Rise of the Spider Goddess

by Jim Hines

  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…”

  Nakor drew his sword and was halfway to the intruder when the elf spoke.

  “Tell your friends to stay back,” the priest commanded in a menacing voice.

  Nakor paused, confused. If he was asking about friends, that meant he could see the pixies. Nakor opened his mouth to shout a warning.

  “Very well,” the elf muttered. Before Nakor could act, the priest raised his other hand. A web of fire shot out from his fingers, coming to rest on a spot in midair. Nakor could see Whoo’s writhing form outlined against the flames. A moment later, the flames disappeared and Whoo fell to the ground. His wings had been burned away, and thick clouds of smoke rose from his hair and clothing.

  “Pynne, stay back!” Nakor shouted.

  “Right,” Pynne said. “I’ll just be over here, out of the way.” She flew over to Whoo, examining the extent of his injuries.

  The elf had tucked his amulet inside his cloak and was drawing a sword. Moving with incredible speed, he stepped forward and lashed out at Nakor.

  Barely avoiding the strike, Nakor leapt back and drew his rapier. As he raised the weapon into a guard position, it was smashed out of his hand. He blinked in shock. Either this elf was the strongest Nakor had ever seen, or he wasn’t playing fair. Nakor ducked under the next swing and slipped a dagger from his boot.

  Yes, I know Nakor had already drawn his sword just a few paragraphs earlier. But this was important, so I had him draw it twice.

  Using the dagger to shove the elf’s next thrust aside, Nakor danced backward, trying to put distance between them. His rapier was on the other side of the priest, out of reach. Frustrated, Nakor cast a quick spell.

  The elf blinked in surprise as Nakor opened his mouth and let out a harsh shriek. Then he grinned as Flame came flying into the room, darting past him.

  “You’ve got to be joking,” he said with an evil smile.

  Flame swooped down to grab Nakor’s rapier in his talons. Straining his small wings, Flame lifted the sword and began to fly toward Nakor. With a laugh, the elf sent a web of fire that enveloped the bird.

  Nakor smiled slightly as Flame flew, unharmed, to drop the rapier in his hand. After ordering Flame out of the room, Nakor turned back to the priest who had broken into his home. “It’s called an ‘Owl of the Forge,’” Nakor explained, raising his sword into a defensive position. “They make their nests in active volcanoes. I don’t think you’re little spell bothered him very much.”

 
A small companion animal with fire-related powers? Yes, it’s true. Flame was the seed of an idea that eventually became Smudge the fire-spider in my Goblin and Libiomancer books.

  The elf lunged forward, swinging his sword with a snarl. Nakor stepped to one side and neatly brought his dagger up to slice his arm. “Getting a little sloppy, are we?” he asked with a grin.

  Then he was leaping backward, trying desperately to parry the furious attack the elf launched. Nakor had always had the bad habit of taunting his opponents. It looked like it might have gotten him into trouble this time.

  Suddenly the elf spun around in a complete circle, swinging his sword to cut Nakor in half. Nakor leapt back, stumbling to the ground as he tried to avoid the blow. The elf’s sword came speeding down, and Nakor brought his dagger and rapier together in an ‘X’ inches above his head. He winced as the elf’s sword impacted with his weapons.

  “Bad idea,” Nakor said with an evil grin. Then he raised a booted foot and planted it squarely between the elf’s legs.

  How do you know it’s a Jim C. Hines book? Because sooner or later, someone’s gonna get kicked in the crotch. Also, there will be fart jokes. But in my defense, kicking an elf in the crotch is pretty funny.

  He was rewarded with a satisfying squeal from the elven priest. A moment later, the elf fell to the ground, clutching his injury.

  Nakor sheathed his dagger and stood up. Reaching over, he plucked the sword from the hand of the moaning elf. Returning his rapier to its sheath, Nakor grabbed the priest by his cloak and slammed him into a nearby wall.

