Rook crouched, and on the moonlit rock he traced the layout of the chasm. “The path, here,” he pointed, “goes down to a ledge that isn’t very sturdy.” He looked up at her and his brothers. “The spider’s got babies, too,” he added. “Lots of them, all about this big.” He held up his hand to show them.
“Careful of the babies, then,” Tatter murmured. All the pucks nodded at that.
Fer blinked, surprised. She wouldn’t have expected that kind of care from the pucks.
“I know the way down,” Rook whispered. “I’ll go first, if you like.”
Fer’s stomach lurched. To go first was the most dangerous. She wanted to warn Rook to be careful, but she knew that wouldn’t be a pucklike thing to do, so she kept quiet.
“Very good, Pup,” Ash said.
As Rook stood, Rip handed him a spear. Then Rip turned and offered Fer a spear of her own. “This is a sharp one, Lady,” he said. For the plan, Rip had painted himself all black; he looked like a puck-shaped hole in the night, with two spots of flame for his eyes.
“It’s okay,” Fer said, lifting her bow, and shrugging her shoulder to show him that she was carrying her quiver of arrows. “All right, I mean. I have these.”
Rip grinned, and his teeth didn’t flash white in the moonlight; he’d painted them black too.
Asher handed around scraps of cloth—so the stench wouldn’t overwhelm them, he said—and they all tied them over their noses and mouths.
“Ready?” Asher asked, his voice muffled by the cloth.
Fer nodded.
“Ready,” Rook answered.
“Good.” Asher patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s catch ourselves a muck-spider.”
Gripping her bow, Fer followed Rook and his brothers into the chasm.
Rook lay on the narrow ledge overlooking the bottom of the chasm, where the shadow-spinner spider squatted in its swamp of muck. The stench was as bad as ever; he was glad for the cloth covering his mouth and nose.
He and his brothers and Fer had made their attempt on the spider the previous night. They’d gone in with their spears and their net, and the spider had come at them with the sharp pincers at the end of its forelegs, and its babies had darted out and bit three pucks with their needle fangs. By the time he and Fer and the rest of the pucks had dragged themselves out of the chasm, defeated, it was too late to get through the Way. They’d spent all day mending the damaged net, and Fer and Tatter had worked to heal his three spider-bitten brothers.
Tonight they would try again. Just the seven of them, this time, and Fer, while the three bitten ones rested on the rock above.
Rook gripped his spear and peered into the darkness. His ribs hurt, bruised where one of the spider’s long legs had flailed last night and hit him. His fine boots and trousers were filthy with muck, and his gray shirt was torn. His brothers and Fer were no better off, but they were determined to succeed tonight. They had to. The longer they stayed here, the farther the stilth would spread.
A layer of ragged clouds covered the moon, so no light shone into the chasm. That might make better hunting for them, Rook figured. If they were quiet enough, the spider might not hear them coming.
Fer dropped silently to the ledge, then lay down beside him. She had her bow in her hands. “See anything?” she whispered.
No. But he could feel it. And smell it.
Last night they’d tried to drop the net down from above. The spider had slashed it with its pincers and driven Fer and the pucks back. Tonight they’d have to try something else.
Rook pushed down the cloth covering his mouth so Fer would hear him. “I think we’ve got to get the net under it,” he whispered.
“Draw it off first, you mean?” she asked.
“I do, yes.” Rook rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, which burned from the stench of the muck. “It might as well be me that does it.” He pointed with his chin toward the bottom of the chasm, which was dank with shadows. “It’s waiting. I’ll go down and lure it away.”
One of his brothers dropped onto the ledge beside them. “And we lay out the net and lure it back, is that it?” Asher asked.
“That’s it, Brother,” Rook answered.
“I’m coming with you, Rook,” Fer whispered.
He glanced aside at her and nodded. Her blond hair was clotted with mud, and her face was smudged, and she had a bruise on her chin. She’d been as brave as any puck the night before; it’d be good to have her with him tonight. “Once you’ve lured it onto the net,” he told Ash, “be ready to pull it up quick.” If they didn’t, he and Fer would be trapped on the other side of the chasm and the spider would get them for sure.
