Rise of the Spider Goddess (3 page)

It was only two weeks later that Galadrion killed for the first time in her life. Whatever she had become had created an insatiable need inside her. The more she fought that need, the more desperate she became for blood. Finally, she raced out of the house and grabbed the first person she could find. Dragging them off into the shadows, she murdered him and drank his blood.

It was odd, she never even saw the man's face. Her only memory of the event was of breaking her victim's neck in an attempt to prevent him from acquiring the curse that had taken over her life. On that day, she had vowed never to do to another person what had been done to her.

Galadrion stood the body against the tree and drew her sword. With one swift stroke, she struck his head from his body. Having done this, she dropped her sword and collapsed against to the ground, hugging her knees.

We're done with the flashback and back in the present story now. I mention this only because the author didn't think to provide any sort of transition here. Lazy bum.

Nakor watched the beheading from the shadows. He waited calmly as Galadrion sat against the tree, trembling. After a few moments, he stepped toward her.

She heard the footsteps, and knew without looking who it was. Nakor was the only one she knew who could get this close to her without her hearing. With a sudden rush of shame, she remembered her appearance. Blood stained her teeth red and was in the process of drying to a dark crust around her mouth. She was covered in sweat and still trembling from her recent ordeal. Only twice in her life had Galadrion been found like this. Both times, people had been horrified. They had cursed her, calling her a demon or worse. She buried her face deeper in her arms, afraid of seeing that rejection in Nakor's eyes.

Nakor walked over to stand next to Galadrion's huddled form. He gently rested a hand on her quivering shoulder. A moment later, she looked up. Nakor took a moment to study the blood and sweat that covered her face. Kneeling down in front of Galadrion, he looked into her eyes. Galadrion flinched slightly, and looked away. After a few minutes, her trembling stopped. Resigned, she turned back to meet his eyes once again. There was no rejection in his eyes, only a mirroring of her pain. Nakor smiled slightly. It was a very soft smile, different from his usual, obnoxious grin. When he spoke, it was in a gentle, compassionate tone.

“Come home when you're ready.”

“And maybe, you know, brush your teeth first.”

Having said that, he squeezed her shoulder gently, then turned and walked back through the forest. Galadrion began shaking again. Home…

* * *

Nakor walked into the ruins in which he had lived for the past year. There were only a few rooms left intact. The majority of the ancient castle was today little more than a mass of broken gray stone and shattered foundations. Shutting one of the few remaining doors behind him, he walked toward his makeshift dining room. Up ahead he could hear the high pitched voices of the two pixies.

Pynne was hovering in the air, studying a small owl who perched on a wooden stand. Its feathers were a deep red, almost black in color. The bird would occasionally flap its wings and make threatening noises at Pynne, who was floating nearby.

“His name is Flame,” Nakor said. “His parents were killed by poachers while they were hunting.”

Even the bird has a tragic backstory.

He reached out to ruffle the feathers around Flame's neck. The bird twisted his head sideways and let out a quiet chirp of pleasure.

“He's beautiful,” Pynne commented softly, studying the small owl. Flame was tiny for an owl, with a wingspan of just two feet.

At that point, Whoo flew into the room and landed in the center of a rectangular stone table. He was a curious being, even for a pixie. His first reaction upon entering Nakor's home had been to race from room to room, exploring and snooping.

Nakor grabbed a sack from a corner of the room and pulled out a loaf of bread he had bought earlier that day. It was placed on the table, followed by a block of cheese. Whoo, still standing in the middle of the table, promptly sat down and began to eat.

If you've read Dianna Wynne Jones' wonderful
The Tough Guide to Fantasyland
, you'll know the only acceptable meals in Fantasyland are bread, cheese, and stew.

After retrieving some fruit from another sack, Nakor dipped a cup into a barrel of water and sat down at the table. Pynne flew to the table and tore off a piece of bread.

“So who were your little friends?” Whoo asked, taking a bite of cheese.

The grin on Nakor's face slipped for a moment. Images flashed through his mind. For the most part, they were images of death. The deaths of friends.

