Rise of the Spider Goddess

by Jim Hines

  He stood and walked over to the door. “Anyone who has a problem with that can stay here. Besides,” he added with a grin, “I’m not too happy about the idea of taking on all those priests without her.”

  Nakor began to cast a spell that would reanimate the door, breaking it free from its hinges. Then he frowned. As he focussed the energy for the spell, it dissipated around him.

  “What’s the matter?” Pynne asked.

  “Cast a spell, would you?” Nakor said.

  Pynne shrugged and began her spell. Then she stopped abruptly. “It doesn’t work!” she protested, outraged.

  “This room absorbs the energy of any spell cast within it,” Galadrion said quietly. “Olara was boasting about how she had built it just for Nakor.”

  Jenn’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She couldn’t even pick the lock, since it was on the outside of the door. Now it looked like they were all helpless.

  “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” she asked.

  Nobody answered.

  “Yes, you are,” said Olara as she stepped into the room. She didn’t bother with the door. Instead, she simply walked through one of the walls to stand before them.

  “Nice trick,” Nakor commented.

  Olara stared at him. “You arrogant little elf. You actually thought this would work, didn’t you?” She sounded truly surprised.

  “Did you really think it was that simple to destroy me?”

  “I had my hopes,” Nakor replied.

  Olara shook her head sadly. “You die tonight, Nakor. True, I can not be the one to destroy you, but I have many who are eager to carry out that task for me.”

  She turned to leave.

  “Don’t despair, though,” she called to them, “your friends will join you right after they watch the blood drained from your body.” Then she was gone.

  “What a bitch!” Jenn said angrily.

  Nakor grinned. “I noticed,” he said dryly.

  There was a quiet scratching sound by the window. They looked up.

  Flame looked down at them, trying vainly to squeeze between the bars. Upon deciding they were too close together, he started biting at them with his beak.

  “Galadrion,” Nakor whispered excitedly, “I need you to do me a favor.

  * * *

  With a tug, Galadrion ripped the first bar out of the window. Glancing around, she made sure nobody outside had noticed. Holding the window with one hand, she passed the bar to Whoo, who flew down and set it quietly on the ground. Quickly, she removed the other bars. Then she jumped down off of Nakor’s shoulders to land nimbly on the ground.

  Awfully nice of Olara to include a window in this prison she built just for Nakor. Doubly nice for her to build it somewhere that nobody would notice them RIPPING THE BARS OUT OF SAID WINDOW.

  Flame flew into the room and perched happily on one of the shoulders Galadrion had just vacated.

  “I can’t talk to him in here,” Nakor explained, “But you said the room only stops magic that we cast from inside?”

  Galadrion nodded.

  “Boost me up.”

  She lifted him with ease until their earlier positions were reversed and Nakor stood upon Galadrion’s shoulders.

  How tall is this thing? Did Olara build them a double-decker prison?

  “Even Pynne couldn’t fit out that hole,” Jenn protested.

  Nakor didn’t answer. With one hand, he set Flame on the outside sill of the window. Then, he squeezed one arm through the small opening. By sacrificing a little skin, he managed to get his head most of the way through as well.

  “Don’t drop me,” Nakor whispered down. Then, crossing his fingers, he cast a spell.

  It was as he had hoped. The spell was one that affected his eyes and ears, which were beyond the confines of the wall. Quickly, he whispered instructions to the fire falcon.

  Flame clucked quietly and flew away. Groaning, Nakor wrenched himself free of the window.

  Galadrion had to dance back in order to catch him as he fell.

  Writing should be specific. Don’t say she danced back. Say she moonwalked.

  “Thanks,” Nakor whispered.

  “So what did you tell him?” Jenn demanded.

  “Patience,” he replied with a smile. “You’ll find out.”

  Jenn rolled her eyes and sighed melodramatically. “You’ll find out,” she mimicked.

  Nakor just smiled and watched the window.

  About a half hour later, Flame returned. He hopped through the window, then came to land before Nakor. Flame was clutching something in either claw, making it difficult to stand.

