good balance that she could touch the floor with her beak.

From that vantage point she could see that her stubby, mutilated legs were rapidly changing into

huge, thick drumsticks; the rather stupid feet they had fashioned for her now were solid,

enlarged, and black and were gaining almost the prehensility of long, thick fingers, with sharp

needlelike nails developing at the tips. Even the large, curved beak they had fashioned over her

mouth was no longer the crude but effective graft; her tongue, now thin and greatly elongated,

told her that beyond the beak was the gullet. Bright light blinded her, and even normal daylight

was pale, washed out, and difficult to see in, yet the darkness glowed with sharpness and detail.

Through the beak, countless strange odors came to her, each somehow separate even when mixed, and

it was a bit of a game to try and identify and classify them. It was something to do. The same

went for sounds, although she could understand nothing of speech. She could understand only

Campos, and then only when Campos directed something specifically at her; only Campos's

translator could accept the eerie clicks and moans, some from deep in Mavra's chest, that passed

for her speech. That little gift of a dedicated translator remained, but she was glad of it

somehow in spite of her hatred of Campos. She knew that the sounds she could make were really

bird sounds, animal sounds, not any sort of intelligible language to any race. The animal urges

disturbed her more. She could no longer physically tolerate any vegetable matter. Campos had been

feeding her raw, bloody meat strips, it being a bit too civilized in the city to go pick up a

carton of worms or grubs, even if Campos would have entertained the idea of live creepy crawlies

in her nice apartment. Although Cloptans resembled giant humanoid ducks, they were omnivores and

even had tiny rows of teeth inside those remarkably elastic, oversized bills of theirs.

Campos had hardly failed to notice the metamorphosis: it was happening at a rate that could not

be seen by the naked eye but fast enough that something new would be evident between the time she

left in early evening and the time she returned to sleep.

Now she came in the door and turned on the light, washing out Mavra's vision. The door slammed,

and the Cloptan kicked off her shoes and threw a purse on the chair.

Campos looked over at the corner where Mavra stood, held there by a strong chain fastened to an

anklet and to a welded-on socket in the wall, allowing perhaps a meter's movement one way or the

other.

"Ah, my pet! And how are you this evening?"

"Food, master! Please! Food! Birdy begs you!" The worst part was, she no longer even felt

humiliated by begging. It said something about Campos's mind-set, though, that she had insisted

on being called "master," not "mistress." "In a minute, my sweet. I need to freshen up and get a

drink. It is going to be a long evening, I fear."

"Please, master! Feed Birdy!"

"Shut up! No more, you miserable little shit or I might just forget to feed you at all!"

It was not a threat to be taken lightly. The craving for food after sunset was overwhelming, more

even than the craving for the exotic Well World drug that Mavra's made-over body no longer needed

or even noticed. Mavra had not, however, volunteered that fact.

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Campos went into the bathroom, and after an agonizing wait there was the sound of a toilet flush

and then water running. Finally the Cloptan emerged, now naked.

Although it was nothing unusual now, the first sight Mavra had had of Campos naked had been

something of an odd feeling. The shape was very human to a point, but even the breasts were

covered with countless tiny white feathers except at the very tips. The shoulders were

unnaturally squared off, it seemed, the arms and thinly webbed hands oversized for the body. The

neck was quite long and thin to be supporting that oversized head. Below the waist it became more

birdlike, with a definite rounding, almost turnip-shaped, with the turnip top angled back and

slightly up, becoming short but large tail feathers. The legs extended straight down, a golden

yellow color, and ended in two wide, thickly webbed feet that could still be consciously rolled

up and fit into shoes.

She shared the huge apartment with two Cloptan females who were apparently attached to other drug

cartel kingpins, but they stayed away from the big bird's area and Campos rarely referred to them

or appeared to interact much with them. They ignored their roommate's "pet" and gave it a wide

berth and seemed otherwise to be fairly typical of their type.

There had been more than a few naked males in as well. If they were representative of the race,

they tended to be larger, chunkier, with almost wrestler builds, bent a bit forward on the hips

in a slightly more birdlike fashion but without much in the way of tail feathers at all. Male

genitalia weren't visible at all; they were apparently hidden by a thick clump of feathers

growing forward between the widely spaced legs, which explained why they all seemed to be

bowlegged.

Campos went to the cold storage compartment and took out a box of something, then popped it in a

fast defroster that might have been operated by microwaves or some other means.

"Ah! I should tell you that I got word today from those nice doctors who made you so very pretty

for me." the Cloptan said as the defroster whirred in the background. "They said you were

genetically reprogrammed using the actual genetic code of a real bird in a hex very, very far

away. I forget the name, but what does it matter? They said not to worry, that you would still be

able to think and remember but that you'd also have all of the bird's instincts. They even said

that by three months or so you would be so physically like this bird that you would even be

fertile!" She laughed. "Just think! The zoo here doesn't have any of your birdie kind, but you're

on their wish list, and the other girls here still seem a bit frightened of you and keep trying

to talk me into getting rid of you."

Mavra said nothing. Anything she could say would only cause trouble. "Just think of it!" Campos

went on, enjoying herself. "The nice zoo people say that if they had you, they could secure at

least the loan of a male of the species. That might be quite the answer here. I won't have to

worry about your care or suffer your presence here, but you'll be secure and in a happy little

nest I can visit any time. That would be very amusing, seeing you sitting there hatching eggs,

knowing that all your children would be birdbrains. Would you like that?"

"Whatever master wishes Birdy will do," Mavra responded as if by rote, eyes on the defroster.

"You bet your sparkly feathered ass you will!" It was far from hopeless, but how the hell she

would get this stupid asshole to head for the Well was something Mavra Chang was far from

figuring out yet. The zoo wasn't a very appetizing new destination, but maybe it would provide

some way out. Zoos didn't usually plan on animals being as smart as humans.

Somehow, some way, she had to get to the Well. She was building up too long a list of people to

get even with to fail.

Subar,

a City in Northern Agon

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