by Ponce, Jen
“I don’t really have—”
He grabbed my elbow with a grip strong enough to make me wince and guided me to the gathering. I jerked my arm away with a glare and the old woman with the bowl chided him. “Fisli. Enough. You must lay your personal feelings aside now. To hold onto your anger is not Our Way.”
“Ellisi.” He gave her a slight bow and found his seat—as far away from me as he could get.
A smile played on her wrinkled lips as she turned her rheumy eyes on mine. “Our Mother asked me to tell you a story.”
Although I wanted to say I didn’t have time, I couldn’t say no to that smile. I couldn’t be rude. Kroshtuka had told me stories. They were part of who he was and who his people were, they were important. I sat myself on a rock and nodded. “Thank you.”
She patted my head as if I were a child—I really was, in relation to her age—and toddled to the dais. A younger member of the Elders hurried over to help her up the slight step. He leaned in and said something that made her laugh and swat him away. When he retook his seat, she shook out the front of her gown and smoothed the material with her knot-knuckled, bony hands. Her eyes graced each of us in turn before she started. “It is the tale of Sephony and the witch king.” Several of the Elders leaned to the side and spit at that. “Of a gift stolen and misused.”
***
“Long ago, Before the People pinned down our histories on Gumma paper, long before the first hooks opened up and anyone thought beyond food, shelter, sex, and survival, two tribes grew strong. Each group originated in a different way. One had been born from the egg of a Dak dak bird, the other from the egg of a Wysta lizard. Two eggs, so similar in appearance that if I held them in my palms,” the old lady held out her hands, the barest tremor in them, “you would not be able to tell me which egg was which.”
Around me there were murmurs.
“Two eggs, so alike, eh? One group became the witches. One the Wydlings. Two groups, so unalike. You would think the gods and goddesses had jokes in their hearts, instead of compassion and love, when they created both peoples and set them to live on Midia.” She paused to take a drink from the glass sitting on a rock shelf behind her, then continued with the story.
“King Sorgen was a young man, fourteen if he was a day, when he came to the crown. Used to getting what he wanted, that one, and his people indulged him because he was a handsome lad, very handsome indeed. Perhaps he would have lived his whole life flitting from one party to another, but uncertainty came to his kingdom in his twentieth year. The chythraul needed new territory, new food. They were raiding the borders, taking skins, killing and poaching.”
On the wall behind her, the shadow of a giant spider crept. I turned to look behind me but there was nothing but cave, stretching out into darkness. Inside me, Neutria came forward, her interest filling me. I hoped this little story didn’t give her any ideas of leading a great chythraul army.
“The fighting changed Sorgen from a boy to a man. He became a great warrior, talked about throughout the land. But even with his fierce prowess, the witches couldn’t hold against the invaders alone. They had to call on our People, our Warriors. They would not admit it, but our People were the superior fighters.”
A cheer went up around me. I dipped my head to hide my smile as Neutria hissed in my head.
Stupid duallies. Chythraul always win. Kill and eat. No need for stories.
“Our People were also invaded, by a parasite known as the Rider.”
Shock thrummed through me. I glanced, wide-eyed at Caterpillar Eyebrows, who didn’t look as surprised as I felt.
“It traveled through Dreams,” continued the old woman, “infecting the People. The only way to stop it was to kill the infected before the parasite could spread, but they were mothers, sons, daughters, and fathers and no one wanted to kill them. Because the witches did not travel in the Dreamscape, they could not be infected. It was for this reason that Tyrstan, leader of First Clan, sent his warrior-children to parlay with the witch king. They would offer to help drive back the chythraul if, in return, the witches would help the People defeat the Rider.
“Tyrstan’s children stood out at court. They wore leather, fur, and wool, things they could grow or catch to fashion into clothes. At court, there were fabrics made from the threads of caterpillars, from metals, from chythraul web, in ridiculous colors hunters would never wear.” Not just shadows behind her now. Colors spashed across the wall and I watched, entranced as they formed the vaguest outlines of people dancing, surrounding the muted colors of what had to be the warrior siblings. And then, the colors parted and a shimmering gold form appeared. “Court life was wildly different from clan living. Alliances were made and broken, sometimes in the turn of a single day. Tyrstan’s children, all but one, had sworn to take no lovers, have no families, and live, fight, and die for their people. Their vows were challenged at every turn by the witches. And of course, there was no one more persuasive than the witch king himself.