  Once again, we’re left wondering what the bad guys are waiting for. Maybe Olara was in the middle of a game of Monopoly?

  Grinning, Nakor leaned over and retrieved the items. As he lifted Flame up to his shoulder, he turned to Whoo.

  “I believe these are yours?”

  Whoo’s grin matched Nakor’s own as he took his bow and quiver.

  “They obviously hadn’t gone back in to get our weapons,” Nakor commented.

  “So now what?” Jenn asked. “He’s only got three arrows in there.”

  “Now we wait to be sacrificed,” Nakor answered.

  “What a wonderful plan!” Jenn said. “Why didn’t I think of it?”

  Closing his eyes, Nakor lay back against the wall to rest. Whoo sat down next to him, concealing his weapon underneath the folds of Nakor’s robe.

  Hours later, Jenn’s stomach rumbled angrily. Nobody had bothered to feed them.

  “They could at least spare some bread,” Jenn complained.

  It had gotten dark outside. They could see the campfires outside when Galadrion lifted someone up to the window.

  There was a rattling at the door, as if someone was fumbling with a set of keys.

  “Get ready,” Nakor whispered, crouching down.

  “If there’s a priest, get him first,” Galadrion said quietly. “Otherwise they’ll get the chance to defend themselves.”

  “We don’t want that,” Whoo said, nocking an arrow. He placed a second arrow between his teeth, where he’d be able to get at it quickly. Drawing back the string, he waited.

  The door opened. Instantly, Nakor was sprinting out of the room.

  There were two priests. Obviously expecting some sort of resistance, one of them began to cast a spell at the charging Nakor. Whoo’s arrow pierced his chest.

  Less than a second later, the other priest jerked back with an arrow in the throat. Nakor shoved past the falling bodies, with only one thing on his mind—cast Olatha-shyre.

  Nocking his final arrow, Whoo flew out the door. The others followed closely behind, stepping over the bodies of the two dead priests.

  “Nice shots,” Pynne commented appreciatively.

  In the distance, Olara and her priests stood waiting in front of a huge bonfire. Olara’s eyes widened as she saw Nakor and the others.

  Stopping, Nakor raised a hand and tried once more to cast Averlon’s ancient spell.

  “No!” Olara screamed. She sent a brilliant bolt of pure energy ripping through the air at Nakor.

  Galadrion leapt in front of it, bringing her arms up to shield her face. A detached part of Nakor’s mind noticed as she was hurled through the air to land behind him. Then he finished the spell.

  Nothing happened. Olara looked around warily, and began to laugh. Nakor looked back at the others. Galadrion lay motionless on the ground. Her chest was smoking from the blast. After a minute, she blinked her eyes.

  “Olara couldn’t kill me,” Nakor said as he knelt down next to her. “Otherwise that blast would have had enough power to rip through both of us.”

  Priests came running up to surround them. Nobody resisted. Olatha-shyre had failed.

  Their hands were tied behind them, and together they walked over to where Olara waited. Even Galadrion was dragged along the ground, still unable to move.

  There was a semi-circle of thick, black poles driven into the gro
und. Many were occupied by prisoners, trapped with their hands tied behind the pole. Nakor recognized Lenora among them.

  “Thank you,” she whispered as they passed. Nakor glanced back.

  “Our children were able to escape safely,” she said with a smile.

  “Where’s Robert?” Nakor asked.

  Lenora’s eyes fell. “He died, along with four of the others.”

  Pynne, Whoo, Jenn, and even Galadrion were hauled up and tied to four of the poles. The pixies even had their wings tied together, to prevent them from trying to fly away. Galadrion just slumped to the ground, too weak to stand. Her bonds kept her from falling flat, and she hung awkwardly with her hands behind her back.

  Two priests dragged Nakor into the center of the circle, then stepped away. Nakor watched as Olara stepped forward.

  “All of you will die, tonight,” she intoned. Her voice was low, almost chant-like. “But first we shall witness the death of this man, Nakor.”

  She looked around at the prisoners. “He who helped resurrect me.”

  Lenora and the others stared in surprise. Their expressions ranged from anger to confusion.

