Rise of the Spider Goddess

by Jim Hines

  Rise of the Spider Goddess

  The Prosekiller Chronicles: Rise of the Spider Goddess: An Annotated Novel

  by Jim C. Hines

  Copyright © 2014

  Cover art copyright © 2014 by Patrick McEvoy, www.megaflowgraphics.com.

  Author’s Note

  Dearest Reader,

  The book you’re about to read is bad. Bad like waking up at two in the morning because your cat or dog is making that distinctive hacking noise. Bad like your almost-potty-trained child walking out of the bathroom to announce “I did finger-painting, Daddy!”

  I should know. I wrote it.

  I’ve been writing for almost twenty years now, with nine books in print from a major publisher and fifty short stories in various magazines and anthologies, but this book here is where it all began. This is the first book I ever finished, more than a decade before my official debut fantasy novel Goblin Quest was released. I wrote this one during my sophomore year in college, based on my then-favorite Dungeons and Dragons character, Nakor the Purple. A D&D character I had created based on Raymond Feist’s Riftwar books, making it doubly unoriginal.

  There’s also a young thief, a pair of pixies, an evil goddess, assorted Bad Guys, and an angsty vampire. Remember, this was written in 1995. I was writing angsty vampires…badly…before it was cool!

  For two decades, I did everything in my power to pretend this book never existed. So why did I change my mind now? There are three reasons:

  1. I read an excerpt of this book—while dressed as Nakor, no less—as part of a fundraiser. You can learn more about that and see the video here, if you dare. Some people said they were curious about the story, and wanted to know what happened next. Personally, I think there’s something seriously wrong with those people, but who am I to judge?

  2. I’m hoping this book could serve as a tool to help other writers learn what not to do. I know I’ve learned a great deal over the years by reading not-so-great stories, and I happen to believe this is one of the not-so-greatest. I’ve annotated the book to point out some of my mistakes, or just to make smart-ass comments.

  Those annotations should look like this.

  Don't worry, I left plenty of other problems for you to find on your own.

  3. But the biggest reason is that I thought giving my own book the Mystery Science Theater treatment sounded like a lot of fun!

  Despite strong, painful temptation, I haven’t changed a single typo or poor word choice. If nothing else, I hope this book gives you a laugh. Beyond that, all I can say is I’m sorry.

  Jim C. Hines

  September 2014

  PS, I really did get better…

  Epigraph

  “Time, as we understand it, is an illusion. It is not a line, but an intricate web in which all events are interlaced. Creation and destruction—they are one and the same.”

  —Taken from the Journal of Averlon Lan’thar

  Every book should open with a pretentious-sounding and utterly meaningless quote from a character we know nothing about. Also, when I rule the world, I’m going to make gratuitous apostrophe abuse punishable by Taser.

  Chapter 1

  The clouds seemed to glow with an inner light as the sun began to disappear behind the mountains to the west. Brilliant orange clouds hovered over the dark silhouette of the trees in the distance. In the east, the sky was darker. A few stars were beginning to appear in the sky.

  The forest was full of noise. The sound of leaves rustling against themselves blended with the rattling beat of a woodpecker hunting for food. Nearby, the gentle murmuring of a river added its contribution to the symphony of nature. There was a quiet chirping noise, followed by a splash.

  Nakor glanced sharply toward the river. On the bank, a raccoon sat happily washing its dinner in the water. With a smile, Nakor turned back and continued to watch the sun set.

  They say you should open your story with something interesting to hook your reader’s attention. You know, like some dude named after a Ray Feist character watching a sunset in the woods. With a random raccoon.

  The wind blew his long blond hair away from his face, revealing pointed elvish ears. Clear, pure blue eyes watched contentedly as the sun continued to sink behind the horizon.

  We hope those eyes are, in fact, Nakor’s, but you never know. This is fantasy, after all.

  Currently, Nakor sat neatly in the top branches of an ancient cedar tree. Over a year ago, he had discovered that it afforded him a spectacular view of the sunset. Ever since, he had climbed this tree as often as possible to watch the sun go down at the end of the day.

  The last thing he was expecting was for the tree to speak to him. “Excuse me,” came a voice from directly behind him, “but just what do you think you’re doing up here?”

  Nakor turned and glanced around. There was nobody there, of course.

  “What was that?” he asked, confused.

  Totally true fact that I’m not making up: if you took out all the unnecessary adverbs and adjectives, you’d lose approximately 60% of the book.

  “What are you doing in my branches?”

  He stood up and looked for the source of the voice. Holding another branch for support, he peered around to the other side of the tree. Still, there was nobody.

  “Who are you?” Nakor asked curiously.

  “Well that’s a brilliant question. Who do you think I am?”

  He stared at the tree, raising an eyebrow. Still clutching a branch in one hand, he turned to squarely face the tree. Then a piece of bark slipped beneath his foot.

  Raised eyebrow count: 1

  What we have here is the first real bit of danger or tension, which came about…because the protagonist slipped on a piece of bark. Riveting stuff, eh? Wait until you read the scene in chapter four where Nakor trips over a rock!

  Nakor’s grip failed as he fell from his perch, and he began to plummet to the earth, nearly a hundred feet below.

