Fantastical Island (Old School Book 2)

by Jenny Schwartz

  Naomi’s flashlight beam wavered to the far side of the cave and caught two hanging shapes.

  “Lights out,” Iovanius ordered urgently.

  Corey clicked off his flashlight in automatic obedience.

  Naomi dropped hers and didn’t stoop to retrieve it as it cracked and went out. So much for its maker’s claim of unbreakability. “Corey?” She made his name a plea.

  He tightened his hold on her, angling around to be between her and the two dangling shapes. The darkness pressed in around them, almost tangible. “Iovanius, are there two nengaals?” What else would be hanging from the roof of the cave other than bat-spiders?

  “Please, no,” Naomi whispered.

  Corey squinted into the darkness. There oughtn’t to be light in the cave, and yet, with the flashlights off he was beginning to see shapes in the darkness, and when he looked at Iovanius, he saw the ghost clearly.

  Iovanius stared across the cave, not to the side where the two shapes hung, but toward the back. “Only one nengaal.” Then, absently. “The two shapes are Janelle and Roy, strung up in cocoons.”

  Ice crawled up Corey’s spine.

  Naomi shuddered violently.

  Her warmth was his one stable point in this nightmare. They were too late to keep Janelle and Roy from the nengaal. “Are they dead?” he asked Iovanius, who seemed to have all the answers.

  “No.”

  So the question became, how did they rescue them?

  He needed to see the nengaal. He needed to know their enemy—although, was the nengaal really an enemy? It, and its home, were terrifying, but would it harm Naomi or him? “Iovanius, can you communicate with the nengaal?”

  “It’s watching us.” Iovanius sounded keyed up, excited but not scared. Then, again, as a ghost, he could always dematerialize if danger threatened. “Watching you.”

  “Where?”

  The light in the chamber brightened from shades of darkness to the equivalent of moonlight. In the circumstances, it dazzled. Corey blinked, and between one blink and the next, the nengaal appeared in the middle of the cave.

  Against him, Naomi was breathing too fast. She’d hyperventilate if she didn’t calm down. Not that the nengaal’s appearance encouraged calm.

  It was big; about as wide as a man’s outspread arms. It perched on a stalagmite, long black wings falling down on either side. It reached up with two gray-furred legs and touched something on its upper abdomen. The wings fell away with a rustle and a sigh.

  Naomi stopped trying to burrow into Corey. “The wings are detachable.”

  “Does that matter?” he asked in a low tone. They still faced a six foot spider. Four of its eight eyes studied them, black as obsidian and just as shiny. Two watched Iovanius and the remaining two monitored its cocooned prisoners.

  “Corey!” One of the cocoons swung wildly and the hoarse voice was Roy’s. “For hell’s sake, shoot the thing. Save us!”

  Beside him, Janelle was still and silent. The light was too dim to see her face.

  “I don’t have a gun,” Corey said.

  Roy swore, calling him an idiot; calling him all the names under the sun.

  But here, there wasn’t any sun. Here, there was only justice and possible death.

  Yet Naomi was calmer. She wriggled out of her backpack and set it down. “We were right not to bring guns. There can be no weapons here.” She tugged at his backpack till he shrugged it off and put it beside hers.

  He’d keep his flashlight, though.

  Apparently, Naomi didn’t agree. She reached into his pocket, extracted the spray bottle of mixed oils meant to repel spiders, and put it aside, before gently, yet insistently, removing him of the flashlight.

  Then she straightened, holding out empty hands and nudging him to do the same. “We are mostly blind,” she said to the nengaal. “By your kindness, we see dimly in your home. Our sight for the interconnectedness of things is even dimmer, but we seek to repair the web that Janelle and Roy, your captives, have broken.”

  Corey puzzled as to Naomi’s sudden confidence and the meaning of her words.

  She wasn’t finished. “We stand before you, naked.” They were clothed, so she had to mean weaponless. “In honesty and trust.”

  Iovanius had grown bored and drifted over to examine Roy and Janelle in their cocoons.

  Neither appeared to notice him, although Roy’s struggles lessened as if he grew tired.

