Bound to the Battle God

by Ruby Dixon

  “I’m so damn hungry,” I whisper.

  Solat grins, his mouth crooked, and reaches over to a nearby table. It’s full of dried meat and a couple pieces of fruit, next to a waterskin. I’m guessing that’s his meal, but he takes the plate and offers it to me. “Do you want broth?”

  “Nope.” I grab at one piece of fruit and eat it, bitter rind and all. Then I grab another, and another, and I’m shoveling food into my starving mouth, washing it down with his waterskin. I’ve never been so ravenous, and I know it’s because of the bond. I have to eat twice as much as a normal person to fuel my body now that I’m tied to Aron, and I’m guessing I’ve been unable to eat for a long, long time.

  “You might want to slow down. You’ll make yourself sick,” he cautions.

  I might—I’ve been sick before, but this time it’s different. Somehow, I know the food will stay down. My body is craving this and it’s different than when it was in the desert. Right now there’s a bottomless pit inside me that needs to be filled. Even as I polish off the last bit of meat, I’m still starving. I still need more. It’s like a drop in the bucket. I drink the last of the water from his skin and lick the top. “I need some more.”

  “You…do?” He looks shocked. “You just ate all my rations for the day.”

  He doesn’t get it. None of them do except Aron.

  Aron.

  My mind flutters with vague memories of him. Of Aron’s nearness even when I was sick. Of him being in my bed and holding me against his chest, rocking me. Taking care of me. Brushing my hair back and caressing my face. Speaking in a low voice of endless things I don’t remember, just that he was speaking, as if he knew I needed something to focus on to bring me back. That he needed to be with me.

  My heart squeezes with affection, but he’s not anywhere to be seen. “Where’s Aron?”

  Yulenna sighs and turns over in bed, oblivious.

  Solat watches her closely for a bit too long and then looks over at me. “Last I saw him, he was arguing with one of the spider gods.”

  I swallow hard. “Spider gods, huh?”

  “One of the three Spidae, Lords of Fate.” His mouth flattens and he doesn’t look thrilled. “We are at their mercy here in the tower.”

  I’m not afraid. Aron wouldn’t put me in danger. I just need to know what’s going on. What he’s found out from the Spidae. What happened back there on the lake. I get to my feet and nearly collapse again. My legs feel as unsteady as a newborn foal’s.

  Solat is immediately at my side, holding me up. “You’re supposed to stay in bed, Faith. I’m to watch over both of you, protect you with my life.”

  “Protect me from what?”

  “Anything. Everything.”

  “I thought we were safe here?”

  “I do not think there is a safe place anywhere in this world,” Solat says, the words so solemn and ominous I’m surprised they came from him. He’s the lighthearted one.

  For the first time, I look around at my surroundings. “Are these bad guys?” I ask hesitantly. Because this doesn’t look like the home of the “good guys.” It’s a stronghold of sorts, but not like any I’ve ever been in before. Aventine was dirt and soldiers and crowded, clustered buildings. Katharn was hovels on top of hovels atop the bones of what had once been a magnificent city. Novoro was an opulent keep in the mountains, with rock and stone everywhere.

  This is…almost blank. It’s like there’s no personality in these walls. They’re stone, but such a smooth, unnatural pattern of bland gray that for a moment I think I’m looking at an optical illusion and not stonework. The walls are perfectly symmetrical, without a window to be seen, and the bed Yulenna and I slept on is the only furniture, other than the camp stool parked next to the bed.

  Even the bed itself is unnatural. It doesn’t look like a normal mattress, but a large, puffy cocoon of…something. Like a cloud of cotton that’s been draped with our familiar blankets. The cotton reminds me of the boat, actually, but I’m not sure why.

  I take a step forward, working on regaining my balance, and this one’s easier than the last. I’m wearing one of my Novoran nightgowns, with a furry hem and a long, wrap-around length. I hold it tight against me so I don’t flash Solat. I’ve been asleep long enough that my hair is dry, my clothes are dry, and my nails are longer. Jesus. No wonder I’m stiff.

