The Spider Children (The Warren Brood Book 1)

by Bartholomew Lander

  At that, Victor made a sharp cackling sound in his throat. “Innocent? The girl has stolen the Key to Manilius, and you would defend her as innocent? Ignorant? You are too soft for your position. Were I your father I’d flay you inch by inch until you found the value in the shedding of heretical blood.”

  Mark opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself. If he said too much with too much certainty, it would cast suspicion on himself. While he could stand up to whatever scrutiny they threw on him, that would bring Sylvia and Laurence into question as well. He could not imagine what would motivate Sylvia to lie about such a thing, but neither could he let his irritation cloud his judgment.

  “Seems your objections hold no weight today,” Victor said with a vicious smile. “You should be excited. Our promised time grows nearer with each soul that rises to the face of Y’rokkrem. I trust you will be there to lead the procession this red moon’s night.”

  Mark looked into Victor’s cold eyes, and his stomach wound into a knot of rage. It wasn’t enough for Victor that innocents should die; it was only enough when Mark himself stained his hands in the blood of his ideals. “Do it yourself,” he growled with a sneer. “I shall have no part in your bloodbath.”

  Victor stood silent a moment, taken aback by the abruptness of the reply. “You seem to be confused, O exalted Chosen. Allow me to enlighten you.” He put one arm around Mark’s unwilling shoulder and drew close. His voice dropped into a coarse whisper. “That some outsider has taken the Key should bring you to the point of boiling rage, and that it has not is concerning to us. You can champion your ideals all you want, child, just so long as the Rites are not delayed. And when you don’t participate in a Rite as important as this one, then you are doing exactly that—delaying the Feast of Harvest. So, when I say I trust that, or it would be in your best interest, you can take it as a direct order from Golgotha himself. That is to say, Mark,” he said, leaning nearer, “that you shall be there tonight. It is only appropriate that you should cast the thief’s soul upon the Brazier. Yes, as sure as the moon rises, you will be there. And if you are not, we shall see what Golgotha has to say about the matter himself!”

  Unflinching, Mark scowled. “To hell with you, Victor.” With that, he broke from the man’s grasp and turned toward the door to the chapel. The cloaks who packed the hall parted before him, muttering amongst themselves. He shoved past them as though they were immaterial ghosts.

  “Don’t think I won’t tell your father about this,” Victor yelled from across the hall.

  “Do as you will.” Mark cast his gaze to his left as he approached the threshold of the heavy doors, and he caught Sylvia’s eye. A moment later he snapped his head back forward. He threw the doors open with a bang and disappeared into the evening.

  Mark waited outside the chapel until the sun had finished setting and Y’rokkrem’s brilliant disk rose above the eastern woods downslope. He estimated by the moon’s position that it must have been the ninth hour when the old, discordant bell began to toll and the doors to the chapel flew open. The horde of cowled figures emerged in two columns, one wrapping along the church’s wall and vanishing toward the trees, and the other breaking and dispersing haphazardly. It was from this second column that Sylvia, Ellie, and Laurence soon appeared with their hoods pulled back and faces sullen.

  “You waited,” Ellie said, surprised, as the three of them walked over to where Mark stood against an old beech. “Victor was quite displeased with you.”

  “I can feel the chill from the procession.” Mark set his gaze upon Sylvia. “Tell me. Why would you spin such a lie to Golgotha and Victor? What stand you to gain from the death of that innocent girl?”

  She shook her head. “What ever are you talking about?”

  “Such pretense! Surely you do not expect me to believe that you have faith in these tales of the Weeping Man, much less your claim itself!” Mark took a step closer, and both Ellie and Laurence retreated one of their own as he came face to face with his aunt. “Now tell me why you lied!”

  “How dare you!” Laurence snarled, inserting himself with bombast between his wife and Mark. “You may be the Chosen, but my sister raised you better than to speak with such venom to your elders!”

  “Laurence,” Sylvia said, patting his arm, “it is fine. Leave him.”