  Closing his eyes, Nakor reached within himself to gather his magical energy. Wincing as he crashed through the small branches, he focussed that energy outward at the air beneath him.

  His fall began to slow as Nakor continued to concentrate. A few moments later, he stopped, supported by a cushion of air. Reaching out with one hand, Nakor grabbed a branch and pulled himself closer to the tree. As he slipped off of the magical cushion he had created, he pulled himself up onto a sturdy limb and allowed his spell to end.

  Once he reached the branch and was sitting securely, Nakor looked at the tree. “Well that was rude,” he muttered.

  Oh, sure. Blame the tree. He’s as bad as that one uncle who’s always passing gas and blaming it on the dog.

  Far above, Whoo looked down at Nakor and giggled. Whoo was a pixie, whose large moth-like wings allowed him to hover high in the air while he watched Nakor in amusement. With a height of about three feet, Whoo was tall for a pixie. He looked a little bit like an elf, with narrow pointed ears and thin tapering eyebrows. Pure silver hair brushed his shoulders as Whoo hovered, grinning in amusement. Pale, colorless hair was a species trait, Whoo was young for a pixie.

  With a grin, he flew down to hover next to Nakor. “You looked kind of silly, falling and flailing about like that,” Whoo said. Nakor looked for the source of the voice, but could see nothing.

  Being able to shift point of view is a good thing. Bouncing back and forth like Sonic the Hedgehog on a trampoline? Not so much.

  Many had described pixies as having the power to become invisible. That was not completely accurate. Pixies could not achieve true invisibility, but they were able to come close. They possessed the ability to make themselves unnoticeable, so that even people who look directly at them would see nothing.
It was this talent Whoo was exercising tonight to amuse himself.

  Dear 1995 Jim: I’m shipping you a year’s supply of contractions. Please use them. Sincerely, 2014 Jim

  Deciding that perhaps it would be safer to continue this conversation from the ground, Nakor quickly climbed the rest of the way down. As his feet hit the earth, he began muttering another spell. He finished his incantation, and felt a brief chill come over his eyes as they adapted to the spell. This was a simple, common spell taught to most wizards and magicians when they began to learn about spellcasting. It enabled the caster to see the presence of other magic in the immediate vicinity.

  Whoo flew lower, and asked “What’s the matter now, don’t you like my branches?” Whoo liked this game. It was so much fun to confuse the big people. They tended to be so slow.

  Nakor grinned. There was a green glowing form floating in front of him, and the voice was coming from the glow. Obviously, somebody was playing a trick on him. Nakor liked tricks. Admittedly, had he fallen the rest of the way, it might not have been so amusing. Nakor decided he wanted to talk to this person, whoever or whatever it was.

  The green glow was hovering about a foot off of the ground now. Nakor slipped a hand into a pouch on the back of his belt. “It’s not the branches, it’s the falling,” he said to the tree. Then, he pulled a bola from the pouch, and flung it at the form.

  The weighted leather cords wrapped themselves around Whoo, entangling his wings and sending him crashing to the ground. This was definitely unfair. Whoo didn’t like this game anymore.

  Far above, Pynne sighed to herself. Whoo was fun, but tended to get into trouble if left unsupervised. “Men,” she muttered. Flapping her wings, she moved into the open and concentrated, preparing to start her own type of fun.

  To those of you who’ve read Goblin Hero, yes, this is where the character of Pynne originated.

  Pixie magicians were rare, but not unheard of. Pynne was one such rarity. She had been an illusionist for years. As she cast her spell, the ancient cedar shimmered briefly, and began to move. A branch reached out to tap Nakor on the shoulder. As Nakor jumped, Pynne smiled to herself. She liked her illusions.

  Nakor leapt back, drawing his rapier. He had assumed that whoever was trapped within his bola was the cause for all this mischief. Perhaps he was mistaken.

  Whoo struggled to free himself. The bola had tangled itself tightly around his arms and wings. This was going to take some time. Whoo had a sudden thought. Maybe this wouldn’t take much time at all. He closed his eyes.

  Pynne concentrated. A large face appeared on the tree. The eyes turned to look at Nakor, and the mouth moved as it spoke. “What is it about you people? Do you think you’re some kind of bird or something? Next thing I know, you’ll be making a nest in my branches, sitting on your eggs.”

  Nakor frowned slightly. The entire tree was glowing green now. There was a slight rippling effect that seemed familiar somehow. He found himself unable to remember what type of magic would create such a rippling, though. Nakor lowered his sword.

  Whoo opened his eyes. The other power that pixies possessed was the ability to change their shape. While it took a great deal of time and energy, they could assume the form of other animals. As a small rat, Whoo had no problem in crawling out from within Nakor’s bola. Once free, he began to change back to his regular form.

  It’s a useful and potentially powerful skill, one which I believe I completely forgot about after this first chapter.

  Pynne was hovering about twenty feet in the air, manipulating her illusion. Consequently, she was the first to see the party of twelve figures approaching. In the lead was a man dressed in an enveloping black cloak. An elf, she decided, judging by the grace with which he moved through the woods. Curious, she dropped her spell and watched.

