Rise of the Spider Goddess

by Jim Hines

  “It gets so hard to remember which scrolls are in which hole,” he commented. The one he held in his hand was yellowed with age. He slipped the ancient ribbon off with ease, for the scroll held naturally to its tightly coiled shape.

  Our priesthood doesn’t believe in the Dewey Decimal System! Or labels.

  “If you could assist me,” Thomas asked, looking at Pynne.

  He handed one end of the scroll to the pixie, and gingerly began to unwind it. Once it was fully unfurled, the scroll was over six feet long. Thomas gestured for Galadrion to hold the other end, and took the light from Nakor.

  “This is the collected works of Ellana, a priestess of Olara,” Thomas explained, skimming through the document.

  “She described a great spell that would free Olara, and return her to her rightful glory.”

  Thomas brought the light close, finding what he was searching for.

  “However, she also wrote that ‘Olara’s new life shall be the means of her true death. Only one who restores the goddess will have the power to destroy her, and he shall strike her down with that power.’”

  Thomas continued. “That was a rough translation of the original Elvish, but Ellana specifically referred to a ‘he,’” He looked at Nakor. “You are the only surviving male who participated in Olara’s resurrection.”

  Sexist prophecy is sexist.

  Nobody spoke for a moment. Then Pynne asked “Is there any reason we should believe this prophecy?”

  Thomas nodded. “There are other predictions concerning Olara’s priesthood in the scroll, all of which have occurred. The passage I read is one of the few which has not yet been fulfilled.”

  All of the predictions have come true, except for the ones that haven’t. Sounds legit.

  He pointed to a spot near the end of the scroll. “Here, Ellana describes her own death, which occurred shortly after she completed the scroll.”

  “We believed this to be the only copy of Ellana’s work,” Thomas continued. “However, if Olara has become aware of the prophecy, it could explain the recent attacks against you.”

  Pynne chose this point to let out an enormous yawn.

  I know exactly how she feels.

  “My apologies,” said Thomas with a smile. “I will show you to a room you may sleep in for as long as you need.”

  Handing the light back to Nakor, Thomas took the scroll from Galadrion and began to carefully roll it back into its original form. Once finished, he slipped the ribbon over one end and set the scroll back into its niche in the wall.

  Turning, Thomas led them back out of the vault, pausing only once to take a small trinket from one of the shelves. Upon returning to the main level of the temple, Thomas pointed to one of the doors. “It’s a small room, but it will allow you to rest.”

  As the trio turned to go, Thomas gestured to Galadrion. She looked back.

  Thomas handed her the small, round coin he had taken from the vault. As she looked at him with a questioning gaze, he explained. “I am aware of some of the difficulties you face. That will allow you to travel unharmed in daylight.” He gave her a small pouch with a long drawstring that could be word around the neck.

  Anyone else curious who the heck Thomas is, or why he’s helping our heroes, or what made him decide to hand a super-powerful item to a strange vampire? It’s been a long time, but I think the answer was, “Because that’s what I wrote on the outline.”

  Galadrion studied the small, golden coin. There was a stylized picture of the sun on one side, with symbols from some foreign language on the other. She nodded her head once in thanks, and dropped the coin into the pouch. Slipping it over her neck, she turned to follow the others.

  The first thing they saw after entering the small room was Whoo, sleeping contentedly on a small straw mat. Pynne flew to his side immediately, examining his newly regenerated wings. Nakor smiled for a moment, then went over to collapse onto another mat. Galadrion unbuckled her sword and carefully placed it on the ground before sitting down in front of the door. There she watched, back against the door, as Pynne and Nakor joined Whoo in his slumber.

  * * *

  Nakor stood on the edge of a cliff, looking out into the sandy wastelands beyond. The sky was a deep red color, and the wind blew small whirlwinds of sand around his feet.

  He turned around, trying to figure out where he was. “Galadrion?” he called. “Pynne? Whoo?”

  “They aren’t here, Nakor,” replied a deep feminine voice.

  Instantly, Nakor’s rapier was out and ready. He looked around, searching for the source of the voice.

  “Where are you, Olara?”