  “You?” Lenora asked, her face a mask of shock.

  Nakor nodded silently.

  Olara drew her dagger from a sheath at her belt. Holding it up to the light, she displayed it for everyone to see. The blade gleamed with a brilliant blackness, reflecting the light of the fire.

  You don’t usually see a blackness that bright…

  A priest stepped forward.

  “Lawrence,” began Olara, “As the new high priest of Olara, you shall have the honor of carrying out this execution.”

  The priest bowed, then reverently reached out to take the dagger from Olara’s hand.

  “Be warned,” she continued, looking at Nakor, “Any magic cast at this gathering shall be as useless as it was in your cell. Is this understood?”

  Nakor nodded, resigned to his fate.

  Lawrence stepped forward. Unwilling to take the chance of getting too close, he grasped the dagger in a throwing position. Then, without any ceremony, he hurled it at Nakor’s chest.

  The magic inherent in the dagger was infallible. It tumbled end over end, unerringly.

  Time slowed down to a crawl for Nakor as he watched the knife get closer. He could see the gleam of the fire reflecting in the blade.

  Images ran through his mind, as they had when he stood before Averlon. So, he thought to himself, your life really does flash before your eyes.

  Oh, no. Not more flashbacks!

  He looked for one last time over at his friends. Galadrion watched, struggling to hold her head erect. Pynne and Whoo both looked on sadly. Jenn had closed her eyes, unwilling to watch Nakor’s death.

  It was odd, Nakor thought, for he felt no fear. Instead, a kind of exuberance was coming over him. Unbearable excitement flowed through his heart.

  The knife was closer now. Nakor could see the intricately carved spider at the base of the blade. The handle was a rough, black material, with a silver sphere as the pommel. It was really quite ugly.

  A flash of amusement passed through him as that last thought. The excitement was almost unbearable now, and he felt as though his heart would burst. He looked over at Olara, who stood with an expression of triumph on her face.

  The excitement was unbearable two paragraphs earlier, but now it’s only “almost unbearable.” Nakor’s excitement is erratic and unpredictable!

  “Now,” whispered a voice in his head. Averlon’s voice. Suddenly the excitement vanished, to be replaced by a strange calmness. Nakor looked at the dagger, now mere inches away. With a mental shrug, he reached out and caught it by the handle.

  Before anyone could react, he flipped the knife in his hand and threw it at Olara.

  As no normal weapon could, the dagger of a god flew through the air and pierced Olara’s chest. Her eyes widened, and she screamed in agony. As it had been constructed to do, the knife swiftly drained the blood from her body.

  Unable to stop the magic of her own enchantment, Olara the Spider Goddess fell to the ground and died.

  * * *

  Lawrence looked on in horror. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Nakor walking over and untying the prisoners. But he paid it no notice.

  “Mistress,” he whispered, kneeling next to Olara’s body. “Olara.”

  The corpse began to fade away into nothingness. Soon, only empty air remained where Olara’s body had fallen. The black dagger fell to the ground.

  Nakor untied the pixies, handing Whoo his bow and quiver. Jenn was already free, and busily untying Galadrion.

  There’s a perfectly legitimate reason that none of Olara’s priests or minions make the slightest effort to stop them from getting free. You see, they had been—OH MY GOODNESS, WHAT’S THAT OVER THERE?

  Her arms released, Galadrion collapsed to the ground. Mustering her strength, she propped herself up by one hand and looked over at Nakor.

  “You did it,” she whispered.

  Pynne and Whoo were racing around to free the other prisoners. Soon they all stood crowded together in the center of Olara’s followers.

  “Now how do we get out of here?” Jenn asked nervously.

  The crowd was murmuring to itself. Angry voices began calling out for Lawrence to avenge the death of Olara.

  Lawrence looked up, hearing his name. He glanced over to where Nakor stood with the others. Moving as if in a daze, he grabbed the dagger from the ground in front of him.

  “You will die,” he cried furiously. He began to run toward Nakor, lifting the knife above his head.

  “You will die from stabbing! Because I will stab you! With this knife! And then nobody will ever know of my pathetic battle banter.”