  Laurence showed her the confused look that sat most of the time upon his face. When her expression hardened, he nodded and stepped away, staring off at the moonlit church.

  With a soft breath, Sylvia’s lips thinned. “Yes,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, “I lied. Partly. But Mark, you must understand, I truly did see the Weeping Man this morn.”

  His patience began to fray. “Still you lie.”

  “No, now I speak truth. For he came to me, you must believe, and told me who the girl you saw was, and where she lived. He told me, Mark, that Y’rokkrem demanded the girl’s death, and if she survived until sunup, then it would be Lily whose soul stoked the fires. You must believe me. And know that the fastest way to ensure Lily’s safety was to tell Golgotha of the vision, with certain amendments.”

  “Such as telling him that she stole the Key? And just what do you believe Golgotha shall do when that girl’s family is minced flesh and the Key is nowhere to be found?”

  “I haven’t the ghost of a thought,” she answered. “But I know that the Weeping Man will protect Lily. And that is the most important thing to me.”

  Mark clenched his teeth. “I cannot believe this. You truly believe what you say? That spilling innocent blood will shield her from Golgotha’s shadow?”

  She glared at him. “I will not stand here and argue with you over a matter of faith. The Weeping Man will protect her, of that I am sure.”

  “And what if this supposed specter told you that Ellie must be next to die? Would you sell her down the river just as well?”

  “You are the learned Chosen, but you need me to explain in children’s words? If I must sacrifice another for my own, then I shall do just that.”

  Ellie didn’t even bat an eyelash at the statement, and Mark could only shake his head in disbelief. “Damn you, Sylvia.”

  She began to walk past him, down the torch-lit path leading to the clearing on the other side of the chapel. “If you must despise me, then do so quietly. We all must stick together.”

  The others began to follow her down the road, and Mark alone tarried longer. “Stick together. Until some old fairy tale stirs your bloodlust.” Why should he have been surprised? Sylvia was a true Warren, after all. That meant genetics had made her selfish and unworthy of trust. He had forgotten that. If that girl died, then he only had himself to blame. He had mistaken his Aunt’s willingness to undermine Golgotha’s ambition for some semblance of humanity. He could only pray that Laurence’s genes had watered down the evil in Lily’s own, just as Mark’s mother was often blamed for his softness. With a guilt-leaden sigh, he dragged his feet and went after his family. There was nothing he could do, after all.

  As they approached the clearing ahead, which was filled with the sounds of the uninitiated cult children at play, Mark heard the eerie chorus of an all-too-familiar playground song ringing against the trees:

  Look in the night sky and you will see

  The silent face of the Heaven Tree

  Shout the praises, cry the plea

  And sing to the holy Heaven Tree

  Light the bonfires and lay me

  Beneath the roots of the Heaven Tree

  Burn the offerings, revere the Key

  The sacred piece of the Heaven Tree

  Pure and righteous children are we

  The favored of the Heaven Tree

  And on the last day we will be

  One with the blooming Heaven Tree

  Soon, those children came into view, running hither-thither with a characteristic juvenile abandon. Aside from Lily, there was Maurice Gilbert, Ronald Westing, and the twins, Eva and Eden Parker. The twins were the children of Nigel and Claire
Parker, who were themselves fraternal twins, and the grandchildren of the now-infamous Rosemary Ebrieta Warren, of whom much was rumored but little known for sure.

  “Mommy!” Lily cried as she saw her mother approaching. “I missed you!”

  “I missed you too, baby,” Sylvia cooed, catching her daughter as she hurled herself into her arms.

  “How was the meeting?”

  Sylvia chuckled. “Great as always.”

  Mark could scarcely believe the calm in the woman’s voice. Sentencing an innocent girl and her family to death was great as always? Mark shuddered. Why do I care so much? he asked himself. You’re acting like this is the first time somebody had to die for the Vigil. He let his eyes drift to the rising disk of Y’rokkrem’s prison. It was far from the first time, and yet he couldn’t release ownership of it. It was his fault. He’d trusted Sylvia and she’d used that knowledge to her own ends, though he could not even begin to fathom what her true intention may have been. It was his fault. The blood was on his hands.

