Nemo cried again, and his own voice—no, it was that terrible screeching voice of the King—invaded his ears and made his entire form throb and hum with an awful resonance. His head felt like it was going to explode, and that explosion would wipe clean the foul existence of those lesser creatures. The visions and commandments of the black crawling thing rang over and over in his mind, echoing off the fractured walls of his self-awareness. He was becoming something else; no, he was something else to begin with. He was Talm, he was Dwyre, but so too was he something else. And that meant that he couldn’t die yet. The eye of the Writhing Malefice stared into his soul, and the voice of demise grew deafening.
Then, it ended. The cell collapsed.
Nemo shrieked a mad cry that challenged the fire alarms blaring in the distance. Something tore in his throat, but he did not care. His arms were still stretched wide, wrapped in lengths of chain. Drawing heavy breaths through his teeth, he forced his eyes open. The world bled around him. The fear and anger in his heart boiled over into a seething froth that fell unimpeded from his mouth. He was alive, but he was still bound to the pipes and machines. The false Vant’therax were gone. There was now only one other soul that remained, and as soon as Nemo’s blurred vision cleared enough to identify them, the fury in his heart erupted.
“And with that, he lives again,” the purple-suited man said.
Nemo fought against his restraints, but the death of the Vant’therax had done nothing to weaken their hold. His anger unsated by the struggle, he kept thrashing and chomping at the man who had once killed Dwyre—who had once killed him—and had denied him his vengeance against the goddamn Warren.
The man showed him a sharp grin. “Funny how fate works, isn’t it? It seems like it was just yesterday that this whole mess started, all because you couldn’t play your part. How are you feeling, Simon? I can call you that, can’t I? I’m sure there must still be some part of you in that shell.”
Nemo shook and rattled his chains in response. He shouted and trembled and howled and cursed, but he was held fast. Here at the end, he was once again helpless.
“If I were you, I’d consider yourself lucky. It was quite serendipitous, really,” he said. “I’m certain you remember, Simon, that I alone am blessed enough to see all sides of the stage. I hope it does not upset you to hear that I watched, with rapt attention, as your soul buckled against the Flames of the Chosen of Y’rokkrem. So, having faced the Flames of Y’rokkrem, does it not strike you as curious that you yet live? By all accounts, you should have died, taking all the hope and glory of the Websworn with you.” He narrowed his glowing eyes. “Well? What say you, Simon? What say you, Nemo?”
But Nemo ignored his words and hissed. Blood ran from somewhere in his throat, and the thoughts and memories that swam in his brain felt incomplete; they felt fragmented. His mind was tainted, and that he’d survived the Warren’s attack was now the least of his concerns. His only thought now was revenge. First he’d tear the purple man apart, and then he’d find the Warren and repay his suffering tenfold—if only he could break free.
Indifferent to his plight, the purple man continued. “Indeed, quite rare that one survives an attack against their very soul. Looking at it objectively, it almost appears that your soul was pulled from the fire by a higher power. As though you have been saved. As though you yet have a purpose to serve.”
At that, Nemo’s resistance grew greater. “No!” he shouted. “I will not. Serve. No. I will not. False ones. I will not serve them!”
“And indeed, you shall not. That’s because you have a far greater fate that you must realize. You see, I watched as your resentment grew, and I saw as you became disillusioned by the edict of your King. I see your hunger for glory, your thirst for greatness.” He paused to laugh. “And what’s more, it seems that I was not the only one to see it, as evidenced by the breath you yet draw.”
There was the glint of steel as the man drew a silver knife from thin air. Nemo’s blood turned to ice in his veins. Eyes blazing, the man in the purple suit began to approach. When Nemo saw the light dancing off the edge of the blade he began to squirm, shrieks returning to his battered throat. Not again, he thought. Not again. It couldn’t happen again!