  Then he screamed and clutched his hand. The dagger tumbled to the ground ahead of him, to be retrieved by Nakor.

  Lawrence clutched his wrist, from which a small arrow protruded. His eyes were wide as he stared at the wound.

  For crying out loud. Does he clutch his hand or his wrist? Or does he just sprout a third arm and do both?

  “I thought you just disarmed people,” Pynne said, looking at Whoo.

  “I missed,” he admitted with a shrug. “Besides, I don’t like him.”

  “Nakor,” Lenora whispered, coming up behind him. “Look at the other priests.”

  “I see them,” he answered. They would be difficult to miss. Dozens of priests were coming forward, surrounding the small group.

  The perfect calm that had come over Nakor remained with him still. He took a step away from the group and raised his hands.

  “No more death,” he said in a low voice. “There will be no more killing tonight.”

  Lawrence stared at him, forgetting the pain in his wrist. “Destroy them!” he screamed.

  Nakor raised his hands above his head, spreading his fingers.

  “I said there shall be no more death tonight,” he shouted.

  The priests began casting their spells. Streaks of energy of every color imaginable shot forward at the group. Streams of flame and bolts of lightning were launched by the more gifted priests.

  Remember, they’re standing in a circle with Nakor et al. in the center, and they’re shooting all this lethal magic. I think it’s safe to say these are not the brightest torches in the dungeon.

  As the magical attacks flew toward their targets, their paths were warped. The priests’ spells curved around to avoid the prisoners, slamming into Nakor’s upstretched hands.

  Nakor stood without moving, illuminated by the brilliant light of the attack. Redoubling their efforts, the priests sent more spells forth, only to have them redirected as the first had been.

  I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, but it’s a Rule that every fantasy protagonist has to have a Moment of Badass. Regardless of whether or not it makes any sense whatsoever.

  Still, Nakor was unharmed. “I said no more,” he whispered. His voice was drowned out by the howl of
the magic around him. A priest collapsed unconscious. He had been unable to sustain the spell he had cast.

  Soon, others followed. A few minutes later, the remaining priests ceased their attack.

  Nakor lowered his hands and looked around. Only seven priests still stood, Lawrence included. Behind them, hundreds of others watched in silence.

  “Olara is dead,” Nakor pronounced.

  A spear flew through the air, hurled by one of the onlookers. Nakor gestured, and it slammed into the ground at his feet.

  “Stop that! Weren’t you paying attention to my Moment of Badass?”

  “It is over,” he said, carefully emphasizing every word. Then he looked back at the huddled group of people behind him.

  “We’re leaving.”

  Fearfully, the crowd parted before him as he led the others out of the circle. Seeing him leave, a few of the priests sent their magic at the group. But the spells were diverted harmlessly into nearby trees or into the ground.

  As they walked, Jenn glanced behind. The crowd was beginning to disperse. Families walked back to their tents and huts in silence, and began packing their belongings. The few remaining priests were tending to their unconscious companions. Moments later, she watched as the first tent collapsed in on itself. Soon, tents were falling all around, as people readied themselves to return home.

  It’s not so much a deus ex machina ending (look it up) as it is a deus ex WTF?

  Satisfaction spread through her, and Jenn smiled. Then she turned and followed her friends away from what was once the city of Olara, the Spider Goddess.

  Epilogue

  Two weeks later, Nakor and Thomas walked together through the forest. Thomas had come to Nakor’s home the night before, and they had talked throughout the night. Now, they were journeying back to Thomas’s small church.

  “Pynne and Whoo returned to their village?” Thomas asked.

  Nakor nodded.

  “And what of the others?”

  With a grin, Nakor told him. “Gavin, the vampire from Olara’s temple, caught up with us a few hours after we left. He wanted to stay with Galadrion, and she agreed. They went off on their own two days ago.”

  “Jenn went with Lenora and the other prisoners. Lenora was one of the people who lost a child to Olara. She was willing to help raise Jenn. Jenn was more than willing to go try her hand at a normal, peaceful childhood.”