Alliance

by Bruce S Larson

  “Yes, child.” The spider continued. “The mind who bade me trap you has killed a star.”

  “I am star-like. Would you have him kill me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then why am I here, Shia-Phring? He is not the Dark Urge. Why have you done his bidding?”

  “I saw little option. I need to gather knowledge of what he does, and how. And I need to gather allies.”

  “Allies? By binding them to your web? Did a fly ever feel amity to the spider that caught it?”

  “I can tell you: no. But you are not a fly, and I am far greater than a small predator in a bush. I lived when they did, flies and spiders. I live now. I wish to live on. It is why I bowed to your sister, and why I tolerate her now even more powerful child.”

  “To survive. But how? Here? In your own trap of Hell, or alone in some new dimension?”

  “I do not like being alone. Odd for a solitary predator, but as I said, I am no longer a mere spider eating what comes on the ground or through the air. After a long while as a lone, sentient, you desire thoughts other than your own. It was why I sought to give the Forge a voice, to make its program speak.”

  Zaria was silent. In her own millennia of existence, she had never felt a cold chill through her being. The Great Widow’s sudden revelation did that within her sun-like form.

  “You—” Zaria paused, again. “You caused the Schism. Not some powerful aliens. You tampered with the operating system and made the program split. You!”

  “I weave many things. Stories are one of them. Does not the universe that knows of Hell also know the story of the Schism, and the birth of the Dark Urge?”

  “And of me!”

  “Yes. You see, you are indeed my child.”

  Light flared from inside the polygonal lattice of silk that held Zaria. She said nothing.

  “Ah, you are silent again.” The Great Widow noted. “I suppose even a mind as strong and as old as yours can be shocked. Then process that knowledge, my dear creature of sunlight. Perhaps we will both see a better dawn. For now, be silent. The monster draws back to the embrace of my silk.”

  Zaria burned as a sun in a spider web.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Run.

  It was almost a sentient thought. His mind was rudimentary. His kind had evolved in energies that altered their bodies. Some gained expanded minds. This male was not one of them. Yet, his body defied the limitations of nature. His mind was small, but his body was vast. As were the reach of his eight legs, the sight of his eight eyes and other senses, and the power of his calipers and massive fangs.

  It was fitting for Hell that he was a giant spider running free on its desolate surface. Black. Swift. Ferocious. Yet the scars on his back were from greater strength than his. The Great Widow. She had not eaten him. If he knew appreciation, he would be glad. He knew his urge to mate was sated, even if he did not sate her hunger. Now free, he could sate his own.

  He had not eaten since long before the Age of Apocalypse. He knew the Great Widow had sent him on a mission. The charmed weave on his carapace gave him knowledge he could not process, normally. But he was hungry. At times, nature and magic warred. Now was such a time. Hunger was nature's other great call. It was winning his attention. And what did a massive, male spider eat? Other than its stronger mate, almost anything.

  There was vibration through the dust-covered ground. A rhythmic sound rolled through the acidic air.

  Prey.

  “He comes,” Octuhr’s voice vibrated his strands on the web. “Anguhr comes to Hell’s system.”

  “I know,” the Great Widow replied with calm.

  “Of course,” Octuhr laughed. “You, in essence, sent for him.”

  “What? How?” The spider demanded. She knew it was true, but wanted to know how Octuhr had learned of her betrayal.

  “You sent a message to Asherah—I admit I am shocked it is so close. But as I sent my thrall to destroy it, you sent the message to them—or perhaps him. Naturally,” Octuhr paused to consider the correctness of that word. “Yes, naturally, he sent for his ally Anguhr, as we now hold Zaria. The Gin system cannot fight. Not offensively. It’s complicated.”

  Less complex then you think, child-thing. The Great Widow thought.

  “Have no fears.” Octuhr’s devious thoughts colored his voice’s vibrations. “It is as I planned. I send a ship to destroy Asherah. You detected this, and then sent warning. Asherah summons Anguhr. Now, one power I wish destroyed will finally die. Perhaps both.”

  “Why would I warn the world know as Eden?” The great Widow asked.

