The Curse on the Chosen (The Song of the Tears Book 2)

by Ian Irvine

  Her lungs heaved; she would have to go up. Wait – when she’d been struggling down the chimney, when she’d tried to punch a swamp creeper out of the way, she had gained a breath from its air bladder.

  Maelys put her mouth to the clotted opening of the nearest swamp creeper – yuk! – and forced her fist into its middle. Smelly cow’s breath gushed out and she sucked it down until her lungs were full. The panic faded, though only a little.

  She burrowed deeper then did it again, and again, until she must have been a span and a half below the surface and the weight of swamp creepers above her was so great that she could barely inflate her lungs. If she went any lower she would be crushed to death. She probed and her fingers touched hard stone – the base of the great well.

  It was solid. She rested a moment, trying to ignore the agony in her calf, then wriggled on, squeezing air out of the nearest swamp creeper whenever she needed a breath. She criss-crossed the floor but found no opening; there was no way out from the bottom. Up half a span where the pressure was blessedly less, she began to move in rising circles around the sides but discovered no exit there either, even when she’d risen to within a single swamp creeper of the surface and could breathe unaided again. What was she to do? Tulitine, she thought, I need your help more than ever.

  Maelys had a feeling that the old woman would be proud of her now, and it made a difference, since her other friends had turned out to be less than steadfast. Colm was disgusted and contemptuous, Flydd had seemed to be re-evaluating her, and as for Nish – the incident in the boudoir could only have reinforced his disdain.

  After enduring years of carping criticism from her mother and aunts, Maelys longed for the approval of people she admired, and none more than Tulitine, who was old and had neither the mancery of Flydd nor the skill at arms of Colm, yet possessed an inner strength greater than either of them. If Tulitine could fight even Vivimord, in her own small ways, Maelys could overcome this obstacle, and the next.

  She eased towards the surface, trying to emulate the random squirming of the swamp creepers, and felt that she was doing a good job of concealing herself until the creeper above her head let out a squeaking note of pain. She looked up to see it hooked out of the way and tossed against the far wall; the monstrous octopede was hanging directly above, eye to eye with her.

  Maelys’s mouth opened in an involuntary scream but she managed to keep silent; if she once gave in to her fear it would spiral out of control and that would be the end. She couldn’t get out of the octopede’s way quickly enough; if she tried it would attack from behind, and once it caught her with those little foot-hooks she would never get free. Stealthily, maintaining eye contact all the time, she slid her right hand underneath a swamp creeper and cocked her arm.

  The octopede’s eight plump legs suddenly stood out like inflated balloons; it was going to strike. Maelys hurled the swamp creeper up at it with all the strength she had, so hard that it wrenched her shoulder.

  As the octopede flashed down, the swamp creeper struck it on the head, knocking it sideways into the wall. Ignoring the throb in her shoulder, Maelys scooped up another swamp creeper and, as the octopede swung back, spinning in a circle, she aimed for its web cord.

  The swamp creeper bounced off but the tough web did not break; the octopede began to spin the other way as it swung across the pit. Its two hook-claws were extended, ready to attack the moment it came within range.

  Maelys wriggled into a vertical position, trying to get a firmer footing on the mass of swamp creepers lower down so the ones around her legs would hold her upright and give her more leverage. A huge swamp creeper was squirming to her left, the biggest she’d seen so far. Did she have the strength to throw it? Her shoulder was shrieking and suddenly she felt very weak, but she had to fight that too. One last try.

  She held the swamp creeper on the flat of her palm, hanging over each end like a monstrous slug; and being so slimy they were hard to throw straight. She hurled it at the octopede’s middle; it flew straight for once, and knocked it right off its cord.

  It landed on its back on the swamp creepers and began to rattle its claws furiously, struggling to turn over on the slimy surface. The swinging web cord passed by and Maelys knew it was her lifeline out of here, if she could climb it.

  It was just within reach, but she was so coated with mucus she wouldn’t be able to get a grip. She rubbed her hands against the gritty stone wall until the slime was gone and, as the cord swung back, stretched as high as she could reach, caught hold with her right hand, and stuck fast. Web cord was sticky to anything but an octopede.