“Not to worry, Pup.” It was too dark to see, but Rook could hear the grin in Asher’s voice. “We’ll shift to horses up there and tie on the ropes, and we’ve got Phouka to help too. We’ll have the spider out in no time.”
When his brothers had the net ready, Rook slipped from the ledge, then half climbed, half fell to the bottom of the chasm. He heard a glooping sound as Fer landed beside him, and then a gasp as the stench hit her. Muck and mud and shadow-spun web clung to his boots; he gripped his spear to balance. His eyes watered from the horrible smell. He blinked and peered into the shadows.
Lots of tiny, gleaming eyes peered back. He nudged Fer and pointed. She nodded, seeing them.
“Hellooooo, babies,” he breathed.
Moving as stealthily as he could, using his spear as a staff, he led Fer along the edge of the chasm. His boots were heavy with muck. The tiny eyes watched. In the shadows beyond them, the big spider moved. He heard the sucking of the mud as it shifted.
“Do you hear it?” he whispered.
“It’s following us,” Fer whispered back.
Good. The spider had to follow them to give his brothers room to lower the net. He kept going, leading Fer over muck-smeared rocks, ducking under rags of clotted shadow-web. The spider lurched after them.
At last they made it to the other side of the chasm. The clouds over the moon had thinned; it was light enough that he could see the bulk of the muck-spinner spider looming closer. A long, pincer-tipped leg probed out from the shadows.
He and Fer cringed away from it.
“Any time would be good, brothers,” he muttered to himself. They had to have the net ready by now; they needed to draw the spider away from him and Fer.
The clouds thinned even more. A slurp of mud, and the spider eased closer. Its horse-sized body was coated with muck and bristling with sharp spikes. Its jointed legs clicked like bones as it moved. Its stench wafted around him. Rook couldn’t see its eyes, but he could feel it . . . sizing him up.
Pucks were not food. “Brothers!” he yelled.
At the sound of his voice, the spider struck out toward Rook with a long, many-jointed, muck-dripping leg. The blow slammed him against the rock wall; the spear slipped from his grasp.
“No!” he heard Fer shout, and an arrow whanged off the spider’s armored back.
The spider drew back its leg again, ready for a killing strike.
Rook flinched away, holding up his left hand to block the blow.
Which didn’t come.
The pincer hung before his face. A stray beam of moonlight glittered along its razor-edge. Rook held his breath. The pincer turned; it came closer. The spider loomed up before him like a spiky wall. Then Rook felt the sharp tip of the pincer touch his hand. It traced the shadow-web that was stuck to his palm.
Rook held himself still and tried not to breathe. What was it doing?
“Rook, get down,” Fer shouted. He caught a quick glimpse of her, five paces away, as she stood braced, drawing another arrow from her quiver. She’d put the arrow in the spider’s eye this time, Rook knew.
“Wait,” he gasped. “Fer, don’t shoot.”
The giant spider squatted in the mud, glistening in the moonlight. It was a lot bigger than he’d first thought. It was bigger than a horse. It was bigger than two horses. It had that many
legs, anyway. Its huge, bulbous, brown-and-black body was suspended between spiked and jointed legs, with a smaller front section where its two glossy, black eyes seemed fixed on him. On either side of its mouthparts were two shorter feelers covered with spiky fur just like its legs.
“Hellooooo, spider,” Rook breathed, keeping his web-stained hand raised.
The spider eased even closer. With its short feelers, it tapped Rook’s hand. Then it patted him all over while its glittering eyes examined him. Its mouthparts clicked and gurgled, and Rook felt a jolt of fright—pucks are not food!—and then the spider started growling.
He stumbled back until he was pressed against the stone wall of the chasm. The spider lurched forward and stood over him, still growling. He looked up to see its looming body, its legs arching over him. The growl grew louder, like a low roll of thunder.
“Rook . . .” he heard Fer say. “I’m still not-shooting here.”
“It’s okay,” he said, Fer’s human word. Slowly he edged away from the spider, along the wall.