  Several more steps forward, and I make it to the wall. I place my hand there, only to draw back in surprise.

  The walls are coated with spiderwebs.

  This close up, I can see there’s a fine layer of webbing covering the stones. I look up and they stretch to the webby ceiling, and along the floor. I glance over at the bed again and wonder if it’s made entirely of webbing, too. And the raft…

  I shudder.

  “Faith,” Solat says, moving to my side. “Please return to bed.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I shrug off his arm before he can help me. “Aron would be hovering if I was in danger, wouldn’t he? We’re safe here.”

  Solat gazes at me with solemn eyes. “He’ll kill me if I let you leave.”

  I shake my head. “No, he won’t. We’ll tell him I didn’t give you a choice. That I insisted on finding a bathroom and then a kitchen.” Neither of which is entirely a lie.

  Solat doesn’t look as if he believes me.

  “I won’t let him kill you,” I reassure him. “We need all of the guards we have.” Especially now that Vitar’s gone. I swallow hard. Poor Vitar. He wasn’t my favorite, but he didn’t deserve to die being eaten by a giant worm in a lake.

  The lake.

  I think of Aron, the way he floated above the water, seething with rage. He didn’t look like my Aron then. He looked like a very angry god…and he almost killed me. I need to talk to him. I don’t remember much about the last few days that I lost to healing up from whatever he did that flattened me, but I know he’s got to be upset and stressed. I want to reassure him that I’m okay. That I’m more resilient than he gives me credit for.

  I part the cobweb draped over the doorway and peek out into the hall. It’s empty, and so I step out, ignoring Solat’s protest. The need to find Aron is throbbing through me, almost as overwhelming as my hunger. He’s a craving, and I wonder if it’s a natural one or more of our strange bond. It doesn’t matter either way.

  I move down one hall and then another. There are no stairs, just a gradual elevation as the hall twists along the edge of the tower. Occasionally, I’ll pass by a cobweb-covered parapet that leads outside, but I don’t go out there. There’s nothing inviting about it, and all it shows me is that we’re very, very high up. I pass a few doors, but when I try the handle, they’re locked, so I keep going, hoping for something new. All I see are more cobwebs, in some places so thick that they look like clumps or bubbles.

  No spiders, at least.

  Not yet, my brain helpfully reassures me.

  I go endlessly up the empty hall as it winds up the length of the tower, and just when I’m about to turn around and find Solat, I hear something. Humming. Not like an electrical hum, but the faint strum of a million harp-strings played a great distance away. Curious, I pick up the pace, and up ahead, past two more twists of the hall as it winds around the great length of the tower, I see an archway. There are no doors, just more of the thick cobwebs that hang over the place like curtains. But behind them, there’s a faint golden glow, and the melody of all those strings.

  So I part the “curtains” and go inside.

  The room itself is much bigger than it seemed in the narrow hallway. The ceiling slopes up so high that it’s hidden in shadow, and the room’s walls are completely rounded, as if we’re in the center of the tower itself. Here, the spiderwebs are so thick that I can’t see the stonework, and it feels a bit like I’ve walked into a cocoon. The music starts again, the notes not a melody but still somehow beautiful, and I realize that the center of the room is a gigantic, glowing spiderweb made of millions of strands. Unlike the walls, these glow and hum wit
h life, and they don’t seem to be connected to anything at all. It’s like the web is anchored on nothing but thin air. The strands themselves stretch into the darkness and descend down into the musical tangle at the center of the room.

  I’m drawn to it despite myself, fascinated at the hum, at the gentle glow. As I move closer, I can see the individual threads. There are thousands—no, millions—of them here, all interweaving and crisscrossing without a distinct pattern. Each thread looks slightly different from the others, with this one darker and smudged, while another glows with brilliant light. Fascinated, I reach out to touch one of the brightest strands.

  “Do not do that,” a cool voice echoes in the room.

  Goosebumps prickle up and down my back and I straighten, quickly turning around. As I do, I see a man standing in the doorway behind me. The spiderwebs along the wall shiver and something twitches, and I get the impression that I just missed seeing the world’s biggest spider. Gross.

