And yet I swear I have—
Merc pulls in front of me, blocking my way with his steed. His arm slashes in frustration, as he frowns at me and no doubt keeps yelling.
“I’m so sorry,” I cut in hoarsely. “I just had to see. This place is—”
The streaming attack comes out of everywhere.
Giant black spiders with bulbous hairy bodies and legs that terminate in red knobs flow out of crevices and corners in all directions. The wolf-sized insects are the stuff of terror in the gloaming, fast as a horse, numbered like a herd, their racing progress tapping over the paving stones. Red, angry eyes lock on us, and mouths with great black pincers open and hiss as they close in.
The first of the silk ropes shoots out and captures my waist. The next comes from the opposite direction and latches on to Lavante’s front leg.
As Merc swings his broadsword to avoid being captured, the horses panic and rear up, but it’s far, far too late. We’re caught fast, tied up in sticky balls of webbing that hinder hands and feet, bodies and hooves. The fact that our attackers keep our heads out and the horses’ nostrils free suggests they’ll hold us alive as they feed on our bodies.
And still the spiders keep coming, mounting roofs and swinging down from obelisk tips, the incessant sound of their scurrying process something that I will remember forever.
Not that we have that long.
Trapped in the cocoon that locks me in, I strain to look over at Merc. He’s fighting against his own confines, his broadsword sticking out of the white silk that imprisons him.
“Fates,” I croak out, “what have I done.”
“You’ve killed us,” he snaps as more of the arachnids close in.
Seventy-OneAn Admission, Long Awaited.
The spiders make a clicking noise with their mouths as they come at us, their fangs gnashing—and one of them comes right toward me, separating from the pack. Lavante whinnies in desperation. He cannot see, for the web has been spun up over his head, but I know he smells them. He jerks under me, his frantic, fruitless movements transmitting into my own body through the saddle. I’m wrestling around and not getting anywhere either, pushing against a million gossamer threads that lock me in.
The spider who takes special attention with me mounts the base of the cocoon from the rear, its bright red feet making deadly time. Something is dripping out of its mouth. Venom? It must be.
Higher, higher still, as he comes up Lavante’s rump, and I start to hyperventilate as I strain to keep my eyes on him. I take one last glance over at Merc. He’s dealing with the same, one among many now up almost to his chest, staring him in the eye. The fact that that spider uses the blade of the frozen broadsword as a toehold is a testament to how useless the weapon is in this situation.
Clickclickclickclick—
That’s all I hear as my breath rips in and out of my chest, and my vision goes wavy as my fear translates into tears—
From out of nowhere, a piercing red light sweeps in a circle, bathing the ruins in ruby illumination that’s so bright, it’s as if the metropolis is awash in blood.
The most incredible thing happens.
The spiders freeze. All of them. Then they rise up with their front legs, as if the mysterious illumination is calling to them.
As one, they turn toward the source, and begin a pilgrimage to the temple in the center of the metropolis. The statue there, which has weathered the eonsbetter than anything else, is the bearer of the beacon that summons them… way up high, where the goddess’s hand reaches for the sky, is the seat of the unearthly light. For a moment, I think it is magic at work. It’s not. The red wash is an optical effect created by a beam of sunshine passing through a juncture between two of the Rozars’ jagged peaks. As the hour has arrived, a precise alignment has occurred, and something in that stone palm is providing the refraction.
And it will not last. The sun will continue along its course, and the other side of the V will cut off the beam.
Plunging all into shadow once more, and releasing the spiders from whatever hypnosis has occurred.
“I’m trying…” Merc grunts. “… to get loose…”
For a moment, I’m frozen at the sight of all the spiders gathered around the base of the temple, their front legs risen up and spindling at the goddess. If a hundred came after us, then a thousand surely live within the ruins, and it’s as if they have one mind that connects them all—
Lavante lets out another terrified whinny and I snap back to attention.
I try to move back and forth to make some room within the webbing. It doesn’t work—just like it didn’t work before. There’s a give and take to the wrapping, every forwardniccompensated by a corresponding constriction. And I have nothing of the brute force that Merc does. He’s straining as if attempting to lift his horse off the ground—and getting nowhere, even as he tries to seesaw his broadsword.
Glancing up to the statue, I follow the sunbeam to the mountains in hopes of finding we have plenty of time. We don’t. Already, the darkness is returning up at the top of the slope we came down, and soon enough, it will streak through the city and eclipse whatever is in the statue’s palm.
This is a torture—
