by J. A. White
Then they stepped through a fissure and into the largest underground chamber Kara had ever seen.
It was colder in this part of the cave—and windy too, as though all the frigid air had been funneled into this one area. The ceiling of the cave was a blurred, distant shape that reminded Kara of the canopy outside. From it hung stalactites as long as trees, their spires glowing with a powerful blue light that illuminated moss-covered walls—and something far less expected.
Draped from the stalactites and walls of the cave was a web.
It stretched across the gargantuan chamber, not flat like other webs Kara had seen but with depth: multiple levels and ramps and layers upon layers upon layers. Despite the web’s intricate design there was an amazing symmetry to its construction; not a single strand seemed out of place or wasted.
“Hello?” Kara asked, her voice echoing off rocky walls.
There was no response.
Kara looked around some more. Though the web was truly impressive, it was not the chamber’s only wonder. From a wide cleft in the rocky floor emerged a densely wound mass of black roots, thick as a tree trunk, which coiled to the lower layer of the web before splitting apart. Hundreds of individual roots then climbed the web to the ceiling of the cave, where they crept through crevices and into the black soil above them. From there Kara supposed they could reach almost anywhere on the island.
How do you like my trap?
Kara jumped in surprise, looking behind her for the source of the voice before realizing that it was coming from inside her head.
Of course it would be best to keep his roots from reaching the surface altogether—that would kill him, I think, as he is more tree than man at this point. But such a feat is, quite unfortunately, beyond my diminished powers.
“Are you talking about Sordyr?” Kara asked. She flashed to an image of the Forest Demon’s foot, the roots that pierced his bark-like flesh. “Is that where all these roots go?”
Indeed.
“But there are so many of them!” Kara exclaimed.
How else do you expect him to move? At any given moment, there might only be a few roots connecting Sordyr to the sustenance he needs, but there are thousands more lingering just beneath the soil, anticipating his next step. Each time his foot touches the ground the old roots pull away and are instantly replaced by reinforcements. My web keeps him from getting too far, however. The voice added with amusement: Like a dog on a leash.
“But the roots are climbing the web. It’s helping them reach the surface.”
Is it? Look again.
Kara inspected the sections where web and root met and saw that there was indeed a full war raging between them. Some roots had managed to inch their way to the surface and escape through cracks in the ceiling, but others—most others—were cocooned to the web like unwary insects, their progress impeded. These cocoons shook slightly, the roots struggling to break free.
Kara nodded, finally understanding. The maker of the web had compared Sordyr to a dog on a leash, but Kara thought of him more like a kite attached to thousands of strings. Sordyr wanted nothing more than to fly free, but although a single string might unspool and provide him with a small amount of leeway, most were locked in place.
Kara walked along the rocky floor, continuing to search for the voice’s owner. She had spoken to dozens of creatures in her mind by this point, but never any as intelligent as this one. The voice was female, with a comforting tone as lulling as a bedtime story.
“Where are you?” Kara asked.
Up, girl. Up.
In the shadowy recesses of the ceiling, a dark shape watched her. From this distance, the creature looked no bigger than a horse, but Kara knew that was only a matter of perspective. Up close it would be gigantic.
“Rygoth?” Kara asked.
I have been called this.
“My name is Kara Westfall. I am from—”
I know who you are. I might be trapped in this cave but my senses are still keen. You have traveled long and hard, my child. I see you’ve brought a friend.
It took Kara a moment to realize that Rygoth was talking about the cavemole still draped around her shoulders. The poor thing had begun to shiver.
“It guided me to you.”
A job well done. But perhaps you should return this one to its family. They await dinner, which our little hunter here has promised to provide.
Kara would have liked the cavemole to guide her back to the surface as well, but she supposed she could always call for it again if she got lost.
“Thank you,” Kara said, stroking the creature’s head.
Clearly relieved to be dismissed from its duty, the cavemole dashed back into the tunnel.
You care for these creatures. You do not use them ill, though it is certainly within your power to do so.
“They are my friends. Come closer. I want to see you.”
I am a monster, child. It will be hard for you to trust me afterward. You are wexari, but you are also human.
“I’ve seen plenty of monsters.”
Not like me. I used to be beautiful, you know, before Sordyr trapped me in this form. See the moss growing on the walls? That is his creation. It keeps me from changing back into a human or any other animal small enough to escape this chamber. I am imprisoned not by locks or bars, but by my own size.
Kara imagined being trapped in this place for thousands of years. Does she even remember what sunlight feels like anymore?
“That’s terrible,” Kara said. “Horrible.”
Terrible. Horrible. So many ways of saying the same thing. But most terrible-horrible would be allowing the Forest Demon to leave the island. He is my prisoner as I am his, and I must keep him here. Otherwise all is lost.
A snap echoed throughout the cavern as one of the roots broke free of the web and slithered upward. In a blur of motion, Rygoth swung down from her topmost perch and grabbed the fugitive root, spinning a pocket of new silk that secured it to the web.
Rygoth was still a good distance away, but Kara could make out several yellow eyes and many, many legs.
When the creature spoke again its words were hesitant, as though this unexpected chase had tired her.