  Naomi fumbled for Corey’s hand and held tight. Her voice was strained as she finished with a question. “Do you intend to end this weaving and begin a new one, or may we attempt to repair the web of Catalina Island so that Poppy and those she loves—” Naomi swung forward her hand, clasped with his—“are safe?”

  Web? Corey frowned. Did she mean restoring the ecological web of fantastical creatures that had been damaged by Roy and Janelle’s hunting? Regardless of what the nengaal did, Naomi would devote herself to saving the fantastical creatures. However, he suspected she meant something deeper, more metaphysical.

  He was right.

  In the silence, she whispered in his ear. “Southwestern tribes, like the Navajo, believe in Spider woman who spins reality and balances the world. I don’t understand the truths of their faith, but contact with the nengaal, a spider of justice, may have influenced their stories. If she protects the web, then either she ends this one—probably by ending Janelle and Roy—or we pray that she lets us repair reality as it is, now.” Her voice strengthened. “Without deaths.”

  The nengaal’s lower limbs reached down, hooked her wings, and brought them up. Other legs grasped and raised them, attaching the bat wings to her body once more.

  Fear gripped Naomi. Implacability weighted the nengaal’s actions. Naomi’s words hadn’t altered the creature’s decision as to justice. Janelle and Roy would die.

  “I understand webs,” Naomi said desperately. “I live in one. We call it a network, but it is a web. The Old School. Women of all ages and places and talents. We don’t all like each other, but we value the least of us; even those who fail us or fear that they’ve failed themselves. I know. I’m one of those. One of the weakest and least talented. Ordinary. But that never matters to the others. We give and take according to what is needed, not what each has earned. These two.” She gestured at Janelle and Roy. “They haven’t earned a rescue from Corey or me, but we have to save them to be true to ourselves, for him to be the person Poppy loves. For us to do less would destroy who we are in our webs of being.”

  The nengaal, with its vast black wings folded, waited a moment longer.

  Naomi sought for some final argument, something true, something powerful that would convince a deliverer of justice to show mercy.

  Corey found them for her. “Naomi and I are starting our life together. If justice requires a new beginning, let it begin with us. As a blessing, grant us the lives of your two prisoners.”

  “Idiot!” Iovanius zoomed to him. “You are taking responsibility for your enemies.”

  “Yes,” Naomi and Corey said in unison.

  Iovanius smacked himself in the head with a spectral hand.

  The nengaal extended her wings and swooped off the stalagmite.

  Corey flinched and dragged Naomi back.

  The draft of the nengaal’s flight swept cold air over them, but the nengaal herself smoothly avoided them before flying into the tunnel.

  Iovanius followed her, reappearing swiftly. “It’s gone.”

  Naomi’s knees went wobbly. “We convinced the nengaal to spare the island her justice.”

  “You did. Maybe.” Corey crouched to find his flashlight. With the nengaal gone, whatever light she’d enabled was fading. He switched on his flashlight.

  Naomi picked up hers, clicked it, shook it, and reluctantly accepted that it was broken.

  Corey waited till she’d stuffed the broken flashlight in her backpack and shouldered the bag. “We’ve still to find out if we can release Janelle and Roy from their cocoons.”

&nb
sp; “Oh.” She hadn’t even considered that problem. Her sole focus had been the nengaal. Its impressive presence had enthralled and terrified her. She would have to try and remember as much as she could about the encounter, and ask Corey his impressions—even Iovanius—so that she could write it up in her report on the fantastical creatures of Catalina Island. Had anyone ever reported a fabulous arachnid with detachable wings?

  But speculation had to wait because their rescue mission was far from over.

  Unlike the relatively smooth tunnel, the floor of the cave was uneven, shadows hiding holes in the rock, and overhead, stalactites presented their own hazards. Corey went slowly, making sure of their footing.

  “Hurry for hell’s sake,” Roy growled.

  “How long before it returns?” Janelle had found her voice. She sounded remarkably composed, angry more than scared.

  “Cut us down,” Roy ordered.

  “You’re about nine feet off the ground.” Corey studied their predicament. “If you drop, you’re likely to break bones.”