  “I’m sorry, I thought I was alone.”

  “I know.” He stares at me, but even as he does, I get the impression he’s not seeing me, which is strange. It’s like he’s only turning toward me out of courtesy.

  There’s no denying he’s beautiful, though. The man wears a long, colorless robe that flows to the ground and pools at his feet. The sleeves are long and his hair is equally as pale and long. The face that stares out at me has bright, unnaturally silvery eyes, but his face is as gorgeous as a model’s, right down to the pouty mouth.

  I turn away from the musical web, unsure if I should extend a hand or what. “I’m Faith—”

  “Yes. I’m aware.” He blinks slowly, as if unaccustomed to it. “Are you looking for your strand?”

  My strand? What’s he talking about? I can’t tell if he’s accusing me or trying to be friendly—he’s so emotionless it’s hard to decide. “I actually was looking for something to eat.” I smile at him. “You must be the Spidae.”

  I mean, there’s really no one else he can be, and I feel stupid the moment I say it aloud.

  “I am one of three, yes.” He blinks slowly again.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I say, and decide to extend my hand anyhow, taking a few steps forward.

  “Are you?”

  Er. I pause. How do I answer that? Do I tell him I actually find him creepy and unnerving? Do I point out that I’m Aron’s anchor? That Aron and I share secrets? Or do I run the fuck out of the room and hide like a little girl?

  Choices, choices.

  The Spidae—one of three, as he liked to point out—blinks in my direction again. “If you are hungry, I can retrieve you something.”

  That’s an odd way of phrasing it. I debate my answer for a half second, but my fiercely growling stomach makes that choice for me. “Food would be great.”

  He closes his eyes.

  I grimace, because did I just pick wrong? “You know, I’d really just like to see Aron—”

  “He is busy dictating his wants to another of my Aspects and will be busy for a time.” The Spidae opens his eerie silver eyes again. The wall behind him ripples, and this time, I see it. A spider, as big as a pony and as pale as the gossamer strands it steps on, descends from the wall. It moves to the Spidae’s feet and then drops a bubble of webbing on the floor.

  Oh ew. Now I see what he meant by “retrieve.” Just like that, my hunger dies.

  The spider scuttles back into the web, gliding up the wall and disappearing back into the shadowy ceiling, and I fight the urge to scrub at my skin. Instead, I watch as the pale god standing before me bends down and picks up the cocoon, then holds it out to me.

  Well, shit. I guess that’s mine now. “Yummy,” I manage, and take it from him. Whatever it is in my arms is the size of a football, about as heavy, and doesn’t move when I hold it. Thank fuck. “I should probably get going.”

  “Leaving?”

  I’m not sure how to answer that. “Possibly yes? I don’t want to be a bother.”

  For a second, his mouth ghosts up into a hint of a smile. “After I took the time to keep Aron occupied so we could speak privately?”

  Well that’s completely unnerving. “You…did?”

  “Are you not curious about how you got here from your world?”

  My mouth hangs open. I’m shocked. Of all the things I thought we were coming here for, that wasn’t on the list. But it’s a piece of information I’m desperate to have. “How did you know I’m not from here?” I clutch the webbed football to my chest. “Did Aron tell you?”

  He gestures at the singing web, his weird, unfixed gaze on me. “I know everything. He did not tell me. He would not share a secret that would compromise you.”

  For some reason, I take that as a compliment. It just reminds me that Aron’s surprisingly decent when he wants to be. “So you know how to send me back to Earth?” I mean, if he knows everything, he’ll surely know that. “You know how I got here, and how I get back, right?”

  The Spidae gestures at the web again, his movements elegant. “Come. Let me show you something.”

  As he glides forward, I follow after him, careful not to step on his flowing robes. He approaches the web, and as he does, the singing increases, as if welcoming him. He moves so close that it’s almost as if the strands are flowing around him, pulling him into their web. They’re alive around him, whereas when I came closer, they were just strings. Just shiny threads. With him here, though, they’re a symphony of light and color and sound.

