Did I not mention the silk? In the gloom the long, flowing sheets seemed to shift and billow, fluttering in the large, windless chamber we had found on the other end of the portal. In the stillness of the atmosphere, the sound of chittering was all the more disconcerting, no breeze blowing, but the noise of it like wind trailing through reeds. And all about us the thick, cloying smell of incense, of nothing specific, only a scent of something ancient and steeped in ritual.
That was all there was in the chamber, or this realm, to be more specific. I was just about to open my mouth, question at the ready, when Thea nodded to the far end of the darkness. The silks streaming from the ceiling parted, like curtains on a theater stage about to reve
al something dramatic, something game-changing.
A woman sat behind the silks, bare-chested and beautiful, at least from the parts of her face that I could see. Her eyes were bound in the same whisper-light cloth that adorned the rest of the chamber, a kind of strange ceremonial veil. Her hair might have been a very silvery blonde, so close to white, her lips full, and slightly parted to show wet, white teeth. But in the strange, eldritch glow of the room, everything seemed greenish and ghoulish, and so she sat there unmoving, a statuette in jade.
She perched on an unusual sort of stool or throne, its legs segmented and decorated in all manner of hoops and bangles, fine furniture encrusted with jewels. The adornments matched those hung across her chest to cover her breasts, layers and layers of chains and little gemstones, even her bare arms and wrists and fingers glittering with gold.
“Wow,” I muttered under my breath, marveling at the sight. Yet my attention wandered and returned to the woman’s chair, so strange and alien it was. I wondered why it had eight legs.
That is, until two of them moved of their own accord.
“Come into my parlor,” the woman said, her voice barely above a whisper. She chuckled, a distant rasping noise that made the silks in the hall tremble with every exhalation.
My first entity, Thea said, and here she was, this beautiful, terrible creature who was half woman, half spider, and she wanted us to come closer.
“Very funny, Arachne,” Thea said, in a voice that spoke of some familiarity, but also caution, and maybe a hint of deference.
This woman, this Arachne, she tittered in response, the sound of it twittering across the chamber, making it seem like the noise was coming from all about us. She lifted a pale hand to her mouth, drawing attention to her wounded pout.
“It isn’t my fault that you humans are so prone to celebrating my kind in your literature.” She brought her fingers closer, examining her nails, sightless eyes somehow seeing through the silks wrapped over her face. “There was that famous man you had, this bard, they called him. What did he write, now? ‘What tangled webs we weave?’” She tittered again. The silks – no, her webs, that was clear to me now – shivered and shook as she laughed, as if they were connected to her physically.
“Shakespeare,” Thea said. “He was talking about how humans are prone to making things complex, whether with lies or other complications.” She spoke deliberately, I noticed, like she was taking care to be informative without being condescending, her tone different from the one she used to regale me with stories about orange chicken and chop suey.
That’s when it dawned on me. Thea was nervous. I’d never seen this side of her before, and in all honesty it made me fidgety, too. If my boss, a powerful, high-ranking sorceress of the Lorica itself had reason to be fearful of this entity, how was I supposed to feel? What had she gotten me into?
“That’s why we’re here,” Thea continued. “There’s lots of tangling going on, but not enough unraveling. We need clarity, Arachne. We need your help.”
“We,” the spider woman said, her voice brightening with glee. Her head turned in my direction. I could feel her gaze boring into me. I swallowed and did my best not to fidget or shuffle my feet.
“And who have you brought me today?” The soft rustle of her silks murmured through the chamber as she moved just the faintest bit closer, her jewelry tinkling like tiny bells. “Is this your offering?”
I repeat. What had Thea gotten me into?
Thea cleared her throat. “Not at all, Arachne. This is my protege. My apprentice, if you will. He is not an offering. He is not meant for consumption.” I looked at her, aghast, waiting for her to chuckle and indicate it was a joke, but Thea’s face was deathly serious. She was speaking plainly, specifically to avoid confusing this creature, in words that couldn’t be misinterpreted.
I looked over my shoulder. The gossamer portal was still there. I measured the distance between my body and the gateway, and between myself and the spider on her throne. I knew I was fast enough to run if I had to, but I had to wonder if Arachne could be even faster. I glimpsed up at the ceiling, and at the canopy of silks that now looked so much like a net waiting to be dropped over us.
Arachne laughed, a full, throaty sound that caused her myriad jewels to jingle and glint in the dull light.
“Such a formal tone you use with me, Thea. Don’t worry. I was making what you humans like to call a joke.” Her lips parted in a smile. Her teeth were sharp. Far too sharp. “Such a pity. He certainly looks good enough to eat.”
One of Arachne’s legs snaked out, its length and its reach taking me by surprise, and it stroked against my jacket, running bristles against my shoulder. I realized that it was meant to be a friendly gesture, even flirtatious, maybe. Instinctively I knew that I would offend her by showing fear or revulsion, so I did that one thing I was really good at: I turned up the charm.
“I might look appetizing, but I promise you that I don’t taste as delicious.” I ignored the talon poking into my shoulder, the claws at the end of her leg, and gave her my best smile. “Surely your loveliness deserves a more appropriate treat.”
She squealed. “It speaks!” Bangles and bracelets clinked as she clapped her hands, her body bounding as her legs skittered in excitement. “Oh, and such sweet words it brings me. Well done, Thea.” She turned her head, the smile on her lips fading. “But as for sweet words and sweet treats. Have you a proper offering?”
“Of course,” Thea said, giving me a sidelong glance. I could just detect a hint of approval in her expression. Maybe she was even a little proud of me. The plastic bag rustled as she held it out.
“Have the boy bring them to me.” Arachne retrieved her leg, and now her frontmost limbs were twisting into the ground, the kind of body language I recognized as what a young girl might use to show shyness, hesitation. This was so fascinating. And, let’s be real, utterly terrifying.
I accepted the bag from Thea, then strode forward. I tipped its contents out onto the floor before Arachne, just in front of her legs, and made a subtle bow. She squealed again. Her legs darted forward, sorting the cookies into piles, then separating them again, their plastic wrappers crinkling as she played with them as a child might fiddle with building blocks and marbles. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I knew that they were gleaming.
“So many treats. So many fortunes. Where to start, where to start?” Her hands were up to her cheeks, which looked flushed even in the realm’s sickly light. She turned to me again. “You. Sweetling. Which would you choose?”
I lowered my head. “I wouldn’t presume, Arachne. The fortune you choose will always be the best.”