  There was a brief shimmering of light to his left, and the Spider Goddess appeared out of thin air. “Hello, my friend,” she said warmly.

  She glanced at the sword in Nakor’s hand. “I see,” she said with mock surprise, “you seek to destroy me.” Her face took on an expression of pain, as if she were deeply hurt by Nakor’s malevolence.

  Suddenly she was armed. In one hand, she held a black sword. A stylized spider formed the crossguard, and the blade seemed to radiate darkness from within. In her other hand she held a matching dagger. “Very well,” she said, anger rising in her voice, “if this is the way it must be.”

  Nakor had seen Olara’s weapons before. He backed up a step, seeking to put distance between them. The magical blades were enchanted to be razor sharp, as well as being unbreakable. The real power, however, lay in their ability to drain the blood from a body within seconds, leaving their victims dead before they could fall to the ground.

  Suddenly Olara lunged forward and swung her sword. Nakor stepped back, raising his rapier to block. He watched in despair as Olara’s black sword sliced cleanly through his blade, leaving him defenseless.

  Nakor took another step back and stopped, suddenly realizing that the edge of the cliff was right behind him. There was nowhere else to run.

  Olara smiled sadly. “I’m terribly sorry, my dear Nakor. But surely you must have known the futility of your quest.” Her voice grew louder as she spoke. “The gods themselves could not destroy me! And now, you truly seek to accomplish that which the gods could not?”

  Her sword vanished. Nakor watched as she slowly took the dagger in her right hand, holding the blade in a throwing position. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” she said, a cruel smile upon her face.

  As she raised her hand to throw, Nakor turned and leapt from the cliff. Her deep, mocking laughter followed him down as he fell.

  He landed on the floor of a damp, dimly lit hallway, flat on his back. He looked up in confusion, then rolled to one side to avoid the axe that was descending from above toward the middle of his head. As the axe thudded into the ground, inches from his ear, Nakor grabbed it by the handle and rolled backward, bringing his feet over his head to kick the axe-wielding goblin in the stomach.

  Nakor leapt to his feet as the goblin stumbled back. As the goblin was wrenching his axe from the ground, Nakor pulled his rapier from its sheath. Now where had that come from, he wondered, studying the undamaged weapon in his hand.

  Once armed, it was relatively easy for Nakor to dispatch the goblin. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was now. He was in a long, narrow hallway. There was a slight musty smell in the air. It all seemed vaguely familiar somehow, as did the goblin who had attacked him.

  Dang. Even in dreams, it sucks to be a goblin.

  Nakor pulled his dark purple cloak around him, using it to help blend into the darkness. Still holding his sword in front of him, he began to walk noiselessly down the hallway.

  Up ahead, the tunnel branched off in two directions. Nakor stopped a little ways before the fork, for he heard noises coming from one of the tunnels.

  As he watched, a pair of skeletons walked into view, their bone feet clicking against the stone floor. Each of them held old, battered swords in one hand and equally decrepid shields in the other.

  I have absolutely no idea what the point of
this sequence was. Or why I never bothered to spellcheck my manuscript.

  Nakor stepped back, hoping to avoid being seen. But some magical sense of the animated dead alerted them to his presence, and they turned toward him.

  With a sigh, Nakor stepped into the center of the tunnel. Holding his sword in a guard position, he raised his left hand and cast a spell. He didn’t know how susceptible the skeletons would be to fire, but hopefully the distraction would give him time to escape.

  Pain shot through his entire arm, and the world blurred briefly. Nakor blinked, to see the two skeletons still advancing.

  The lead skeleton swung its sword, knocking Nakor’s rapier aside and slashing him across the ribs. Nakor winced in pain and backed away, glancing down at the cut in his side. It was not a fatal wound, but it was a painful one. A look of shock crossed Nakor’s face as he realized what had happened. His spell had failed. Taking a few steps backward, Nakor turned and ran.

  As he stumbled along, holding his side, Nakor cursed to himself. He knew, now, where he was. Somehow, he was once again in Olara’s temple, the same temple which he had entered two years ago when he had first freed the goddess. Nakor remembered the first time he had tried to cast a spell inside the temple. He remembered his surprise as the spell failed, sending pain through his body. Something about the temple had prevented anyone from using magic. Calugar had explained it as an effect of the incredible magic used by the gods in this place. It distorted the lesser spells used by mortals.