  “You wish to leave Hell. I knew preserving a place you could live on would be stronger than your loyalty to me. So I used that. You fulfilled that part of my plan. And I thank you.”

  “I would say you are welcome,” the spider replied, “if your twists of logic were true.”

  Octuhr shook the web with laughter.

  “Then make one thing true beyond unreasonable lies. Fulfill more of my plans. I make them also for you. Come join my resonance outside this dark void. Come spider, come back through the dimensional slit and enter Hell.”

  The Great Widow had felt vibrations from Hell through her silk. She was afraid that the Dark Urge had deceived her and her avatar wrapped in silk was a comatose decoy while she began to regain control of Hell. The spider was safe in her web. For now.

  But if Octuhr was causing the vibrations, perhaps she could stop any run away reactions as when he made the black hole. Such a thing her web would not survive this close, even in an adjacent universe. She checked the remnant Dark Urge who still slept, and then crept back into the material world of heat and machines.

  Material science was a field human beings began before their sun brightened and engineering and physics were needed to preserve life that survived previous misuse of industry and technology. Ethereal science was a field human descendants created when quantum spin, charm of more than quarks, and emanations from stranger forces became fields not only of study but ones they controlled. Their combination created wonders. More descendant generations gave rise to the Builders, who in turn created fields beyond human concept of materials or science.

  The Great Widow crawled back into a world remade into a foundry. Hell was an artifact of celestial engineering that became the black heart of galactic armageddon. The Age of Apocalypse was not supposed to be a distant legacy of what could be termed the Age of Re-creation. Yet, evolution was not unique to life. Any system left functioning developed quirks. Some quirks became demiurges, and grew dark.

  There were shadows and fires in Hell. It possessed a hot, metallic interior of great conduits, vast shafts, vents and ducting. Strange machines regulated pressures and particles, plasma and transitioning elements known and unique to the energies of the Forge. Its ever-reacting inferno burned through the ages.

  Then there were machines repurposed to serve destruction. A great shaft housed a slowly swirling mass of giant helixes made from oval cells. Each cell could take biological grist and spin angelic warriors or living terrors. These cells birthed Keepers and later demons. The Generals had larger, mechanical wombs to imbue them with more arcane energies. Vicious spite amplified the newer models.

  Great mills rolled the steel that alit as beams for hellships. Presses stamped demonic assault rifles, themselves slightly alive to generate endless ammunition within their magazines. Apocalypse was manufactured and grown in a militant industrial complex called Hell.

  All these machines had cooled after Anguhr left for his campaigns. Now, they grew hot again. The Great Widow felt the heat. Somehow, Octuhr had restarted the Dark Urge’s factories for annihilation. It made the vibrating, hot surfaces harder to crawl across. And it was disturbing.

  “How did you—” she began.

  “It’s a Builder construct, ultimately.” Octuhr’s voice echoed through Hell. “A thrall of mine learned to communicate with their systems. Thus, so can I. Although mother sleeps, I can tap the still-
running subsystems. Hell is alive. Admit it, you’re impressed.”

  “Yes,” The Great Widow replied.

  “Now, for fun and for function, I am going to save our physical selves.”

  “How?” The Great Widow slowly spun to sense all of what Octuhr had activated, and what still sat idle.

  “With an army!”

  “But the demon production line is gone,” the spider protested. “All its bases were switched to the General’s ships.”

  “Yes. And I wondered about raising Sutuhr’s dead horde. But why, when we can do better?”

  “How? There is no genetic base left in Hell.” The Great Widow lied, convincingly.

  “Oh, but there are fresh samples to culture and contort. You sent out your husband who left traces behind. But he was not alone as a donor. Dear spider, you must realize there are abundant traces of you!”

  Celerus looked at the dark gray surface of a mesa that ended at a sharp line of black. Night’s natural darkness had taken Hell’s land beyond the cliff edge. The contrast was a relief from the endless, flat, bleached and hardened ground that threatened to blind all eyes and receptors in Bahl’s army from visual monotony. Celerus marched with Bahl through the Slags, the Wastes of Always, and now the Shatterlands. Dust and heat always preceded and followed.