  “Hope to see you soon, Lily,” the twins Eden and Eva spoke in unison, their voices just missing musical harmony. “We had fun playing with you.” The subtle breeze stirred their wispy blond hair. In the moonlight, their pale faces resembled a pair of corpses’.

  “Yeah,” Lily answered with a giggle. “Soon!”

  With her child collected, Sylvia began to lead them back toward their home on the other side of Arbordale. Mark’s footsteps grew heavier as he listened to Lily talk about playing hide and seek with the twins and the other children, and of the rumors whispered by the others. And the longer he heard her innocent babbling, the heavier the guilt in his stomach became. And the silence of his sister and uncle only made his aunt’s betrayal more solemn, more final. Unopposed, even by those who had allied against Golgotha’s tyranny.

  When their home came into view, with its lit oil lanterns hanging from the eaves, Mark was unable to hold it in any longer. “This isn’t fair,” he said, stomping off the path and making for a break in the woods ahead. “I cannot let Victor do this.”

  “Mark?” Ellie called after him. “Mark? Wait!”

  But he was halfway to the homestead’s boundary fence already. I can’t let him do this. I can’t let that girl die. She was only looking for her friend, and whose fault was that anyway?

  “Mark, stop!”

  A hand took him by the arm, but he shook it free. “Do not touch me.”

  “Will you stop and listen to me for but a moment?”

  He turned to her, barely able to see straight. “Stay out of this, this has nothing to do with—”

  “This has to do with all of us, can you not understand? We’re all in this together, and the last thing we need is your dreams of a perfect world tearing us apart.”

  Mark glared daggers into his sister’s dark eyes. “Dreams of a perfect world . . . Ellie, don’t tell me that you . . . ”

  “It is regrettable that she must die,” she said, “but it’s the way things are and we cannot change anything. This is how things have always been. This is the way we’ve lived ever since Mom died.” Her voice had a sad undertone which stabbed Mark in the gut. “We cannot leave, and you must realize that. And that means that we’re accomplices to the death that is sown. There is no way around that. It is selfish of you to suddenly expect this one girl’s death to be any different than the dozens that have come before.”

  He shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. I—”

  “Be silent! We all wanted out, just as you did. That’s why we took the Key, is it not? Sacrifices must be made, and if Aunt Sylvia has been visited by the Weeping Man, then . . . ”

  That even Ellie had fallen for Sylvia’s ruse was disheartening. “Do not tell me that you believe such stories! You of all people must be smart enough to know folklore from fact!”

  She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze piercing him like surgical pins. “We have to live on like this, Mark. No matter what happens, we cannot draw attention to ourselves through reckless opposition to the way of the Vigil. And that means we must live as nomads. We pick our battles, blend in, and if someone distracts Golgotha’s prying eyes from our direction then we throw them to the wolves the first chance we get. That’s the way things have always been, and that’s how things are going to stay.”

  “No,” he said, a cold certainty falling over him. “I don’t accept that. Not this time. I cannot let Victor hurt her.”

  “And just what is it that makes this outsider so special to you?”

  “It’s because . . . ” A tightness began in his chest and spread to the quivering muscles in his arms. “I’m the one who told Sylvia about her. Had I said nothing, she would not have come to this end.”

  “You have no evidence of that.”

  But the thought that he was responsible still strangled him. He knew there was only one thing he could do. “I’m going. I have to stop them before they kill her.”

  “And just what the hell do you think you’re going to do? Go and kill everyone who tries to hurt this girl?”

  “No,” Mark said, the aimless chaos in his heart compressing into conviction. “But I’m going to do something.”

  “What, precisely?”

  “I know not,” he said, irritation building. “I’ll talk him out of this. I’ll exercise my right as Chosen if I have to.”

  “You don’t have that right, Mark! Your status of Chosen only matters so long as you’re not getting in the way of the Rites.”