  Aha! That’s right, this was a flashback-in-a-dream. How original!

  Whatever the explanation, it complicated matters immensely. Nakor stopped to listen. The skeletons had fallen behind, but he could still hear their footsteps in the distance as they followed.

  Sheathing his rapier, Nakor pulled a leather sling from his belt. He reached into his pack and withdrew a pouch, from which he took a small lead ball. Dropping the ball into his sling, he replaced the pouch in his pack and he waited.

  As the clicking footsteps of his foes drew closer, Nakor began to twirl his sling overhead, still holding his side with one hand. The moment the first skeleton came into view, Nakor launched his small sling bullet.

  The lead ball streaked through the air and impacted with the skeleton’s skull, sending splinters of bone in every direction. It collapsed to the ground in a pile of bone and metal.

  The second skeleton dropped its shield and picked up the sword of its companion. Holding a weapon in each hand, it advanced toward Nakor.

  Hastily tucking the sling back into his belt, Nakor turned to run. If he could repeat this trick, he might be able to get away.

  Behind him, the skeleton stopped. Drawing back its arm, it hurled one of its two swords at Nakor’s retreating form.

  Nakor stumbled to the ground as the sword sliced across his legs. He tried to stand, but the cuts on the back of his legs prevented it. Taking a deep breath, he rolled over and drew his rapier. There he waited, trying to marshall enough strength together to defend himself.

  All too soon, the skeleton was there, swinging its sword. Nakor brought his rapier up to block the blow, feeling the impact numb his arm. Again the skeleton struck, and again Nakor parried. He was sweating now, as the skeleton began to beat through his defense. Then he saw an opening.

  The next time the skeleton struck, Nakor again caught it on his rapier. Suddenly, he dropped his sword and grabbed the skeleton by the wrist. As it struggled to free its arm, Nakor drew his dagger with his free hand and lunged forward, wincing at the pain in his side and legs.

  He shoved the dagger into the skeleton’s backbone. Using all of his remaining strength, he twisted, trying desperately to separate its vertebrae.

  The instant he succeeded, the skeleton collapsed into a pile, joining its companion on the floor.

  Dazed and bleeding, Nakor crawled away. After a while, he collapsed to the ground. He frowned, feeling a slight breeze on his face. He looked to his left.

  Weakly, he studied the wall of the tunnel. From the floor, he could see a slightly irregular projection on one of the stones. Having nothing to lose, he pulled himself over to the wall and pressed it.

  A door slid open, revealing a small room. Thankfully, Nakor crawled inside and shoved the door back into place. It took all of his concentration to heal the wound in his side. Then he cut strips from his cloak to bandage his legs. The cuts were shallow there, and he could deal with them later. Then, mercifully, he lost consciousness.

  * * *

  Nakor opened his eyes. Disoriented, he wondered why he was laying on a straw mat, and how his legs had been healed. Then he looked over and saw Whoo, snoring peacefully, while Pynne slept a little ways beyond.

  Everything came rushing back to him. Moving quietly, so as not to wake the pixies, he rolled over, expecting to see Galadrion sitting by the door. But she was gone.

  She’s off to see if Jim Butcher has any vacancies in his books.

  Concerned, Nakor stood up, wincing at the soreness in his back and shoulders. Between sleeping on the hard, unfamiliar ground and having such an intensely realistic dream, his muscles were in knots. He took a moment to rub a shoulder, allowing the healing magic to flow into his aching muscles. Moments later, he slipped soundlessly out of the room, and into the temple.

  Galadrion was nowhere to be seen. Nakor walked to the temple entrance, where the door was once again mounted on its hinges. Raising an eyebrow at that, he opened the door.

  Raised eyebrow count: 8

  Nakor blinked as the sunlight momentarily blinded him. He was shocked to realize that it had been just last night that he was sitting in his tree, watching the sunset. It felt like ages ago.