Look below. Into the chasm. Understand.
Kara crossed the floor until she stood before the tangle of roots emerging from the depths. She laid a hand on one of them and recoiled at its touch; it was slick with moisture. She could feel something passing through it, a rush of liquid.
Kara peered into the chasm.
A labyrinth of roots extended as far as she could see, tangled together like some secret world of giant worms, shifting and squirming in a never-ceasing battle to reach the surface.
Kara looked away, suddenly dizzy. She had no idea how far down the pit went. For all she knew, it might have been bottomless.
In order to defeat me, Sordyr sacrificed what little humanity he had left and grew himself into something new. He was granted great power, but with a price—he had to remain forever anchored to the earth, just like a tree. Even with this limitation he could have still left the Thickety—his roots, allowed to extend their full length, would stretch to the ends of the World—so with the last of my strength I changed into a form strong enough to ensnare him from beneath the ground. Sordyr trapped me in return—and so it has remained for over two thousand years. Recently, though, I have found it more difficult to contain him. I try to inject him with my venom as often as I can in order to weaken his powers, but its effect has diminished through the years.
She remembered Sordyr’s screams of pain outside their carriage and his words of explanation afterward: Just her pathetic little attempt to control me.
“It hurts him,” Kara said.
I mean only to keep his power from growing too great. Nevertheless, it is only a matter of time before my web begins to snap and his roots are allowed the freedom to go wherever they’d like.
“Then he’ll be free,” Kara said. “And his Thickety will infect the
World.”
When are you going to stop lying to me?
“What?” Kara asked.
You act so concerned. So innocent. But I can sense your intentions as clearly as the walls of this cave! You aim to free him!
“No!” said Kara. “That’s why he sent me here, yes. But I haven’t decided whether or not—”
A strand of web yanked her high into the air. Kara screamed and kicked her legs as cold cavern air gushed past her, the walls blurring by at sickening speed. She closed her eyes for a few moments, afraid she was going to be ill, and when she opened them again the ceiling of the cave was dishearteningly close. The web against her back felt surprisingly frail. Its stickiness, like the flesh of some sweet fruit, clung to the bare skin of her wrists and hands.
“Listen to me,” Kara said. “I am not your enemy.”
Kara felt the web tense as Rygoth approached her from behind. She tried to turn her head, but her neck and hair were enmeshed in the web and would not allow any movement at all.
“You are Sordyr’s servant,” said Rygoth, her true voice this time, no longer in Kara’s head but muffled, like a mouthful of fangs were getting in the way. “You wish to loose him on the world and undo everything I’ve done.”
“I’m not his servant!” exclaimed Kara. “I hate him! He has my brother, and if I don’t help—”
“One life? In exchange for multitudes?”
“What else can I do?” Kara asked.
The web tensed again, as though Rygoth were about to spring, and Kara reached out with her mind. The bridge was surprisingly simple to make. Kara knew that Rygoth must be lonely, trapped here in the darkness for so many centuries, and loneliness was something Kara knew all about. She built a bridge from years of being excluded from games and conversations, from long days spent walking the fields of De’Noran without a friend to take her hand.
The bridge held true.
Kara knew that Rygoth wouldn’t come to her, so she crossed the bridge into Rygoth’s mind instead. Kara gaped, startled by the vastness of it. This was no simple animal, and Kara sensed that it would be dangerous to stay here for longer than a moment or two. She might not be able to find her way back again.
“I can’t risk anything happening to Taff,” Kara said, her voice weak and uncertain. “I’m sorry, but I need you to release Sordyr!” The web vibrated and a single root slipped away, madly unspooling from the crevice below them. I’m helping Sordyr, Kara thought. Whatever he does with this newfound freedom will be my fault. The thought sickened her. She lingered in Rygoth’s mind, knowing she should release more roots but unable to issue the command. I can’t do this. There are other families in the World. Innocent people. Why should they suffer so Taff and I can live?
And then Kara felt a gale dragging her back across the mind-bridge and into the recesses of her own consciousness.
A bridge goes two ways, wexari. Let’s see what your mind holds.
Kara’s body fell slack against the web. She tried to move but could not.
“Stop it,” Kara muttered. “Stop it.”
She felt Rygoth crawling along the lines of her mind as if it were a brand-new web.
You weren’t lying. You really do hate him. With such passion too!
“Get out . . . of my head.”
Don’t fight me. I want to help you.
Taking a moment to calm her frantic thoughts, Kara tried breaking the bridge apart with her mind, but nothing happened. That’s not the way to do it, she thought. It’s not a real bridge, made from stone and mortar. It’s made from loneliness. And so Kara recalled afternoons spent playing Hooks and Ladders with Taff, Mother teaching her the secrets of the Fringe, even—and this surprised Kara—evenings spent around the campfire with Mary Kettle.
She sent all these feelings of companionship toward the bridge, and it shattered into a million pieces.
The connection to Rygoth was instantly severed. Although Kara still couldn’t move very much due to the web, her mind was her own again.
“Impressive,” Rygoth said. “You escaped my hold. Only the most powerful wexari could do that. I needed to know.”