  “I’ll ask you once,” Nakor said in a low voice, “Why are you here?”

  The priest responded by pulling a dagger from his sleeve.

  For once, Nakor was a second too slow. He managed to catch the priest’s wrist, but then a fist slammed into his jaw. Nakor saw white for a moment, and then he felt the priest’s knife plunge into his right shoulder. Pain shot through his body, and sweat broke out on his face. “Oops,” he muttered, stumbling back.

  Nakor drew his rapier with a wince. Taking it in his left hand, he readied himself for the next attack. Left handed, he knew that he was no match for this priest’s fighting skills.

  The priest took a moment to study Nakor. A crimson stain that was slowly spreading across his shirt, framing the dagger that protruded from his shoulder. Slowly raising one hand, the priest grinned.

  “It was a nice try,” he said, “but my mistress has ordered that you be destroyed.” Saying this, he launched his web of fire at Nakor, smiling as the flames danced over his body.

  Nakor closed his eyes. Of all the elements, fire was the one with which he was most skilled. As the flames touched his body, Nakor reached out with his mind. He could feel the magical energy being used to guide the flames.

  With a mental nudge, he redirected that energy so it flowed around him. Nakor felt the scorching heat of the flames as they surrounded his body, and then they were gone.

  You might ask why Nakor has this convenient ability. Because MAGIC, that’s why!

  Stepping forward, Nakor stabbed the astonished priest in the throat.

  Remembering something a healer had once said to him, he left the dagger remain in his body for the moment, hoping that it would slow the bleeding. Wincing at the agony that shot through his right side, he wrenched his sword out of the body.

  Kneeling down, he cut several strips from the priest’s cloak. “Pynne,” he called out weakly. As the pixie flew to him, Nakor studied the dead priest’s hands.

  Finding what he was searching for, he slipped a plain gold ring off of the priest’s right index finger. He thought back, remembering the first time he had seen the ring.

  Even injured and possibly dying, Nakor is an experienced gamer and knows the importance of stopping to loot the body.

  Calugar had worn it, using it to cast webs of flame on a band of goblins who had raided his home. “It is the ring of the high priest of Olara,” he had explained. “It enhances the wearer’s skills and strengths tenfold.”

  Pynne landed beside Nakor, and he slipped the ring into a pouch at his belt. “Whoo’s alive,” she said without preamble. “He’s in pretty bad shape, though.” Studying Nakor, she added “You look like you’re rather messed up yourself.”

  Nakor managed a wry smile. “Forgot to duck,” he commented. “I only have the strength to heal one of us right now, and I think that Whoo needs it the most. But I’ll need you to help me bandage this shoulder.”

  Pynne nodded. Nakor handed her a folded piece of cloth. Then he took a deep breath. He rested his left hand on the hilt of the dagger. Rolling his eyes heavenward, he jerked the knife from his body.

  As Nakor gasped in pain, Pynne pressed the cloth onto the wound. Nakor took another breath, then held the cloth in place for her. He nodded at the strips of cloak, and Pynne used them to tie the makeshift bandage into place.

  He waited a moment, hoping the pain would diminish. It didn’t. Suppressing a groan, he reached out and used the wall to help him stand. Pynne hovered closely as he walked to where Whoo lay, still smoking slightly. Nakor sat down and laid a hand on Whoo’s body. He muttered a few words, wincing with the effort. A moment later, the worst of the burns began to heal themselves.

  Whoo looked up. Groaning, he asked “What did he hit me with?”

  Pynne sat down next to him. “Fire. Lots of fire.” she answered. Then she looked at Nakor questioningly. “When will you heal his wings?”

  “I can’t,” he answered sadly. “There was nothing left to heal.”

  Whoo was in shock. He craned his neck, looking at the cauterized stubs protruding from his back. A pixie’s wings were what made one a pixie. Many pixies who lost the ability to fly committed suicide, unable to withstand the grief. Those with the strength to survive lived life as a cripple, forced to walk in order to travel. The thought of living the rest of his life that way was unbearable. Whoo was still young, with many years ahead of him.