“Rook, it’s growling at you,” she said fiercely, keeping an arrow trained on the spider.
“Not growling,” he told her. It was . . . it sounded like it was purring. With a front leg, the spider reached out to touch him, and knocked him against the wall again.
Then, from the other side of the chasm came a shout that echoed from the rocky walls. The spider jerked its leg away, then lurched toward the sound. It dragged itself through the mud. Rook heard a thrashing sound, more shouts, and then a yell of triumph.
His brothers had caught it, then.
Rook let out his breath and leaned against the wall, his legs shaking. His entire right side ached as if it was one giant bruise.
Fer came to lean on the wall next to him. “What just happened, Rook?”
He gave a half laugh and shook his head. The spider hadn’t killed him when it could have, easily. He looked down at his web-smudged hand, which the spider had examined so carefully.
“Come on,” Fer said. “We need to get out of here.”
With Fer at his side, he limped across the muddy swamp of the chasm floor, watched by the many shining eyes of the baby spiders. “You can come out if you want,” he told them, not really thinking they’d understand.
He and Fer helped each other climb up to the ledge. From above, he heard more shouts, then a whinny from Phouka. Wearily he followed Fer up the path. At the top he dragged himself out of the chasm and lay flat on the rock.
About twenty paces away, the setting moon shone down on the huge, shadowy bulk of the spider, wrapped in the net so tightly that its legs couldn’t get loose to slice the ropes. His brothers were busy tying the net down, scraping the muck off, laughing. They all had bits of shadow-web stuck to themselves; one puck had it splashed across his face and was proudly showing it to his envying brothers. One puck shifted into his dog shape and lifted his muzzle to howl joyfully at the setting moon.
“We’ve done it, then,” Fer said.
“We have, yes,” Rook answered, and closed his eyes.
Twenty-Five
“Getting that thing through the Way is going to be a trick, don’t you think, Lady?” Asher asked. He pointed at the spider in its net. It thrashed against the thick ropes, stilled, and then thrashed again.
She nodded. Not just getting it through the Way, but getting it to spin its web at the nathe without actually killing anybody. Though the pucks might not care about that, as long as it wasn’t a puck who was killed. She frowned and nudged a cup of the tea she’d made closer to the fire, keeping it warm until Rook woke up. Then she took a sip from her own cup. The other pucks were there, Tatter and Phouka, too, some of them sleeping, some mending holes in their clothes, some drinking the healing tea she’d made.
She glanced aside to check on Rook and saw that he’d opened his eyes.
“The spider’s not dead, is it?” he croaked.
“It’s not, no,” Ash answered. Then he gave a gleeful grin. “Just biding its time, I think.” At that, the other pucks around the fire laughed. “It’ll bide until the Way opens tonight.”
Moving slowly, as if he hurt all over, Rook sat up.
Fer handed him the cup of tea. “Here. It’ll make you feel better.”
“Thanks,” he said, and rubbed his eyes.
Rip came up then. “Look at what I’ve got,” he said with a sharp grin, holding up his arm to show them. Clinging to his wrist was a fat, needle-fanged baby spider.
“Brother!” Asher said, jumping to his feet. Tatter scrambled away. Phouka gave a nervous whinny.
“No, look,” Rip said. He held up a web-smudged finger. Instead of biting it, the baby rubbed a foreleg against it. Rip opened his hand, and the spider crawled onto it; he lifted the spider to his ear, listening. “It’s purring,” he said. “It likes me.”
Asher laughed. “It does like you!”
Rook had put down his cup of tea and was climbing creakily to his feet. “We might as well see if this works,” he said, starting toward the huge, net-wrapped spider.
Fer jumped up and rushed to his side. “Rook, what are you doing?”
He shot her a sharp, sideways grin. “The baby spider is purring, my brother said.”
“Yes, purring,” Fer said as they reached the huge spider. “So?”
“It’s because he’s got a bit of web on him, I think,” he explained, and raised his own web-smudged hand. “Just like this.”
The other pucks had gathered behind them. “What’re you thinking, Pup?” Ash asked.