  It was still trying to turn over, and would soon succeed, for it had impaled a swamp creeper on its ovipositor and was using it for leverage, skidding on its back across the surface. If it came close enough, it could attack with either ovipositor or hook-claws.

  She didn’t try to pull free; that wasn’t going to work. With her left hand, she scraped muck off her arm, slid her hand in under the stuck fingers, prised and prayed.

  After a few seconds, it reacted with the gum on the web cord, breaking it into strands that she could peel away. Maelys forced her inner hand up all the way and the stuck hand popped off. She glanced over her shoulder; the octopede was still thrashing, sliding this way and that, coming ever closer.

  Could she climb the cord? Maelys didn’t think so; she had never been athletic. She reached up with her slippery hand, touched the cord higher up and it stuck, though not tightly; she could just pull free. She enslimed her right hand and tried to spring up, so as to grab on higher.

  She didn’t budge; suction from the surrounding swamp creepers held her legs in place. Her right hand caught the web cord above the left, slipped, then caught again. She held on grimly, pulled the other hand free, rubbed more slime on it and took a grip higher up, then did the same with the first hand.

  It was like trying to pull her feet out of deep, sticky mud. She pointed her toes, thrashed her lower legs and finally the suction broke. Maelys drew her legs up above the swamp creepers, knowing she was far from safe.

  She was exhausted; her wrenched shoulder was throbbing and blood ran down her torn calf to drip off her heel. The octopede spun around, its hook-claws waving in the air. A host of finger-like protrusions above its mouth were stirring, as if they had picked up the smell of her blood.

  In a single movement, it turned over. The ovipositor pulled free of the impaled swamp creeper and arched over the octopede’s back, dripping pink fluid onto its warty skin. Tiny hooks on the ends of its stubby legs latched onto the swamp creepers and it began to undulate across them like a caterpillar, heading directly for her blood.

  Maelys hauled herself up another few ells, feeling her strength going. She’d never had strong arms and they had little left to give. Up again, she told herself. Just one more heave and you’ll be out of reach.

  She took hold higher up, without thinking to replenish the muck on her hand, and stuck fast. Now she was really in trouble. Tearing the lower hand free, she rubbed it across her slimy stomach and started to prise away the stuck hand. She had to be exquisitely careful; if she lost her grip she would be impaled on the ovipositor, which was sticking up below her, catching her blood as it fell.

  She managed to free herself and climb another hand-span, but the blade-sharp ovipositor was not far below her bare feet and the octopede was arching up its rear section in an attempt to reach her. She jerked her feet up, only to realise that the cord was dangling below them. If the octopede caught hold she would be trapped.

  Kicking the hanging end sideways, Maelys hung from one hand for interminable seconds while she tried to hook the dangling cord with her arm. After three attempts, with the octopede stabbing ever closer to her feet, she managed to drape the cord over her shoulder. She rubbed the slime away, stuck the cord there and clung on with both hands, panting. She was safe for the moment, but there was so far to climb.

  Maelys had to keep going. The ovipositor speared up at her, just missing
her left foot; the octopede was now clinging to the swamp creepers with its front legs and arching its rear section off the ground, giving it another third of a span of reach. She dragged herself up further, sobbing in desperation. Her throat was burning and her arm muscles were starting to cramp.

  The octopede swayed upwards, stabbing again and again; the tip of its ovipositor slid up between her toes, almost to her knee, and the skin began to sting. She jerked her legs higher, holding her knees against her belly as it kept stabbing below her bottom. If she weakened, even for a second, she was finished.

  She had to get up out of reach while she still could. Maelys found the strength to pull herself up another few hand-spans, but could go no further. Her muscles were trembling and wouldn’t hold her long, but in a flash of inspiration she wiped the slime off her right hand, stuck it to the cord and it held her. She hung there, panting, allowing her muscles to relax for the first time.