“King Sorgen was not just powerful. He was beautiful and Sephony, Tyrstan’s youngest daughter, found him very pleasing indeed. He was not like her brothers, tall, hairy, and blonde but shorter, smooth-shaven. His lips were sensuous, his eyes heavy-lidded and full of promises. He spoke in a husky drawl that made the women at court dizzy with lust.” The old woman cackled, rubbing her hands together, clearly enjoying the telling. “‘I am Sorgen,’ said the king, ‘and I welcome you with open arms to my kingdom.’ Sephony made her introductions but knew as soon as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand, that he would be her downfall.”
On the wall, despite the fact it was only shadows and shapes, I saw the whole thing fall in place before me. It was a wonder. It made my heart ache because it couldn’t end well. Stories like this never did.
Mate, then kill. No need for pain in heart.
‘Shh,’ I said, in my mind.
“Although they were there for parlay, to decide how best they could help each other, from that moment on it was about the king’s lust for Sephony and her growing love for him.” Several elders hissed. They didn’t appreciate the witch king playing fast and loose with Sephony’s affections. I didn’t particularly like it either. “She had taken vows. This troubled her deeply. To love a man, to take him to her furs was to break her vows. She’d given up that life in favor of serving her people, her clan.
“When the parlay was over and the warrior siblings returned to their clan to relay the information and proposed alliance, Sephony was glad. The king had asked her to marry him, to leave her family, friends, and her vows behind. She refused him, of course. That didn’t stop her from thinking of him every waking moment. Nothing satisfied her without the king to make it brighter.” Gloom fell on the pictures now, a heavy weight of sorrow that pulled me down with it. I heard whispered words, “Bespelled,” and “Ensorcelled.” I supposed they couldn’t stand to think that maybe Sephony really had the hots for the king, and had to hold out hope that he’d stolen her affections with magic.
“When the group returned with the signed contracts, the witch king was ready. He took them out hunting and his men helped him separate Sephony and her brothers. He imprisoned her in his hunting cabin and took what she would not give. And when his seed caught in her belly, the magic insured that she would not be able to leave him.”
Ugh. I was very glad that Earth didn’t have magic. Nothing like being bound to your rapist. Though I supposed people on Earth did do that to some women.
“Sorgen’s treachery broke the contract and destroyed our People’s hope to stop the spread of the parasite with the witches’ magic. They were forced to round up all those infected and take them far across Shinglee Bay to Ketwer Island. They left brothers and sisters, mothers and sons to die, unable to do anything else to save them.”
I hated to interrupt, but I couldn’t help myself. “How did taking them to an island stop the Rider from spreading?”
She smiled at me. “Ketwer Island is barren of magic. The parasite cou
ld not visit Dreams without riding the threads of magic to new hosts.” She took a breath and continued with the story. “Sephony stayed with the witch king and gave birth to a baby boy. She tried to escape the king twice but it was only when he was called to the north to face the chythraul, that she finally managed to be free of him. She stole their son away, running to the one place where she knew she would be safe.” A large volcanic crater loomed on the wall, a jagged, obsidian fortress. “This place was sacred to the People. The place where warriors took their vows and where warriors who broke them came to die.” A figure and a child ran toward the crater and they were swallowed by a swirl of black smoke.
“The witch king was angry and heartbroken. He mustered his army and went after Sephony and his child, but when he arrived, he was burned to ash by Sephony’s grief at his betrayal.”
Silence fell. The same man who helped Ellisi onto the dais, hopped up to help her down. “Wait. Um, excuse me?” All eyes turned toward me and I almost regretted speaking up again. “What happened to Sephony and the baby?”
The old woman smiled. “That’s what you are going to find out.”