  “Better than being eaten.”

  Naomi saw a more immediate problem. “How do we reach them to cut them down?”

  “Iovanius.” Corey produced a pocket knife. “Can you cut the strands of Roy’s cocoon?” He directed the flashlight beam steadily to the base of the cocoon.

  The ghost took the knife readily enough, but muttered at having to free prisoners. “They would have killed you,” he reminded Corey. “Naomi could have died trying to save you.”

  “We’re sorry, all right?” Roy said.

  “She’s not.” Iovanius pointed at Janelle.

  “I am. I am very sorry.”

  Naomi snorted. She didn’t believe that. Or rather, she believed Janelle was sorry she’d been caught. Nonetheless, she and Corey had already made their decision in coming here. “Iovanius, please cut them down.”

  The poltergeist muttered, but floated up till he could comfortably reach the bottom of Roy’s cocoon, near where the man’s boots must be. Not that his boots were visible. Both Roy and Janelle were so swathed in spider web that only their heads, left uncovered, were visible.

  Iovanius stabbed the cocoon. It swung with the force of his strike and Corey’s pocketknife went with it. So did Iovanius, his insubstantial form flowing with the pendulous movement of Roy’s cocoon. It knocked into Janelle and set her cocoon into a jumbled spin. Iovanius released his hold on the knife and floated down to stand with Naomi and Corey. “The cocoon is too sticky to cut.”

  “Perhaps if you could brace against something…” Head back, flashlight beam tracking the slowing swing of Roy’s cocoon, Corey considered the problem. “On the other hand, spider silk is stronger than steel.”

  His flashlight beam darted up, searching out the cord that suspended Roy’s cocoon from the roof of the cave.

  The nengaal had secured the cocoon at four different points. Tracking back from the cocoon, its single cord split into four, each of which wound around a different stalactite or rock protrusion. Janelle’s cocoon cord split into three separate anchors.

  Corey lowered the flashlight. “We could try to burn a hole at the base of the cocoon.”

  “No!” Janelle and Roy cried together.

  “Spider silk isn’t flammable,” Corey said. “That’s a Hollywood myth. However, the amount of heat needed to make the spider silk shrink apart would burn you badly, even through your boots. The black powder in the firecrackers might be enough to weaken the cord that binds you to the roof, but an explosion so near your heads…”

  Naomi winced. Each of his suggestions seemed worse than the last.

  “Just hurry,” Janelle said. “That monster could return at any moment.”

  “Never seen anything like it,” Roy muttered.

  “How did it catch you?” Naomi asked while Corey crouched and began rummaging in his backpack and hers.

  “It didn’t,” Roy said sourly. “It compelled us here. It was Janelle’s idea that we wreck the boat. I would have cut our losses, raced the storm and regrouped on the mainland. But she couldn’t let go of the idea of the baku.”

  Janelle hissed. There was no other word for the ugly sound she made. It was sibilant and angry.

  Evil.

  “We promised Svenson a baku,” Janelle said to Roy. “You really want to face him without one?”

  Naomi made a mental note not only to pass on Svenson’s name to the Old School network, but to request that they investigate. Someone who scared Janelle was someone to be aware of.

  “Svenson can go to hell,” Roy said. With Corey directing his flashlight beam at whatever it was he was working at with the contents of the backpacks, Roy’s face was hidden in shadows. Yet a change in the tone of his voice indicated he no longer spoke to Janelle. “It was coming back to the island that did us in. If we’d continued on, we would have been fine, but as soon as our feet hit the dirt of the island, that thing summoned us.”

  Janelle might have been angry and scared, but she also wasn’t willing to let Roy tell their story. “It was a compulsion. That monster controlled our minds. Our feet marched us to the valley. We’re bruised and scratched, cold and hungry, and it didn’t care.”

  “Like you didn’t care about Corey,” Naomi said.

  Corey spoke up. “I need Iovanius’s gladius and wood for a fire.” He ignored Roy and Janelle, his voice low and meant for Naomi alone. “Do you want to stay here or come with me?”