“How fitting that fate should once more bring us together,” the Cheshire Man said. “Here at the reveal, know that it is not mere chance that moves the actors upon this stage.” He stopped when the rim of his hat scraped against Nemo’s chin. He laid the blade of his knife against the skin on Nemo’s neck—right beside the shallow cut—and cackled. Nemo began to take thin breaths, his entire body quivering in terror. After an eternity of stillness, the blade left his throat. In the blink of an eye, the blade danced in a violent crisscrossing shape, whistling through the air and crying as it split through its target.
Nemo’s panic was accompanied by a feeling of gravity. Unchained, he fell from his makeshift cross and onto the metallic floor in a heap. His freed hands curled beneath him. The floor rattled as the broken chains fell like metal waterfalls. Each link that crashed against the floor sent a throbbing pain through his head. He grabbed his wrists, rubbing the skin that had been scraped raw by the chains. He was paralyzed; his atrophied muscles could barely hold him up in the hunched crouch he found himself in.
“In the end,” the purple man said, “it seems that a far greater threat is needed for Mark to break his oath. And it seems that threat has been reborn.” He had begun to walk away, twirling his knife in one hand and cackling that hellish laugh. When he reached the threshold of the chamber, he glanced over his shoulder. His burning eyes stared into Nemo’s soul. Then, he spoke in the voice of demise. “Arise, Helixweaver,” he said. “Arise, Reborn of Heinokk. There is much to do.”
“I coulda used some help back there, you know,” Kara said. She was sitting outside the metal door to the laboratory, clutching her ribs with one hand and scratching Cinnamon’s ear-things with the other. “You coulda bit him, you know. Pro’lly woulda killed him before he could get to us.” Cinnamon didn’t make a sound. She just laid her head in Kara’s lap, seemingly content. “Well, I’m glad you’re alright.”
Every breath she took sent stabbing pain through the side of her chest that radiated to all corners of her body. The Hunting was still awake, and as long as it was taking the edge off her pain she wasn’t going to let it go back to sleep. She pressed her face into Cinnamon’s fur and concentrated on taking shallow breaths. The Leng cat crackled something that may have been a purr.
What in God’s name had happened? Spins had come through for her, and had done so in the most fitting way possible. The thing that called itself Kaj was nothing like Gauge had been. Kara recalled when she had clashed with Gauge in the forest. She had been fully empowered by the Hunting and had attacked him with a carnivorous ferocity. But even with all the savagery and hunger that she attacked with, it still took every bit of her strength to pry that armored plate from Gauge’s chest to make way for Annie’s bullets. That armor plate had been thin, maybe a third of an inch thick at most. And yet Spinneretta had torn through Kaj’s substantially thicker armor like it was Styrofoam. Was it just that her six extra years of life had imparted her with a greater potential strength? Kara wondered if she would wield such power when she turned seventeen.
Knowing that she wasn’t getting any answers, at least until Spins calmed down and came outside, she just pressed her cheek against Cinnamon’s fur and focused on her breathing. In and out. No reason to upset the ribs. Just a nice, steady pace.
“Kara?” a voice called.
She looked up, and at once she smiled as bright a smile as her ribs would allow. “Mark!” Sure enough, there he was, limping toward her down the hall that led back to the surface world. “How did you find us?”
He gestured to the limp strand of web that now lay in the dust. “Good thinking with the web. You’re a smart girl.” His face grew somber. “Are you alright? What happened to you?”
She cringed. “I’m okay. Don’t wo
rry about me.”
“Where’s Spinneretta?”
Kara gave her head a careful dip toward the door to the lab, trying not to move her torso. “Inside.”
Mark grunted in confirmation and followed the direction of her gesture. Before he entered, he turned to her again. “Are you certain you’re alright?”
She nodded and winced, but said nothing.
Inside the connecting room, Mark saw the door to a small chamber sitting open. Within the shadows of that room, a girl was hunched over on the floor. The flashing lights through the other door, however, caught his attention; when he glanced toward them, he saw two corpses—one in a yellow robe—lying on a deeply stained floor. He shivered a little but brought his attention back to the girl. His breath lingered in his throat, and it took him a moment to choke out the word. “Spinny.”