  Celerus had disobeyed to seek a moment of singular freedom, even if he found it on the planet of damnation. So far, this most feared of all worlds threatened no more than other, exotic worlds he had fought on as a conqueror and then protector of Inaht’s empire. Although, on those campaigns he enjoyed more than acrid dust as both food and water ration. Yet he was willing to fight for Hell’s defeat. He looked forward to a time when he recalled the final battle, long over and won. Such a time would—

  Massive fangs struck him from behind. He saw his sword fly into the red-hued night as he felt his innards become liquid. Then he felt and saw nothing more.

  The male spider placed the partial husk of Celerus with the others of his unit. He didn’t know they all had names and histories writ far away from where he hunted. He knew they were food. He was less hungry. The enchanted silk place on his back began to burn. His mate put it there. She sent him out. There was another thing he should do? What? Strip away the pain. He did. There was more food. At dawn, he could find more.

  He was attacked!

  In the dark, he could hardly see the swarm of fly-like soldiers buzzing and biting his body. But he could feel them. Taste them. He began lunging into their teeming mass and sucking them into his mouth through the cilia that undulated to fan in more beneath his flexing fangs and calipers. He ate more of their number than they could eat of him. The Celerioran survivors broke off their attack.

  There was nothing to do but rest, digest food, and heal. Then, kill. And eat.

  “Let me kill it,” Aekos said.

  He, Inaht, and Bahl looked down the cliff edge at the black mass pulling at the bodies of their soldiers it killed in the night. The surviving Celerioran swarm had warned the army. By dawn, their leaders had found the monster spider.

  “I have quelled rumors the Great Widow hunts us,” Inaht said. “Some fear this is means Hell knows we attack, and she has come to kill us as food for the Dark Urge.”

  “And more rumors will come.” Bahl said while staring at the black beast below. “But I see this as desperation. It is a monster from Hell’s bowels, yes. But it is no army. The Dark Urge sends wrath because of her fear. This is to sow fear among us. It is like propaganda woven into an assassin. An elegant attack, but not a show of true military power. This is the Great Widow’s ploy, not her ruler.”

  “Then we still have a chance to strike Hell.” Aekos said.

  “And win,” Bahl added.

  “But we still need to kill this beast.” Inaht sad. “I will take a platoon and—”

  “No.” Bahl said. “I will do it.”

  “With me, great one.” Aekos offered.

  “Alone,” Bahl replied and lifted his mace ripped from Sutuhr. “It will instill faith. If one can kill that thing, then an army can kill Hell.”

  “And fortify your leadership,” Aekos said. “If you win.”

  Bahl turned his stare at Aekos, who leaned backward. Bahl leapt over the cliff’s edge.

  Bahl struck the ground. The giant, black arachnid flinched and stood back from his collection of corpses. Bahl approached the eight-legged menace. It was over twice his size, but not so large that he felt an army needed to engage it. That was his hope.

  Bahl thought such a monstrosity could only come from prey stored by the Great Widow. Perhaps her weakened sovereign ordered its released to disrupt his army’s unity and resolve. If he killed it as their champion, it would show the Dark Urge was weak and ready for defeat. Cohesion of his army would strengthen. Now, all he had to do was fight and kill a giant spider. One that had already slain and eaten a unit of his forces. Such was the job of a leader and legend.

  The spider turned from its victims and faced Bahl.

  “Can you speak?” Bahl asked. “Do you have a mind, a mission, or do you exist only to fight? And die.”

  Spiders breathed through slits in their abdomen, and had a sucking stomach near their mouth to vacuum liquefied prey into their bodies. Both released an angry rush of air that made a shrieking howl like a thousand damned souls erupting from magma.

  “Die!” Bahl roared. He charged.

  With incredible speed the front legs rose and slammed the ground as the running Bahl. He darted and dove to evade them and get close to the hideous thing seeking to eat him. The second set of spider’s legs shot forward. One struck Bahl. He flew backward and struck the cliff wall. His mace fell from his hands.