  It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  He reaches out and gestures at one section of the web, swiping his hand to the side as if swiping right on the biggest dating site ever. That casual flick sends the strands fluttering away, and then he pulls at open air. One shining, bright golden strand fills with light, and I step forward to get a better look at it, fascinated.

  “This is Aron,” the Spidae says. He holds the thread delicately, and as I lean in, I can see where dozens of other threads cling to it, crossing over back and forth at various spots. The Spidae gestures again. “The other threads are where he meets with other mortals, where he intersects in their lives. Humanity is a web, crossing back and forth over one another, interweaving. No thread stands alone. Do you understand?”

  I follow the beautiful thread of Aron’s, gazing up to see how high it goes, and I’m not entirely surprised to see that it extends far beyond the rest of the web, stretching high into the shadows. “Why does it go so much farther up?”

  “Because he is anchored to the High Father’s realm. The Aether. Once he is torn from the mortal tangle and the Anticipation is complete, he will no longer be connected here.” The Spidae points at the web, and near his finger, I can see where the shining golden strand splits into three different threads. “He is still anchored there, to the cosmos above.” He gestures up, and when I glance overhead at the shadows, I see nothing but darkness, and it’s easy to imagine the thread leading all the way up to the heavens. “Each thread must follow its path to completion.”

  I lean in, gazing at the split in the threads and the messy snarl of what looks like nothing but tangles. Paths crossing, he said. Lives interweaving with one another. Despite my worries, it’s fascinating. I follow Aron’s thread and notice the loose string dangling on one end, cut free from its moorings. I point at it and look over at my companion. “Liar Aron?”

  He nods.

  It creeps me out to see that loose thread sitting there, dead. It’s what we had to do, of course, but I still don’t like to see it. Farther up, I see another loose strand made of shining gold, and I wonder if it’s Tadekha. Hedonism Tadekha. I follow that thread as far as I can, but I can only see two connections left.

  I return to Aron’s thread, gazing at it closely. “Where am I? If I’m Aron’s anchor, shouldn’t I be in the weave here somewhere?”

  The Spidae smiles, and I can’t decide if it’s a creepy gesture or a fascinating one. “You catch on quickly, my dear. Allow me to show you.”

 
; He doesn’t point at the front of the web, as I expect him to do. Instead, he takes a few steps to the side, moving away from the main tangle of the threads. Curious, I follow him as he moves behind it and from there, I can see a few strands stretching across from an entirely separate web.

  Holy shit. There are two webs.

  61

  Two webs.

  I gape, unable to stop staring as I look at the threads that crisscross between the two webs. They’re maybe a foot apart, the two webs, but each tangle seems completely separate save for a few rogue threads. There aren’t many—maybe a dozen? Maybe fewer? Each of the rogue strings are pulled taut between the two webs, and when the Spidae gestures at “my” thread, it gleams with an unnatural light and I can see where I’m connected to Aron in the other web. My thread is twined around his, as if they’re lovers. It’s very clear mine cannot be separated from his.

  Fascinated, I set my football “pod” down on the ground and step forward to study the webs closer.

  “He’s not actually tied to this web at all,” the Spidae murmurs. “You are what anchors him here. When your connection is severed, so is his.”

  I follow my “connection” back to my own web, staring nose-height with my thread. The web for Earth—because it has to be Earth—isn’t lit up with as many colored threads as the other. There’s a deeper, darker tangle, as if billions of people are all caught up in the mix together. Makes sense. I want to ask where our gods are, which religion is right, what happens after we die, why my web is next to Aron’s if it’s two different worlds, but I zoom in on something else entirely. “Is…my thread breaking?”

  I stare at my connection to the Earth web. It looks…really fragile. Frayed. Like the thing could snap at any moment.

  “Your tether to your world is tenuous at best,” he agrees.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means if you leave now, I can weave you back into the web of your world.” He gestures at the strand, completely taut between the two webs. He points where I’m intertwined with Aron’s thread. “If I cut here, your thread is loose and can be worked back into your world’s weave.”