She jumped, startled, and then her shoulders slumped again. Through her sobs, she began to speak in a meek voice. “I . . . I killed her. She was suffering, but I . . . Her name was Isabella.” Her voice cracked. “They all wanted to die. How could I just let her live on in agony?”
“It’s okay,” Mark said in a gentle tone, not understanding. He took a slow step toward her and winced at the pain in his leg. “Nobody’s going to blame you.” As his eyes adjusted to the shadows of the room before him, he saw a wet red sheen glinting off the bottom plates of Spinneretta’s legs. “Hey, are you alright? Your legs are—”
“Stay away from me!” Her voice slipped from simple grief to the precipice of rage. He stopped at once. For a moment, she just shook on the ground, her spider legs quaking from pain or anger. “You knew,” she said. “You knew what I was this whole time. And you kept it from me.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, growing nervous.
She filled her lungs with a few hot breaths. “The Coronation of the unborn prince. I should’ve known. That I was only born . . . only created to carry the heir to the spider kingdom. That I’m nothing but a fucking womb!”
Stunned, Mark couldn’t reply.
Spinneretta sniffled again. “The whole reason that I exist . . . It’s just to propagate the line of the Yellow King. Kara and I, we’re just . . . We’re nothing but genetic catalysts, that’s all! That’s why they need us, and why Arthr is of no concern to them. That’s why these poor things had to be born and die without knowing anything other than suffering.” She struggled to keep her composure but was slipping closer and closer to hysteria. “We’re reproductive livestock. We’re just experimental wombs, and that’s all we are.”
Fumbling a little, she got to her feet. Another hot sob shook her frame before she regained her composure. “I asked you. How many times did I ask you what they were after? Why they needed hybrids. You knew the truth the whole fucking time. You just kept it from me. You kept it from me, you bastard!”
Mark was quiet. He could feel the anger pouring from the girl’s words. He could only watch, dumb, as she finally turned to face him. And as she turned, he saw that the entirety of her clothing was drenched with blood.
“You knew!” she said again, the heat of the accusation striking him full force.
He bowed his head in resignation. He knew that even if he were to lie to her, her hate-filled legs would see through the deception. He gave a slow nod. “Yes. I knew.”
Her eyes narrowed into vengeful slits, and she bared her teeth in a menacing scowl. “Why did you keep this from me? Was this part of your plan? You needed to keep me in the dark about my true purpose, didn’t you?!”
“No.”
“Why? Why didn’t you just fucking tell me the truth about what I am!?”
He looked her in her frenzied eyes and took a cautious step toward her. “Because I knew you’d take it hard. And I didn’t want you to believe anything like that. Because it’s just not true.”
She snarled. “Stop lying to me!”
“I am not lying,” he said. “You are not just a womb. That may be what they wanted, but they ended up with something far more.”
“I’ve had enough of your lies and cliches!”
Mark bit his lip and looked away. He couldn’t even think straight. “Forgive me, but cliches are all I have.” He brought his gaze back to her, and her wrathful expression faltered. “I never wanted you to find out,” he said, “because I did not want you to have to know.” He was quiet for a moment, and then laughed a little under his breath. “I remember that day we were in your room. Before all this happened. You seemed so embarrassed when you told me about how you’d developed your interest in mythology. All those books.”
She started, but made no sound other than her ragged breathing.
He gave her a weak smile, though his eyes looked far beyond her. “There was . . . I suppose it was an innocence in it all. I imagined how forlorn you must have been, searching through old fairy tales and folklore for traces of the truth. For some answer to your origins. And knowing how long you’d spent searching for the truth, how much it had meant to you, I could never tell you. Because this isn’t the truth you deserve.” He took another step closer to her.
“Stay away from me!” she shouted. “So help me God, I’ll tear you apart if you come any closer!”