SEVEN
Ellisi gave me another emiliometer, this one oriented on Tempest Peaks. I would have to figure out how to attach them to a chain and add them to my growing collection of necklaces. If this kept up, I’d have more chains around my neck than a rapper.
“It’s impossible to say since she doesn’t pay attention,” said Fisli.
I blinked. “Sorry. What?”
Ellisi smiled. “Your mate? Would you like to see him?”
“Yes.” And he’s not my mate. But I didn’t say it out loud, only thought it forcibly.
Good mate. Strong. Hunter.
‘I thought you advocated eating mates.’
Yes. Spider mate. Small male, not strong like Neutria. This male is big, bigger than Devany. Good mate.
Longest sentence ever, a world record. Also scary. She was growing smarter.
Not growing. Always smart. Learning language, human thinking.
Oh lord. Thankfully no one had said anything else to me while I was conversing with my inner assassin spider. Fisli led me through the cave and various tunnels to get to the small pool where Kroshtuka still floated, eyes closed. He also left me alone, which I appreciated. There was no way I was saying anything to Krosh in front of the old grouch.
Once I was sure he was gone, I took off my clothes and slipped into the water with him. It was warm and bubbling, like it had carbonation in it, tingling against my skin. I sighed as I pressed in close to him, my hand flattened on his chest, my legs looped around his. “Hey. I’m here. I’d love to see your eyes again. See your smile. Hear you talk.” He didn’t say anything, didn’t even twitch. I put a bubble around us both, then sunk down into my control panel. The black stuff had spread again, coating the giant reel I needed to get Krosh back, almost to the tip.
I had to do something. ‘Neutria? Any ideas?’
She showed me a picture of her venom hitting the ground and sizzling.
‘Okay, but how am I supposed to use that in my head?’
She didn’t answer.
I sighed. Think, Devany. There has to be a way to do it. This was all in my head, I had to remember that. The black stuff was what my imagination had decided the Rider potential looked like. And if I could imagine that, I could imagine Neutria in the control room, couldn’t I?
‘You want to try to kill it?’
Yes.
Her enthusiasm made me happy. Then I left that behind and drew in a deep breath. The water was perfect for relaxing me; I hoped it wouldn’t relax me so thoroughly that I slipped under and drowned. Another breath. The basic shape of a spider formed but she was too small. As I thought about it, she grew, her legs, her body filling the cockpit. When her size was right, she and I started filling in the details, from the blue hairs on her chelicera, to her multitudinous eyes, her long, segmented legs, and her fangs that dripped venom to the floor.
‘Ready?’
Before I could say anything else, she jumped to the corner and widened her jaws so that her venom would drip down on the cancerous growth. Wherever it hit, the black retreated. Not a large amount, but retreat it did. I mentally fist-pumped. ‘Yes! Do you think you could work on this while I do other things? Or do I need to be in here with you?’
She hissed at me, lifting her front legs in a challenge, before turning back to her work.
Okay.
I opened my eyes and looked at Kroshtuka’s peaceful face. “Soon, Krosh. I’ll free you from this thing. Neutria will get you out.”
He didn’t answer. Ignoring the twinge of pain his unresponsiveness caused, I pressed my lips against his cheek, then stayed close, breathing in his scent. I gave myself that time, reveling in him for a few minutes. Then I slipped away from Krosh and sluiced water from my skin with my hands best I could, before pulling my clothes back on.
“I’ll be back.” I pulled the obsidian emiliometer out of my pocket and rubbed my thumb on its glassy surface. Then I shut my eyes, concentrated on the rock, and formed my hook.
***
Chaos.
I stood on the edge of it but even so, winds yanked at my clothes, tangled my hair, kicked dirt in my eyes. Squinting, I peered through the raging storm. I was on a rise half a mile from the epicenter. I could only be extraordinarily thankful the emiliometer hadn’t brought me any closer. I would have been yanked off my feet and thrown across the world.