  The white-robed initiate who stood outside the door watched him expectantly. It was not the same man whom Nakor had trapped the night before.

  “I’m looking for my friend,” Nakor said.

  The initiate nodded. “She went in that direction,” he said, pointing.

  Nakor thanked him, and walked off to find Galadrion.

  He found her sitting on a rock, watching the sky. “Galadrion?” he asked curiously.

  “I saw the sunrise, Nakor.” she said quietly. Her voice was trembling. “It came up over there, between those hills.” She pointed to a spot in the distance. “I haven’t seen the sun in twenty six years.”

  Nakor studied her, noticing the tiny pouch she wore around her neck.

  She grabbed the pouch in one hand. “Thomas gave me a way to see the sun rise.” There were tears running down her face, and she still stared at the sky in wonder.

  Finally, she turned to look at Nakor. He was smiling, enjoying the happiness that shone from her eyes. For as long as he had known her, Nakor had never seen Galadrion happy. It felt good to see, and for a brief time it distracted him from his own troubles.

  For a moment, they both sat there, allowing the peacefulness of the moment to last as long as possible. Then Nakor frowned, as memories of his dream came rushing back into his consciousness.

  “What is it?” Galadrion asked, noting his change in mood.

  “Two years ago, I made a mistake,” Nakor began. “I set loose a force that could eventually destroy my world. It seems only fitting that I be the one to correct that mistake.”

  “But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not strong enough to do what needs to be done. Olara is a goddess, one that even the other gods are unwilling to act against. Who am I to challenge that kind of power? I’m just another elf with a slight gift for magic.”

  Galadrion looked at him, concerned. Nakor habitually exuded an air of careless confidence. To see him without that mask was disconcerting, to say the least. She searched for words to comfort him, but found none. Finally, she settled for resting a hand on his shoulder, unconsciously imitating Nakor’s gesture from the night before.

  Nakor glanced at her, smiling slightly. Then he began to describe the dream that was disturbing him.

  “Olara slashed my sword in half like it was nothing. I
was completely helpless as she backed me off of the cliff.” He paused, feeling the helplessness overwhelm him for a moment.

  “Then I was back in the temple.” He looked at Galadrion. “It was just as it was two years ago. Scrunchy and Serina had been arguing again. They always seemed to rub each other the wrong way. I don’t even remember what they were fighting about this time.”

  “I decided to look around while everyone else dealt with their little disagreement.” He smiled ruefully. “I fell through a trap door into some underground tunnels, and got attacked by some animated skeletons.”

  “Skeletons?” asked Galadrion.

  “Page 106 of the Monster Manual. Didn’t you do the reading?

  “When a necromancer, or some other wielder of magic tries to raise the dead, the body must be healed first. Otherwise you end up with zombies or skeletons, or worse. Someone probably put the skeletons in the temple deliberately, as some sort of guard. They have no wills of their own, so it’s easy to control them.”

  He paused to make sure his explanation was clear.

  “I almost died down there,” Nakor admitted. “My magic was useless, and one of them slashed me in the side. The other one cut my legs. After that, it’s a hazy memory of crawling away and waiting for the others to find me.”

  “Eventually, they discovered the open trap door and came down to find me.”

  He looked at Galadrion for a while. “Almost everyone who was with me in that temple is dead now.” He closed his eyes, the pain of those deaths still strong within his heart. When he spoke again, it was in a quiet, hesitant voice.

  “It scares me to think that could happen again.”

  They were both silent for a while. Then Galadrion spoke. “You were only asleep for a couple of hours. You should go and get some more rest.”

  Nakor nodded, once. Then he squeezed Galadrion’s hand, which still rested on his shoulder, and stood up.

  Fear and concern momentarily forgotten, Nakor snuck back into his small room in the temple. As he lay down, he felt the weariness begin to overcome him once more. Within minutes, he was asleep.

  Galadrion watched sadly as he left. It felt good that Nakor had been able to trust her enough to admit being afraid. She herself had been unwilling to trust others for years, now. Nakor was the first who had begun to penetrate that shield of distrust, but even he was kept at a distance. It was the only way she knew to keep herself sane.