Mark wasn’t going to take any chances; he didn’t want to find out what she’d do if left alone in this state. He paused for only a moment before continuing forward. Her entire body tensed. “If you’re going to do something, then do it,” he said. “If doing me harm is what you want, then you’ve earned that. If killing me will make you happy, then I will gladly give that to you.” His sad eyes and her dilated pupils met. “But I know that you won’t do that. Because I know you’re still my Spinny.”
Rage flared in her irises. For a moment, it looked as though she was going to strike him. But that facade began to crumble when he took his next step. Her footing faltered. Her spider legs began to curl, and her sobs grew more distinct. Mark reached out and put his arms around her, pulling her tight against him.
“Go away,” she said between sobs. “I don’t want you to see me cry.”
He tightened his grip around her. “Then I’ll close my eyes.”
She resisted, but a moment later she relented and returned his embrace. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and her spider legs began to creep around his back. His own arms enveloped her, and his chest absorbed her sobs. For a few timeless minutes, they just stood there. As her sobs grew quieter, he lowered his head until his chin was beside her ear. “I was fated to usher in a new era of the Vigil,” he whispered. “I was the Chosen, who was born to open the Gate. That was my purpose. Instead, I destroyed the clan I was meant to lead.” He felt her quiver a little. “My fate was written in the stars since before I was born, but I defied it. That was my choice. All it takes is one choice to change the future. That’s how I see it. You and I both made those choices long ago. Kara, too, is a defier of fate. Spinny, it matters not what you were meant to be. Because that’s not what you are now.”
“That doesn’t change anything,” she said, teeth pressed together. “Fate doesn’t have a goddamn thing to do with this.”
Mark didn’t contradict her, and instead just let her continue sobbing against him. After a few more moments, the tenseness in her body started to wane. Bit by bit, she seemed to calm. He wondered if it was due to the force that she called the Instinct, a force they had both begun to understand perhaps too well.
When her sobs had ceased, she began to speak again. “I want you to promise me something,” she said. “One of your unbreakable promises.”
He hesitated. “What do you wish me to promise?”
“That you won’t lie to me anymore. That you won’t keep anything from me anymore.”
“Very well. I promise.”
“Say it.”
“I promise I won’t lie to you anymore. From now on, I promise not to keep anything from you.”
Her spider legs made a few nervous twitches as they settled into a drier rhythm, and their desperate clinging to
his shoulders shifted to a deeper spider-hug. “Thank you.”
And for another minute the two just stood there, trapped in each other’s arms. “Mark?” she said at last.
“Mmm?”
“What happens when you die?”
He stopped breathing. “Is that really something you want to ask right now?”
She nodded against his shoulder, chest still shaking a little. “I just . . . I just want to know if I did the right thing. If Isabella . . . ”
He let out a slow breath. “If she had a soul, then . . . Any soul that meets with death will reenter the cycle. Spiritual inertia will draw the soul back to the Origin, and from there it will either seek out a new body or will lie dormant as a vagabond spirit until it moves on.”
“Reincarnation,” she said. “Do you really believe that New Age shit?”
“I must.” He laid his cheek against the top of her head. “It’s often been speculated that the Chosen are themselves old souls; if true, then it makes sense that a soul once touched by the Primal Ones will be forever tainted.”
“Forever . . . ?” She tightened her grip on him. “So, when you die, you’ll be born again as another Chosen?”
“It’s impossible to say for sure, but I’d believe it. Golgotha believed I was Charles Edward Warren reborn. There are things I cannot explain. Old memories and thoughts that have neither origin nor cause. I shall not say I believe it, but inertia is a powerful force. I’d prefer if it were not true. I have enough sins without having killed my entire family intentionally.”
She was quiet for a moment. “And what about things without souls?”
“Things without souls are mere constructs. When they die, they simply cease to exist.”
She shivered a little. “Do you think Isabella . . . ?”
Helixweaver (The Warren Brood Book 2) Page 53