Finally, in his desperation, Artemis turned to the dark heart of the forest where even the Magpie King would think twice about entering. This was a part of the woodland that the sun refused to visit, and greenery was merely a rumour on the wind. The trees here were barren, twisted and searching, and the bile in Artemis’ gut rose to his mouth as he felt true fear for the first time in his life.
Just as sly Artemis had decided to take his chances with the pursuers in more friendly surroundings, he heard her speak.
“I can smell you, little one,” came a chiding voice from somewhere in the woods ahead of Artemis. It was a sound like the fresh crinkle of leaves, followed by the plunging of one’s foot into mud and shit hidden below them. “I can smell you and shall soon find you. Lay still, little one, and make things easy on mother after such a long, dreary day.”
Artemis froze, wide eyed, searching for the source of the voice.
He heard a tutting, this time closer still. “It shall be dark soon, dearie, and my little ones will need fed. Why not be a good boy and come and say hello to them?”
Artemis exhaled slightly and heard a rustling coming from somewhere before him. His eyes raised slowly to the tops of the trees.
“I am not as young as I used to be,” the rustling voice continued, “and have not the patience nor the heart for such a chase. I shall find you eventually, you know. And then catch you, and then eat you. Why not save each other the distress of a chase and give yourself to me now?”
It was then that Artemis saw her. High in the tree canopy, suspended upside down was a grotesquely fat-bodied spider, her once-black abdomen littered with pox marks and boils. In contrast, her thin spindly legs worked themselves methodically through the treetops, taking it in turn to support their owner’s weight whilst probing for the next suitable branch to grip to. From the spider’s head grew a length of bushy grey hair that trailed towards the ground like a curtain of filth.
Artemis stood perfectly still as the creature moved directly overhead, twisting back and forwards in the canopy to seek out the prey she knew was nearby.
“Strange,” the creature mused in frustration. “I could hear you tramp into my black forest, I can still smell the fear on your breath. But I cannot find you.”
Artemis gave a silent offering of thanks to the serpent witch. Her magics that clouded the Magpie King’s senses also worked on this foul creature. Then he prayed she did not choose that time to remove her spell from him.
They say that familiarity breeds confidence, and this truth works doubly quick for a mind as cunning as Artemis’. Not permitting himself to give in to fear, Artemis studied his would-be killer and began to learn from her. In the hours that she stalked him unsuccessfully, he learnt her weak spots, and found the courage to make small movements when the creature above was distracted. Eventually, he was able to move confidently about the forest floor again, and began to make plans for his escape.
“Now dearie,” the voice came again, the creature’s frustration causing her to end each word spoken with a snap of her jaws, “this is enough. I am tired, I am hungry, and you shall be in my belly before long. Show yourself to me now and I shall make your end painless. Force me to continue searching and you shall be begging me to consume your heart and end your suffering before I let you slip behind the veil.”
Cunning Artemis found the courage to finally shout out to his pursuer. “Mother Web, are you not enjoying our dance? It has been far too many years since I have had such an able partner, and it would pain me to end our festivities so soon.”
At the sound of the trickster’s voice, the ancient creature dropped from the trees, scuttling like a wounded rabbit to the tree root that Artemis had been behind. Artemis was already gone from that spot, a sly grin on his face as he watched her vent her frustration from afar.
“Curse you, root dweller,” Mother Web roared to the forest. “My babies are calling to me, and I shall fill my larder before they hatch. Fie on you who taunts me so.”
Once again, Mother Web took to the treetops, clambering through them with an increased urgency. Artemis, now, was always two steps ahead of his dancing partner. She would fancy she heard some movement in the darkness below and would dive down to seek it out, and then Artemis would move on further.
“You win, little mouse,” Mother Web eventually admitted, her voice soaked in defeat. “I return to my children empty-handed. Think about their lifeless shells on the floor of my den when you walk free in the sunlight.”
Not believing the creature would give up chase so easily, Artemis called out, “It was a fine dance, yes, like no other I have had. How good it is to part as friends after an evening of mirth.”
Mother Web was on his hiding place in a breath, her front legs impaling the brown bush that Artemis had called from. However, she found only leaf and wood, for Artemis had moved on once again. The creature screamed and Artemis could not stifle his chuckle this time, which was almost the end for him, for it led Mother Web on another dash through the bracken towards his new hiding spot, which he had to vacate much quicker than anticipated.
More hours of searching followed, and it became obvious that Mother Web was becoming more and more weary. Her sudden leaps from the treetops were occurring less often now, and became slower and also less purposeful. When she called out for her prey, her sentences were shorter, and eventually pleading. Artemis noticed she was pursuing him in a circular fashion, spiralling ever inwards until eventually she reached her dark nest, a deep hole in the forest floor that sheltered the bones of her previous dinners and the white eggs that held her unborn children. With one final movement from the treetop, Mother Web dropped to the entrance to her nest and slowly pulled herself inside.
Artemis smiled to himself at evading such a foe, but his gaze lingered on the spider’s nest and he pursed his lips. After a moment’s brief thought, he strode forward and entered the dark domain of Mother Web.