  “With the storm, everything will be wet. I’ll come with you, help you find wood that’ll burn.” And they could talk in private. He evidently had a plan, and she’d like to hear it. “Iovanius can keep watch in here.”

  Low though their voices were, Roy and Janelle heard them. The cave was so quiet any sound seemed abnormally loud. Plus, the prisoners would be stretching every sense, trying to escape.

  “Don’t go!” Janelle cried.

  Corey was patient. “I need a fire to heat a blade. Then Iovanius can cut the cord. I’ll lasso your cocoons to hold each one steady so he can strike harder.”

  “It won’t work,” Iovanius said.

  Everyone fell silent.

  Belatedly, Naomi realized that Iovanius had to be manifesting so that Janelle and Roy could hear and, depending on where he hovered, see him.

  “This isn’t simply spider silk.” Iovanius floated alongside Roy. “The nengaal requires justice.”

  “It could have killed us,” Roy said. “When we reached the edge of the valley it flew to us. I felt the bite and the trickle of poison. My limbs were paralyzed. That’s worn off, although I can’t move much in this damn shroud.”

  Iovanius descended till he stood in front of Naomi. He glowed faintly.

  She’d seen him sulky and excited. Now, she saw him serious.

  “This isn’t a practical problem,” he said to Corey. “My gladius can’t hack through it. This is a problem of ancient magic and timeless justice. Naomi, you understood while you were talking with the nengaal, but now you’ve forgotten.”

  What have I forgotten? What did I say to the nengaal? Surely she wasn’t meant to call the Old School network here to help. Did they need Cait?

  Iovanius tsked impatiently. “You said that Roy and Janelle had torn the web, and it had to be either ended or repaired.”

  She nodded.

  Iovanius floated up, the glow of his spectral form illuminating the two cocoons. “The nengaal is giving you that choice. The web ends here. Roy and Janelle can stay trapped till they die.” He raised his voice to be heard over their protests and clamor. “Or you must pay the price of justice for their freedom.”

  “What is the price?” Corey asked.

  But Naomi knew the answer. It was the ancient answer, as old as life and the world. “Blood.”

  Blood was shed for birth and death.

  She crouched beside Corey. “My pocketknife should be in the backpack.” She found it in the muddle of belongings he’d tipped out.

  He gripped her wrist. “No.”r />
  “We have to.” She met his shadowed gaze. “Iovanius is right. The nengaal is more magical than real. Her web will be the same.”

  He took the knife from her. “I’m willing to experiment with blood, but not yours.” He flicked his lighter. The flame was astoundingly bright in the dim cave. It reflected in his pupils, a dancing flare of determination, as he sterilized the knife blade.

  “Both of our blood.” She put a hand on his back, willing him to accept the inexorable logic of Iovanius’s reasoning. “In coming here and negotiating with the nengaal, we both took on Roy and Janelle’s debt.”

  He didn’t like it, but apparently the truth of the ancient magic resonated within him, too. He got out bandages and antiseptic wipes, cleaning the blade again before shallowly slicing his forearm, cleaning the blade, and handing it to Naomi.

  She very nearly chickened out and asked him to cut her. Just the thought of cutting her own flesh made her head spin. She clenched her jaw, breathing deeply in and out through her nose, and made the cut.

  It stung!

  Iovanius swooped in and wiped up Corey’s blood and hers.

  Immediately, Corey smeared antibacterial cream and plastered over her cut.

  She watched Iovanius. Neither she nor Corey had bled a lot, yet Iovanius managed to run a long line of their blood down both cocoons. Then he returned to wait with them. She held the flashlight beam on Roy’s cocoon, which Iovanius had smeared first.

  Nothing moved. No one spoke

  Maybe they would need to try a fire-heated blade after all, or go and acquire a ladder and a blow torch to use on the cord—and wouldn’t they be fun to cart into the valley and through the tunnel!

  Roy’s cocoon split along the side. There was still a nine feet drop to the cave floor, but he bent within the cocoon, gripped the sticky bottom edge of the split and lowered himself down, cutting the distance he jumped to a manageable four feet.