A column of murderous black air swirled down from a roiling cloud overhead. It spun, gyrated, twisted but the base didn’t move from the middle of the jagged obsidian circle that surrounded the crater. Lightning flashed, ozone stung my nose, and the growl of thunder was constant.
“Where the hell am I supposed to go now?” I turned in a circle, taking in my surroundings. The tempest sat at the edge of a cliff, indigo waves crashing against the sheer rock face. Water stretched as far as I could see, though there was the vague impression of land on the far horizon. Something massive and dark moved just under the surface, catching my attention. My mouth fell open as a long neck rose broke the surface, soon followed by a massive body, waterfalls pouring off its back. It opened its mouth and made a honking noise that could have been a goose sound were it not coming from such a massive gullet. My heart raced in my chest; I was only vaguely aware that I’d taken a few steps closer until a wind-tossed rock whacked me in the shin and brought me short. The creature—a dinosaur?—dipped its head into the water, scooping up a mouthful.
A dinosaur. Or sea monster. Either way, it was the sight of a lifetime.
I stayed, staring, transfixed by the creature’s movements and didn’t stop watching until I could no longer see it. When I was convinced it wouldn’t return, I looked back at the storm.
The tornadoes had split. While my attention had been on the sea monster, a path had been lit, from my toes to a cleft in the obsidian ring of rocks. From here it didn’t look big enough to squeeze through, but I supposed I was too far away to gauge the size.
And I did not want to go down there. Surely there was another answer. I could leave, talk to other witches, do some research. Hell, maybe I would brave the wrath of Kenda, Anforsa of the Council and pay a visit to a witch library.
Except time was ticking, for me, for Liam. For Krosh and Sharps, though I had no idea where she might be or what kind of help she needed. My guess was she’d been infected too, if Liam had been. And if I didn’t have much time, I certainly couldn’t risk getting grabbed by the Anforsa.
“Shit.” I stepped on the path and heard a shout. I spun around, squinting. Another shout. I finally spotted the figure running toward me. I wasn’t sure if it was male or female, friendly or not, so I put myself in a bubble and waited.
It didn’t take them as long as I’d expected, what with the distance between us.
I smelled him before I got a good look at his face. Onions. Garlic. A more pungent odor I didn’t think I wanted to define.
I was thankful the super sniffer Neutria had given me to track Tytan was deactivated. His clothes flapped behind him as he raced across the barren ground, dirty brown rags that might have started out as white once upon a time.
He stopped a few feet away and a sense of deja vu hit me. He looked like a male Marantha. Her facial structure with the harder lines of a man. Her hair, receding a bit on the forehead and at the temples on him. Her knowing eyes, reddened from the constant kick of wind and dirt. “The way is lit.”
I glanced over my shoulder and when I turned back he was two feet closer. Um. “Yes. And you need to stay back.”
He didn’t listen, just started tugging at something hanging from his belt. “Give this to her, when you see her.” It was a wooden doll, a beautiful piece of woodwork, complete with clothes sewn to fit its tiny form. “I promised her. But she’s been raging for sometime now. Wouldn’t let even me close.” He held it out to me without any appearance of being doubtful I would take it.
“Who are you?”
“Margolis. Keeper of the sacred fire.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be related to Marantha, would you?”
His eyelids dropped and his grubby fingers tightened for an instant around the doll. “She’s my cousin, though disappointed in my choice of callings.” His gaze hit mine, intense, impassioned. “As if a calling can be dismissed. As if I could walk away.”
“So, you serve the Wydling woman trapped here?”
He laughed, shook his head. “She is a goddess. Not just a woman. Not since Sorgen the witch king drove her to become more than she wanted to be.”
I wanted to drop the bubble and take the doll but I still had no idea if I could trust him, Marantha’s relative or not. “Am I going to die if I go in there?”
He tucked a flyaway bit of hair behind an ear and peered at me. “Do you seek to hurt her? Destroy her?”
“I just have questions.” Though I still didn’t know how any of this would help me with the Riders. Her people had driven the infected to Ketwer Island, they hadn’t defeated them. And there was no way I was exiling my son to a place without magic and leaving him to die.