Rook nodded at the huge spider. It strained against the thick ropes of the net. Then it stilled. Fer could see one of its multifaceted, black eyes watching them.
“This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done,” Rook muttered.
Fer bet he had done some extremely stupid things in his life so far too.
“Set it loose,” he ordered.
Fer expected his brothers to protest, but three of them jumped to the ropes that were holding down the net and untied them; then they pulled the heavy net off the spider.
Slowly, stiffly the spider unfolded itself and then flipped onto its pincer-tipped legs. Fer gulped. It loomed, bulbous and huge, twice as tall as any of the pucks.
“Helloooo, spider,” she heard Rook whisper as he held up his web-smudged hand.
The spider gave its deep growl, and then it leaped on Rook, knocking him to the ground.
The pucks scattered, and Fer yelped and then turned to run back to the fire, where she’d left her bow and arrows.
Tatter grabbed her arm. “Wait.”
The pucks were edging closer to the spider. “You all right, Pup?” Ash asked, bending to peer under the spider’s huge bulk.
“I am, yes,” she heard Rook’s rough voice answer. He crawled out from under the spider and got to his feet. The spider’s hairy front feelers tapped him all over, as if checking to be sure he wasn’t hurt. He pushed the spider’s feeler away and grinned. “It’s tamed to me, brothers,” he said. He pointed at the much smaller spider clinging to Rip’s arm. “Just as Rip’s baby, there, is tamed to him. Like a pet!”
The spider growled its rumbling purr, and one of the feelers stroked Rook’s head hard enough that he stumbled.
Asher caught his arm and steadied him. Then he laughed. “Are you sure the spider is your pet, Pup, and not the other way around?”
Rip and Tatter laughed, and Fer couldn’t help but laugh too. Rip’s baby spider was waving its front legs. Maybe that was how spiders laughed.
“Oh, sure,” Rook grumbled, and shoved the spider’s feeler off the top of his head.
“I want a pet spider too,” Tatter said.
“We should all have pet spiders!” Asher exclaimed.
Laughing, the pucks, including Phouka, dashed toward the chasm, determined to get pet spider-babies of their own.
Fer was left facing Rook. “Well,” she said, and she couldn’t help the laugh that was bubbling up inside her. They wer
e all in terrible danger from the stilth, and time might be running out, but the pucks were sure a lot of fun.
As the afternoon ended and night came on, the pucks swirled around Fer, getting ready to go as soon as the Way opened. She found her bow and quiver and slung them over her shoulder, and made sure Rook had her knapsack full of healing herbs and tinctures. Phouka pranced and showed off the baby spider perched between his pricked ears. Her bees hovered overhead.
“We can go straight there,” Asher said, coming up to her.
Some of the pucks had shifted into their dog forms; others were horses; some stayed in their person shapes. They crowded around her, ready to leave. Rook stood a little apart from them with the huge spider looming behind him.
Fer nodded at Asher and turned to face them. “Listen, you pucks,” she said loudly, and after a few jeers and laughs, they quieted. “I’m not sure what we’ll find at the Lake of All Ways.” She gripped her bow. “We know the Forsworn have been gathering power, and it’s possible they’ll be waiting for us, prepared to attack, so be ready.” They’d kidnapped her once; they might be planning something new. “Or we might just find a lot of people who are wildling and afraid.” She gave them a hard look. “They’ll be afraid of you, too, pucks, and Rook’s spider, so try to be nice to them.”
More jeers and laughter. She rolled her eyes. Pucks!
She led them over the plain of rock to the Way. “Are you ready?” she asked as midnight approached.
Sudden dark seriousness. “We are, yes,” Rook answered for all of them.
“Let’s go,” she said, and stepped into the Way.
Twenty-Six
Passing through the Way from the land of the spiders to the Lake of All Ways was like trying to walk against the flow of a river in full flood. The stilth lurked in the Ways, gathering its strength, and it pushed against her, trying to force her back. Fer gritted her teeth, and to get them all through it drew on the same stubborn spark of human-ness that had gotten her out of the time-spelled tower.
Moonkind (Winterling) Page 14