  The octopede could not reach her now, but it wasn’t finished yet. It tilted its ovipositor back over its head and circled around on the swamp creepers, its foot-hooks alternately piercing their leathery skin then pulling free. What was it up to?

  She hastily gunked up her left hand and was working the stuck one free when she noticed the spinnerets at the octopede’s rear pointing towards her. Maelys’s stomach lurched; she dragged herself up another few hand-spans and stuck on, looking down fearfully.

  A wave passed along its rear section; the flabby sac contracted and a liquid jet shot up at her, solidifying into sticky web in the air. Maelys jerked herself sideways and the jet shot past a finger’s width from her knees, arching across the pit to fall near the far wall.

  The octopede’s foot-hooks released; it moved slightly, hooked on again, pointing its spinnerets squarely at her this time, and fired. She swayed aside as the jet shot past her ankle, but Maelys couldn’t play this game any longer. Next time it would get her. She had to climb the cord no matter how much it hurt.

  And it hurt more than anything she’d ever done. Her arm muscles were shuddering with the strain before she had gone a quarter of the way. The octopede fired again but did not reach her this time, and undulated across the swamp creepers to the side wall. There it began to climb, clinging to tiny cracks in the stone with its foot-hooks.

  It was halfway up the wall already, while after all this time Maelys was only halfway up the cord and going ever slower. She now realised, with the despair of utter certainty, that she wasn’t going to make it. She would still be a couple of spans below the hole in the roof when the octopede reached the web above her.

  Though every muscle in her body was screaming with exhaustion, she kept going; she wasn’t going to succumb to it, and she couldn’t let Vivimord win either. She was going to fight them to her last gasp. She was never going to give in, no matter what.

  Maelys still had three spans to go but the octopede was near the top of the wall. Two-and-a-half spans: it began to creep across the roof, upside down, its warty body dangling. Two spans; she was gasping, grunting, her mouth as dry as paper. The octopede reached its web and headed across to the cord she was suspended from.

  She stopped and stuck on. What was left? Only to let go, plunge headfirst into the mass of swamp creepers and hope that she broke her neck. But she probably wouldn’t, and even a broken neck need not be fatal. The octopede’s eggs would still incubate inside her paralysed body, and besides, Maelys clung to life more desperately than ever. Life was hope; life meant she still had a chance. Think!

  The octopede reached her cord, clung there for a moment, its pale, slanted eyes on her, and a pair of curved brown fangs above its mouth slowly extended like a cat unsheathing its claws. That must be how it paralysed its victims.

  Maelys went down half a span and allowed the cord’s stickiness to hold her again. If attacked, she would let go and fall; she had no other options. Or did she? Could she use swamp creeper mucus against the octopede?

  It was worth a try, though she didn’t think it would work; the beast had eight little foot-hooks to cling on with. It had walked across the bed of swamp creepers, after all, by hooking into their leathery skins.

  Scooping a handful of ooze off her thigh, Maelys cupped her hand around the cord and slid down two spans, coating it liberally. She slid down a further span, allowing friction to wipe the remaining muck away until the web’s stickiness was just enough to hold her, but she could still pull free when she needed to.

  What would the octopede do? Had it ever played such a game with one of its victims before? She doubted it; the caverns of Mistmurk Mountain had been uninhabited for centuries. Maelys didn’t think it could be an intelligent creature, but there was always a possibility that it understood what she had done, and if so it could avoid her trap by lowering itself on another line beside hers.

  She felt exhausted; light-headed from hunger. Maelys couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten. Even thinking was hard now. The octopede began to come down, watching her all the while. She wasn’t acting like its other prey, and it was wary of her. Could she make it more wary?

  Unpeeling one hand, Maelys brandished it at the creature, then bared her teeth and hissed. It stopped on the cord, its head swaying from side to side, its ovipositor erecting and the glistening fangs sliding in and out, then began to move down slowly. She needed it to come at her in a rush so it would have all its feet on the slippery line at once. What if she pretended to attack it?