“Know what?”
For a few moments Rygoth said nothing.
“I am old and weak,” she finally said, “and I don’t know how much longer I can hold Sordyr here. I need someone to help me stop him. Someone brave and powerful.”
Kara’s thoughts swirled. She just attacked me—and now she wants my help? How can I trust her?
Do I have a choice?
“I would do anything to destroy Sordyr,” Kara said, “but you told me he’s immortal.” She brightened as an idea struck her. “Unless . . . what if we cut these roots? That should hurt him, shouldn’t it?”
“You are welcome to try, but they are immune to blade and fire,” said Rygoth. “And magic too. A good thought, but I had something else in mind.”
Kara felt the web vibrate as Rygoth crept close enough to whisper in her ear, her breath like the fetid air of a just-unsealed tomb.
“Niersook,” she said.
Kara sat silently through dinner that night.
“Eat,” Breem said, nodding toward the roasted meat at the center of the table. “You are to go into the cave again tomorrow. You need your strength.”
Kara, who had lost her appetite for meat many mind-bridges ago, took a dish of yellow mashed vegetables and spooned some onto her plate. She caught Safi, who had eaten nothing but a small bowl of red rice, eyeing the food hungrily.
“You want some?” Kara asked the girl.
Breem shook his head. “Sordyr’s instructions were clear: This food is for our honored guests only. Not my daughter.”
Kara spooned a heaping portion of the vegetables onto Safi’s plate and added two slices of meat.
“Eat,” Kara said. She met Breem’s eyes. “Or your honored guest will be very displeased.”
Sighing deeply, Breem nodded to his daughter. Safi glared at Kara with blatant mistrust, as though this act of kindness were surely some kind of trick. She tore into her food nonetheless.
“The Forest Demon seems pleased with you,” Breem said. “This is good.”
Kara would not have used the word pleased, but at least Sordyr had believed her story. “I can break Rygoth’s hold on you,” Kara had told the Forest Demon when the cage reached the surface, “but not all at once. She’s far too powerful, and I’m still weak from my encounter with Imogen.”
It was fortunate that Kara, during her time in Rygoth’s mind, had managed to free Sordyr of the single root; he had felt its hold loosen, and taken this as a sign that Kara was telling the truth. After two millennia of being tethered to the ground, such a minor unshackling must have tasted like freedom. At the very least, she had bought herself some more time.
It was the first step of their plan.
“How long have you been in the Thickety?” Kara asked Breem.
“My whole life.”
“What about Kala Malta? How long has this village been here?”
Kara saw, from the corner of her eye, Taff sneak Safi a piece of meat from his own plate. A conspiratorial smile passed between the two younger children. When Safi saw Kara looking in her direction, however, the smile faded from her lips.
Why does she hate me so much?
Breem folded his hands behind his neck. “My people have been here a long time indeed. As long as my grandfather’s grandfather can remember.”
“Have you ever left the island?”
“Why would I do such a thing? Here we are provided with everything we need. Food. Water. Shelter.”
The man smiled, but Kara saw the strain behind it.
Sordyr won’t let them leave. He needs them for some reason.
“The Thickety is a dangerous place to raise a child,” Kara said.
“To others, perhaps. Not to us.” He reached over and stroked Safi’s hair. “The Divide keeps us safe.”
Kara scanned the white scars stitched across the man’s bod
y.
“Not that safe.”
“These?” Breem laughed. “These are nothing.”
“I’ve seen others in Kala Malta with such marks.”
“We are a hardworking people. Accidents happen.”
“And what is this work that you do?”
Breem shrugged. “Farming and such.”
“I grew up around farmers,” Kara said. “And they bore all manner of cuts and bruises as a consequence of their labors. But those burn marks on your face? I’ve never seen the like.”
Breem poured himself a cup of amber liquid. He drank it swiftly and rubbed the froth from his beard.
“These are nothing but common injuries,” he said. “You might be wexari, but you are still only a child and surely cannot tell the difference between—”
“Don’t treat me like a fool. Where I come from, there are people called Clearers who help burn the Thickety before it spreads. They have many marks like that on their hands, only flatter and wider. Yours, though—I don’t understand. It looks like you’ve been whipped by fire.”
The smile faded from Breem’s face.
“Why are you pushing this matter?”
“Because maybe I can help you.”
“Stop it!” Safi shouted, slamming her hands on the table. “Stop pretending that you care about us! It makes me sick.”
“Safi,” Breem said.
“But I do care,” Kara said. “I see the scars. I see what he’s done to people to make that terrible fence. You might be too scared to admit it, but I know that you’re a victim of Sordyr’s evil, just like us.” Recalling a motion that Father made when trying to punctuate a point, Kara leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “We should be helping each other.”
“I would never help you!” Safi exclaimed, springing to her feet. “You talk of evil, but I know what you did.” She shook her head. “What you’re going to do. I saw it!”
“That is enough!” exclaimed Breem. “I forbid you to talk about this.”
“No,” said Kara. “I want to hear.”
“Safi,” Breem said, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper. “Please. We can’t let anyone know about your . . . gift. He might . . . he might make use of you.”