  “I’ll figure out something,” he said. “I’m the one who should be making the decisions. You treat me as though I’m just some accessory to Golgotha and the Gate. But I am the Gate. And I’m not going to be responsible for any others.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Oh, Christ. You’re using that girl as a surrogate for Mom, aren’t you?”

  The guilt that had weighed upon Mark’s heart trembled and burst. There was no denying it.

  Ellie gasped. “You are, are you not?” A quiet horror choked her voice. “Please, tell me that you don’t still blame—”

  “This has nothing to do with her,” he said in a harsh tone, shoulders tense. The light of the blue moon filtering through the trees wavered across the ground in serpentine shapes that sneered up at him accusingly. He had to set things right. “I’m leaving.”

  “You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you? Mark, listen to me, please. If you tell Victor the truth about what Aunt Sylvia told you, or, or anything that calls her story into question then—”

  “Then it would be dangerous for all of us. Worry not. I shan’t let that happen. I promise I’m not going to let anything happen to you, okay Ellie?”

  A moment of silence followed. His words seemed to have comforted her, at least partially. “What are you going to do?” she asked again.

  He considered the question. But he’d known the answer deep down since Victor had demanded his presence at the procession. That answer had been determined billions of years in the past, when the galaxies were seeded and the innate value of chaos was rolled. “I’m going to make my own decision for once.”

  Consulting the mental map provided by the Sight, it was not hard for Mark to find the procession. They were clustered together, a group of eight, on the other side of the river just outside the town. There may have been more, but it was usually only those of Warren blood who were allowed to participate in the Rites of the Red Moon. He cursed under his breath. They would almost certainly be in the final stages of sanctifying the Points of the All-in-One. There was no more time for debating his course of action. He had to move.

  Calling forth the natural force of magic that ran through him, he pulled a vibrant blue-green flame into existence. The fire flickered, casting light and shadow across the ground at his feet. Those flames were silken strands of life and death woven into a tapestry of cold plasma. Those flames were frozen beams of light entombed in both the future and the past. In those flames, probability and causality split, creating a new un
iverse on each side of its suggestive wavering. They were the Flames of Y’rokkrem, the Tree Which Splits the Heavens; they were the Gift of the Gate.

  Someone was yelling his name, but he no longer cared. Deaf to reason, embracing his teenage hubris, Mark allowed the fire to spread. It raced up his arms and rapidly encompassed his entire form. A moment later, when the world was completely obscured by the shimmering power that burned around him, he closed his eyes and pulled the Flames back inwards. The world twisted, and the vibrations of magic drilled a hole through spacetime. And as the verdant fire flickered out, they took him with them.

  Chapter 20

  Red Moon

  The sensation of falling unrestrained through space disoriented Mark. The shimmering flames gave way to a prismatic vista of swirling images without concise form or reason. Painted across the surface of his perception, the mirror-like fluid crackled with energy vibrating at the resonant frequency of nausea. When the discordant images surrounding him faded, Mark knew he’d arrived. Like a stretched rubber band springing back to its natural shape, the flashing globe resolved to consistency. The flaming force spawned forth once more and flickered out with a quiet hissing sound.

  He fell to one knee, dizzy from the journey. He was within what looked like a humble suburban living room. Wooden walls, polished hardwood floors, and the ruins of what used to be a modest set of furniture greeted him when the world stopped spinning. A table and set of chairs had been strewn across the floor, and several pieces of Wild West décor lay along with them. In the center of the room, an old sofa had been overturned; it was the makeshift altar upon which the sacrifices were meant to take place.

  But Mark’s appearance had not gone unnoticed. The eight Warrens the Sight had detected were standing along the wall to his right in an ordered line. Victor stood in front of those figures, the hood of his own robe framing his visage. As if that were not a grisly enough omen, two of the robed figures along the wall restrained a man and a woman, silver knives held firmly against their exposed necks. Mark saw the shape of a girl kneeling between Victor and the toppled sofa, tears running from her red eyes.