  She pulled herself up by her arms and let out a shriek of defiance, though it came out as thin and fake, and the octopede didn’t seem to be taken in. It swayed upwards but its legs stiffened; it was going for her.

  Maelys took a tight grip with both hands; she did not know what it would do or how it would attack. Her gut cramped; one more pain in a long line of them. If there was a part of her body that wasn’t aching, she couldn’t think of it.

  It came down the cord more quickly than she had expected. Maelys choked back a cry and tried to scramble down, but the slime on her palms had worn off and she was stuck to the web.

  ‘Aahhh!’ This time her scream was pure terror. She wrenched until the skin of her palms stung, but her hands would not come free.

  Tiny drops of venom appeared at the hollow tips of the octopede’s fangs. Her hands were loosening, though not quickly enough for her to jump. What if she doubled up and tried to kick it off the cord? No, it was too fast; besides, bare feet were no use against claws and fangs.

  The octopede shot onto the mucus-coated section and its foot-hooks slipped, for they hooked around the cord, not into it. It slid down under its own weight, dragging the rest of its body onto the slippery section. The foot-hooks clamped on furiously but could not gain any purchase; it was sliding directly towards her.

  Once it slid below the slippery section it would catch hold, and then it would be in a position to strike. The front pair of hooks locked onto clean cord, stopping its head end instantly, but the shock tore the upper six foot-hooks away from the slippery cord and the octopede fell outwards, its ovipositor carving a semicircle through the air then spearing at her.

  She threw herself sideways on the cord but, as the creature swung upside down, its weight tore the two front hooks away and it fell. Maelys’s hands were still partly stuck; she could do no more than tuck her head under her arm and hang on.

  One snapping claw struck her hard on the shoulder and it tried to hook in, but the octopede had already fallen past. The heavy beast plummeted down and slapped onto the swamp creepers, sending a squirming ripple out, as if from a stone thrown into a pond.

  It didn’t move; perhaps it was dazed or hurt, and Maelys saw her chance. She had to take it, for she’d never get another. She took careful aim at its head section, just behind its eyes, peeled away the last of the gum holding her to the cord, and dropped.

  She had no idea what was going to happen. If she missed, she might break her ankles; she would certainly be at its mercy. The octopede had not realised the danger, for it was ran
domly moving its legs as she plummeted down, and she hit it at full speed.

  The warty skin of the barrel-sized head section resisted the impact for a moment, then burst and she plunged through, splattering stinking yellow and green innards every-where. The ovipositor shot up at her but, as her knees buckled, it passed over her shoulder and a stream of little white grubs was forced out.

  Maelys threw herself to one side, scrambling out of the disgusting mess and plunging knee-deep into swamp creepers. She jerked her legs out and scrubbed furiously at the stinging yellow and green muck all over her feet and legs.

  At a movement behind her, she glanced over her shoulder. The octopede’s pale eyes had gone dull; was it dying? She couldn’t be sure, couldn’t take the risk, either, for its lower sections were still moving. It was still dangerous.

  The left hook-claw snapped at her. She backed away, scraped up swamp creeper ooze and rubbed her legs with it until the stinging died down to a dull throb.

  There was still green muck on her left foot, and some unidentifiable sausage-like organ had stuck between her toes. She flicked it away, revolted, wiped her fingers then scrambled backwards as the ovipositor, swinging through the air, fired a stream of grubs at her.

  Only then did she notice that the swamp creepers were stirring, sliding over one another to feed on the splattered innards, and the little grubs, which they passed over and swallowed. They weren’t entirely vegetarian after all.

  The octopede began dragging itself backwards by its foot-hooks, towards the wall. If it reached it, it might still prevent her from getting out; might even do the gruesome business with its grubs. No! she thought. I’ve got to kill it. And then she had a brilliant idea. Picking up a swamp creeper, she tossed it into the ragged cavity she’d burst through the head section.

  The swamp creeper began to feed on the octopede’s insides, so she threw another in, then another, until the beast was so weighted down it could no longer move. Shortly they began burrowing down its insides into the undamaged segments, and before long all the little grubs had been eaten. She’d won the first battle.