  The spider charged and raised its legs to strike and pull in Bahl for the bite. Their ends only hit stone. Bahl somersaulted and reached for his mace. Huge spider legs knocked him into the air. His chest struck a boulder on impact. He turned his head to see the arachnid charge. Bahl flexed his fingers into the cracking stone as the spider’s front legs snatched him. He tore the boulder from the ground as the spider yanked him into the air. Bahl raised the boulder and hurled it into the opening jaws.

  Bahl fell free. He hit the ground and sprinted to his mace. Spider legs smacked him down. He rolled, punched, and kicked arachnid limbs. They were many, relentless, and swift. Two legs pinned him with his back crushing the dusty ground under the pressure. He grabbed the spider’s foot covered in wiry cilia that crushed his chest and kicked his legs. The spider’s calipers reached up to expose the curving fangs glistening with acidic venom. Straining with his arms and chest, Bahl pushed the pressing spider leg up and thrust its middle into the mouth and fangs shooting down at him.

  The spider bit its own leg. Confused, the monster loosened it pressure on Bahl. He swiftly pulled back the leg and slammed it back into the spider’s maw. It lurched back, but Bahl kept his grip on the abrasive cilia. He used the spider’s tugs to right himself and braced his legs against the ground. He shot out a hand to grab hold of the bit spider leg. Khan and monster engaged in a momentary tug-of-war. Bahl strained to pull against the spider’s backward lurches. The entire leg tore away.

  The spider screamed, but more from frustration than pain. Bahl lifted the flexing, free leg and hurled it against the beast as it struck its fangs at him. He rolled and grabbed the mace. A well-timed swing batted away slashing fangs. A second strike of fangs nearly impaled Bahl. His reflexes let him twist away from the attack, but a fang scraped his chestplate.

  Bahl slammed the mace against the spider’s jaws. It recoiled and then leapt backward. Before it stopped, Bahl was already leaping straight at it. He struck the carapace amid its eights eyes. The spider violently thrashed and whipped its rear legs over its abdomen to swat at Bahl. He swung his mace in short strikes to knock away the swiping legs as the spider spun to throw him free.

  Bahl lodged his boot between the two body sections of the cephalothoax and abdomen. He shifted his grip from the handle to th
e mace's head. A leg knocked him against the spider's body. He recovered and raised the mace gripped by its head and thrust the handle into the monster’s abdomen. It shrieked. Blue-gray blood sprayed over Bahl. Arachnid hearts were long organs that ran near the top of their abdomens. Bahl had pierced this beast’s huge pump and its blood spewed from the wound.

  Bahl held on as the spider bucked and convulsed. The bleeding, panicked giant stuck at the ground with its fangs and limbs. It charged and struck the cliff. It slid down and drew a shallow breath. The black mass became still. The monster was dead.

  Bahl stood on his slain foe. He dripped arachnid blood and spat what had entered his mouth. He removed his helmet and cleared his eyes. His forces gathered along the cliff edge and began cheering. Bahl was glad his battle with the monster had solidified camaraderie among them. He also thought that perhaps one of them would volunteer to pull his mace from the creature’s body.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Sword Wing soared through the black of space dotted with countless stars. The closest star glowed crimson at the center of Hell’s solar system. The Red Giant held several planets in its orbit and was itself captured by the Iron Work to stop its expansion. Its apparent size to the Sword Wing made the star a glowing ruby disk Buran could cup in his first set of hands. However, he was not here for the star.

  His ship eclipsed the red disk as it neared its target, the gas giant now called Old Jove. The ship aligned with huge planet at its equator where a wide, atmospheric band coursed as if animated marble rolled below a stream. An anticyclone the color of fire and larger than most rocky planets turned just below it, as if a great eye stared out with caution.

  Far beneath them, another machine like the Iron Work maintained the planet and another, terrestrial world hidden at its core. That world was Asherah. Its protector, Gin, watched the Sword Wing take orbit around the reengineered Old Jove. Against the gas giant, the ship was small, but Gin was aware of its power.