“That's a long story,” he answered.

Whoo looked at him curiously. “You're our host, you know. It's your job to keep us entertained.”

Nakor looked him curiously.

“He's right,” Pynne chimed in. “You have an obligation to your guests.” She smiled sweetly and took a sip of water.

“Besides,” Whoo added, “I'd like to know who I killed today.”

Nakor set his cup on the table and sighed. “It's not terribly entertaining,” he warned.

They just looked at him expectantly.

“About two years ago,” he began, “I was met by an elf dressed in black robes. The same as the elf you saw today.”

“He asked me to attend a ‘meeting,' and paid me in gold before I even had the chance to consider it. I decided that it couldn't hurt, so I let him lead me to a small cabin in the woods.”

Nakor has obviously never watched a single horror movie in his life…

* * *

“Welcome,” said the man in the doorway. Another elf, Nakor noted in his mind.

“My name is Calugar. Please come in.”

Nakor's guide vanished back into the woods. With a shrug, Nakor stepped into a large, open room. There were five others who seemed to be waiting, sitting peacefully on the floor. All save one, a dwarven warrior who stood sullenly in a corner.

“Nakor, meet Roth, Serina, Brigit, Scrunchy, and Tetichitoani.”

Also known as the characters from my college D&D group. Because if there's one thing I've learned, it's that EVERYONE wants to hear every last detail of your latest role-playing game!

Nakor nodded at each of them in turn.

“Roth and Brigit are wielders of magic, like yourself,” Calugar continued. “The others prefer less mystical means of defense.”

Nakor took a seat next to Brigit and Serina. Brigit was a plainly dressed woman with a long blond braid down the middle of her back. Serina was a bit more unusual. She was dressed in a leather breastplate and bracers, with a sword at her him.

I assume that was supposed to be “…at her hip,” but proofreading is for loosers!

“Five thousand years ago,” Calugar began, “the god Kohut was imprisoned by his evil brother, Panich. Kohut was respected throughout the land as a just, fair god who blessed his followers with plentiful food and freedom from disease, among other gifts.”

“Through the treachery of Panich, he was cast into an astral prison, where he had remained ever since. Kohut's follower's have dwindled through the years. Only a few of us still remain today.”

Another chapter has been infested with invasive apostrophes. I thought I sprayed for those.

“So what does this have to do with us?” Scrunchy piped up.

Nakor glanced over, noting the polished dwarven axe at his belt. Scrunchy, like most dwarves, had taken a nickname to use when he interacted with other races. Most dwarven names were unpronounceable to outsiders.

“After five thousand years of searching, we have discovered a way to free Kohut from his prison. Inside the nearby temple of Panich are six jewels. These are the very tools used by Panich to trap his brother. We have learned that they can also be used to free him.”

Am I the only one hearing that guy's name as “Panic” in my head?

“I need six people who are willing to retrieve those gems from the temple and participate in the spell to return Kohut to his rightful place among the gods.”

“And why would we do this?” Brigit asked absently. She feigned disinterest quite well, Nakor thought.

“The jewels themselves are quite valuable, and would make a more than suitable reward I think. You are welcome to keep them, after the spell is performed. But more importantly, I ask that you do this to right a wrong that has lasted for hundreds of generations.”

“How valuable are these jewels?” Scrunchy asked.

Calugar smiled. “Each one is approximately the size of a man's fist.”

Scrunchy immediately made a fist and studied it. A grin spread across his bearded face. “When do we leave?”

Hours later, they walked toward a small crack in the cliffside.

Wait, what cliffside? What just happened? I thought they were in a cabin in the woods. Where are they supposed to be now?

“Shut up and stop asking so many questions.”

“I am unable to enter the temple of Panich, except to cast the spell of freedom,” Calugar called out from behind them. “But I shall be waiting for you when you return.”

The six of them entered the temple, but only five emerged, days later. Scrunchy and Serina had gotten into an argument on the second day. They had been on the verge of coming to blows when Scrunchy turned and stormed away in a rage. It had been hours later when the rest of the party stumbled upon his remains. Nakor shivered. The rats who lived in the temple were thorough. It had not been a pretty sight.