  “I don’t understand,” he whispered.

  “There’s nothing more I can do here,” Nakor said.

  A thought struck him. “There is someone who might be able to help,” he added. “I’ll take you there once the rest of your burns have healed. For now, just try and sleep.”

  “Sleep?” Whoo demanded, outraged. Suddenly furious, he struggled to get to his feet.

  Nakor concentrated, allowing what little energy he had left to flow into his voice. “Sleep,” he repeated, resting a hand on Whoo’s forehead.

  I think Nakor was a druid/thief, but as you can see, there’s really no rhyme or reason to what he can or can’t do.

  Whoo’s protests gradually faded to a quiet mumbling, and his eyes drifted shut. A few moments later he began to snore. The corners of Nakor’s mouth turned up slightly, a faint shadow of his usual grin.

  “Stay with him, please,” he said to Pynne.

  The grin fled from Nakor’s face as he turned to look at Galadrion, still curled up in a corner of the room. Holding his shoulder, he stood up and walked quietly to where she lay.

  “Galadrion,” he whispered, kneeling down beside her.

  There was no response. She was still trembling, clutching her knees to her chest. Nakor looked at her hands. Galadrion’s fists were clenched so tightly that blood dripped from within them where her fingernails had pierced the skin. Nakor had seen swords and arrows that were unable to break through that skin.

  “Galadrion!” he repeated, more sharply this time.

  She continued to stare blankly into space. Nakor took a deep breath. Drawing back his hand, he slapped her across the face with all of his strength.

  Nakor is not as knowledgeable about first aid as he likes to pretend.

  Galadrion blinked. Nakor grimaced and clutched his hand. When she still failed to respond, he swung again.

  Instinctively, Galadrion caught Nakor’s arm and threw him across the room. Nakor tucked his head and rolled. The blood drained from his face as pain shot throug
h his body. Holding his shoulder with one hand, he crawled back over to Galadrion.

  Seeing the she was looking at him, rather than through him, Nakor spoke again. “Galadrion?” he asked in a gentle voice.

  “Nakor?” she replied softly. Tears began streaming down her face. “What happened?” she asked.

  Nakor thought back, remembering what had been going on when he walked in. Galadrion had been collapsed in a corner, and that priest was standing in the doorway, holding his amulet in one hand. Understanding came, sending an icy wave of fury through his heart. Some religions considered vampires to be unholy creatures of darkness. Priests of these orders had the god-given ability to use their faith to drive vampires away. Armed with a crucifix, amulet, or some other holy symbol, many such priests could completely destroy the undead.

  He reached over and rested a hand on her shoulder. “He used magic on you,” he said.

  “He made a successful roll to turn undead. Page 32 of the Player’s Handbook.”

  Galadrion looked at him through her tears. “It had something to do with my being a vampire, didn’t it? I could feel it.”

  Nakor nodded once. Anger mixed with self-loathing raced across Galadrion’s face. She began to cry harder, burying her face in his shoulder.

  Remember, guys, it’s fine to write powerful female characters, but only if they have to turn to a man for true strength and support!

  After a while she stood suddenly, wiping the tears from her face. Without looking at anyone, she walked swiftly into another room. Nakor watched sadly as she went.

  Pynne flew over to land next to him.

  “How long will Whoo sleep?” she asked.

  “Long enough for us to get him to help,” Nakor answered.

  Pynne nodded in understanding.

  With a wry grin, Nakor looked down at the pixie. “Wake me in a few hours, okay?”

  Laying back onto the floor, Nakor immediately lost consciousness.

  Pynne flew back to Whoo’s sleeping form. Sitting next to him, she waited.

  Nakor awoke with a start. The memory of the night’s events raced through him, followed quickly by the pain in his shoulder.