  “Nakor!” called the black robed elf. Behind him, his armed companions began to spread out, surrounding him.

  I’m pretty sure I meant they were surrounding Nakor, not Black Robe, but I’m not 100% sure.

  Backing up against the now normal tree, Nakor again raised his weapon. He didn’t recognize the men, but he did recognize the cloak worn by the lead elf. That, with the small silver amulet around his neck, marked him as a priest of the spider goddess.

  Glancing at the men who were beginning to surround him, Nakor cursed. This was not going to be easy.

  With a mental sigh, he reached inside his cloak and pulled out a small glass flask. The priest gestured at the others to halt, unsure of what Nakor was doing.

  “Our enemy is doing something! Quick everyone, let’s all stand here to find out what it is!”

  Suddenly, Nakor hurled the small flask at the priest. He was too slow to move out of the way, and the vial shattered on his forehead.

  The priest paused, confused by the liquid that dripped down his face and neck. It didn’t seem harmful, he concluded. Perhaps Nakor grabbed the wrong vial. He looked up.

  “Sorry,” Nakor said with a smile. One of the first tricks he had ever learned was the ability to create a small ball of fire. He concentrated, focussing his energy into his left hand. A moment later, a small flame appeared there. The spell also protected him from being burnt by the flame.

  “Can we attack Nakor yet?”

  “He won initiative fair and square. Don’t worry, it should be our turn soon.”

  The priest’s eyes widened as Nakor threw the small flame at him. He ducked to one side and it flew by his head, brushing his shoulder on the way by. Then he screamed as his shoulders and hair began burning.

  Nakor flinched at the sound. He hated inflicting pain, even when it was the only way to survive. He also hated wasting the flask of lamp oil, as it was his last one.

  Soon, the priest fell to the ground, dead. Nakor waved his hand, and the flames died out.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked the remaining men, eyeing the dead elf.

  One of them stepped forward, wielding an enormous broadsword. “He’s mine,” the man said viciously.

  Nakor studied him, noting the leather breastplate and matching bracers on his wrist. He examined the huge blade of the man’s sword, comparing it to his own narrow rapier.

  I was aiming for an, “It’s not the size that counts” joke here. I missed.

  Nakor ducked under the first swing, shoving his own sword forward to counterattack. The blade skidded off of the leather breastplate, and the man growled.

  “Uh oh,” Nakor muttered.

  With a loud cry, the man pulled his sword back and lunged at Nakor.

  Anticipating the move, Nakor stepped neatly to one side. The man grunted as his sword plunged into the tree Nakor had been standing in front of. He began to wrench his weapon free, when a sword blade rapped sharply across his knuckles.

  Probably Nakor’s sword blade, but once again, we don’t want to make assumptions.

  Shaking his head, Nakor gestured at the man to back away. Screaming a battle cry, the man charged.

  Nakor dodged to one side, sliding the tip of his rapier up under the man’s arm, a place left unguarded by the leather armor he wore. Giving a final, gurgling cry, the man tumbled to the ground.

  “That’s two,” Nakor commented, backing toward the tree. “I’m willing to call it even if you are.”

  The remaining fighters looked at each other, then began advancing toward him.

  “I was afraid of this,” he muttered.

  The advancing warriors stopped in confusion. Nakor raised an eyebrow, then looked to one side. There, a second Nakor stood, sword in hand.

  Raised eyebrow count: 2

  “Shall we?” the new Nakor asked.

  With a shrug, Nakor lunged forward, a move that was instantly imitated by his doppleganger. Unsure of what sword to parry, their target died swiftly as a pair of rapiers pierced his body.

  Pynne grinned, concentrating on the fighting below. She raised her other hand, and a third Nakor appeared next to the first two. She had always disapproved of unfa
ir fights. This “Nakor” seemed to be a decent enough fellow, and it would be sad to see him killed at twelve to one odds.

  Again in his normal form, Whoo looked over to appraise the situation. Glancing up at Pynne, he pointed at the illusions and raised an eyebrow. Pynne smiled innocently.

  Raised eyebrow count: 3

  Carefully, Whoo pulled a two foot bow off of one shoulder. Moving with the smooth grace of experience, he slipped the string onto the bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver.

  Pixies didn’t hunt for food, but they still needed to know the arts of war in order to defend themselves. Whoo was an archer. He had been practicing his craft for over a decade, and was counted as the finest shot in his village. The bow he wielded was painstakingly made by his own hand, as was the arrow he placed gently against the string.

  Why does the author keep interrupting the action to take an infodump?

  Completely serious now, he pulled the string back and sighted along the narrow point of his arrow. Relaxing his fingers, he allowed the string to slip out of his grasp.

  The three Nakors were holding the mercenaries at bay, but were unable to launch an offensive of their own. Keeping their backs to each other, they parried their opponents’ attacks as well as they could.

  Whoo’s arrow must be taking the scenic route to its target.

  Seeing an opening, one of the men raised his own sword to strike. There was a sharp jolt to his hand, and he looked in shock as his weapon flew away to land point down in the dirt. His hand bled from a small cut where Whoo’s arrow had sliced his thumb in passing.