Poor Scrunchy. Healers continue to search for a cure for “Killed off because the player got bored and wanted to make a new character.”

Calugar welcomed them back, healing their wounds. He had found a young girl to replace Scrunchy in the spell, a magician named Caudi. Later than night, he led them into the temple and began his spell, the spell he claimed would free his god, Kohut.

It was, for Nakor, one of the worst mistakes of his life. As the spell was cast, a searing pain ripped through his body. When it ended, Olara, a goddess of evil, stood before them all. “The Spider Goddess,” as she preferred to be called. She looked at them all for a moment, then winced in pain. Seemingly unable to tolerate being within the temple that had imprisoned her for so long, she fled into the darkness of the night.

“You lied to us,” Serina hissed angrily.

Calugar nodded. “I did,” he admitted. “It was the only way to accomplish what was necessary to free Olara. I do apologize for deceiving you.”

“You apologize?” Roth asked incredulously. In disgust, he sent a bolt of magic at the elven priest. Effortlessly, Calugar deflected the spell into the ground.

“If you do not leave now,” he warned, “you will be destroyed. This is not my wish, but it is the will of my mistress.”

Olara eventually killed him for allowing them to leave.

Over the next few months, the surviving members of the party were killed, one by one. Serina and Wanni were killed together, while hunting for food. Caudi had been assassinated as Nakor watched helplessly, too late to do anything but slay her assassins. Roth had been killed by a mounted knight who ran him through with his lance. Less than a month after freeing Olara, Brigit and Nakor had decided their only hope of survival lay in getting as far away from Olara as possible. Brigit had traveled hundreds of miles north, where she lived still. Nakor had gone in the opposite direction, making his home in an abandoned castle.

* * *

“That was two years ago,” Nakor concluded. “Olara has left me alone ever since, until today.”

“Are you sure that was one of her priests?” Galadrion asked.

He looked up. Galadrion was standing in a corner of the room, listening. He hadn't even heard her walk in.

“The one in the black robes was,” Nakor answered. “The amulet around his neck was shaped like a spider. Olara's other title is ‘The Spider Goddess.'”

“Why?” Whoo asked.

Nakor frowned. “I really don't know.”

Because it's SCARY!

Pynne glanced over at him. “These priests sound like nasty little footerlings,” she commented, biting into an apple with a crunch.

Nakor grinned at the casualness of the remark. “Calugar had the decency to let us go free, and Olara killed him for that decency. Other than that, I've never heard of her followers being anything but evil.” He cocked his head. “Footerlings?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Raised eyebrow count: 4

“You ground bound people,” Whoo explained.

He looked as if he was going to say more, but was interrupted by the sound of the castle's door being slammed open. “I'll go check that out,” Galadrion offered, drawing her sword. Nakor looked her in the eyes for a moment, then nodded. Galadrion was a vampire, and that did give her the ability to protect herself better than anyone else at the table.

He eased his chair back from the table and stood up. Nakor rarely had visitors, and the timing of this intrusion made him uncomfortable. He trusted Galadrion to take care of herself, but he still wanted to be prepared. Glancing at the two pixies, Nakor loosened his rapier in its scabbard.

It was then that they heard the scream. A hoarse, inhuman scream, but it was definitely Galadrion's voice. Whoo and Pynne both vanished and flew toward the main hall. Nakor vaulted over the table and followed closely behind.

When they emerged into the hall, the first thing they saw was a large elf wearing the same black cloak as the priest they had encountered earlier. He held a small, silver amulet in the shape of a stylized spider in an outstretched hand.

Galadrion was huddled in the corner of the room farthest from the elf. There she clutched her knees to her chest, shaking violently. Her sword was lying uselessly on the floor.

It's a little thing, but I wish I could walk through this manuscript with my Editorial Boots and stomp out the word “was” from bits like this. It's so much cleaner to write: “Galadrion huddled in the corner…” or “Her sword lay uselessly on the floor…”