On all fours, he crawled through her round passageway, the earthen walls of the tube covered with pus from the boils on her abdomen that had burst as she had squeezed her large body through that narrow opening. Eventually, the smaller tunnel opened into a larger cavern. There, on the far wall, was a hive of white eggs, writhing and squirming as the unborn lives within them sensed the arrival of something that they would eventually call food. In the middle of the cavern, collapsed on a pile of bones, lay the exhausted Mother Web.
Artemis stepped forward into the chamber, and the only response he received from his foe was a brief movement of her head as she shifted it to regard him. She had exhausted her ancient body chasing nimble Artemis through the black forest, and had no energy left to pounce.
Confident he was safe from further attacks, devious Artemis drew his dagger and stepped towards the trembling egg sacs.
“No...” was all Mother Web could muster as Artemis took his blade and slid it across the thin skin of the eggs, sending their malformed contents to the floor of the cavern. Artemis watched the white spiders struggle briefly, coming to terms with the world outside of the safety of their mother’s purse before he crushed them underfoot. The thief performed the same act with the remaining eggs until none were left alive. Satisfied his work was complete, Artemis cleaned his blade and made to leave.
“Why?” came the tortured question from Mother Web as she lay weeping and powerless to avenge her offspring.
Artemis turned to his defeated foe, thought briefly, then gave her a gentle smile.
“The man who escapes from the spider is lucky. The man who defeats the spider is a legend. Otherwise, they would never tell this tale.”
And from that day on, Mother Web forever cursed his name.
Lonan drifted in and out of consciousness. Through half-open eyes he was able to discern that he was in a cottage, although it was difficult to say which one. There were many voices around him - he recognised the busy tones of Mother Ogma barking sharp orders at everyone else, as she did when her Knack was under great strain. Every now a
nd again Lonan was able to make out a baby crying, and his sister’s voice rang loud and clear when she visited his bed. His hand and brow were handled constantly, and he came to recognise the sensation of someone else’s tears on his skin.
When he gave his first moan, many voices, mostly female, called for aid and ordered each other about. He blacked out again shortly thereafter. This routine continued for a number of days - slipping back to his sick bed in the cottage to cause a few minutes of excitement, with Mother Ogma or Branwen desperately trying to hold a conversation with him, and then back to blackness. Often blackness would be all that he would experience, but now and again he drifted back to Adahy for long enough to get an idea of how the new Magpie King was faring. Although Maedoc remained ill, the liberation of the Eyrie spurred hiding nobles back into the open, from their shelters among the trees or local villages. The Eyrie began to fill again, with pockets of guards returning as well, but more strong men were recruited from the closest Corvae villages. Adahy seemed driven, saddened beyond belief by the death of his father and so many others close to him, but determined to rebuild what had been lost. Of Inteus Lonan saw no sign, but the name Smithsdown did pop up in conversation now and again, and there was much talk of sending tax collectors out to the villages again to reestablish connections. Unfortunately, in his ill state Lonan could not piece all of this information together to make much sense of it.
It took five days for Lonan to speak again.
“The... baby?” was all he could manage, addressing the shuffling figure in the darkness beyond the candle by his bedside. The concerned wrinkled features of Mother Ogma drifted into his view.
“Now there, dearie, don’t stress yourself. You’ve still got a lot of work to do.”
Summing up all of his strength, Lonan feebly grabbed the healer’s tunic and repeated his question, “The baby?”
She smiled at this. “Well, I am glad to see he didn’t manage to beat your stubbornness out of you. Yes, the babe is fine, now. It needed a good bit of warming up and both she and her mother were in a decent state of shock, but unlike some people a few days were all it took for her to be as good as new again.” Concern bloomed on her face as she checked the bandages that were wound around Lonan’s head. “Some wounds are easily mended.”
“If you’re trying to tell me that I’ll never go courting again, I think I’ll survive,” he attempted to croak out from between cracked lips.
Mother Ogma did her best to smile as his comment. “Now, you rest up, dearie. I imagine Branwen shall be here soon, and she’ll not be happy with me if I use up all of your energy.”
“Branwen? Where are we?”
“You’re at my house, in your usual bed. Branwen and Clare have been staying with us for the past few nights. It seemed necessary given the... unusual situation in the village right now.”
Lonan fell back asleep at this point, and spent a lot of time with Adahy in a boring meeting with an emissary from outside of the forest, from the owl people. He faded back into reality at the sound of Branwen’s voice.
“...what was he saying? Is he going to be all right? You said too much may have been broken...”
“Now shush, dearie, I have been wrong many times before, and look - your patient is stirring.”
Branwen’s face faded into the candlelight, tears forming as she looked into Lonan’s opening eyes. “Please don’t hit me,” Lonan croaked with a smile, “if I say that this is the prettiest sight I could have hoped for.”
The familiar anger touched Branwen’s ruined face for a moment, but then tears leapt forth instead and she kissed his hand. “Look, Clare,” she managed, raising her daughter to Lonan’s eye level, “this is the man who saved your life.”
“In fairness, I remember you doing most of the swimming.”
The baby stared at Lonan for a few moments, but then its lips curled into a wail.
“Yes, I imagine I do look fairly horrific at the moment. I don’t suppose there’s any chance I can get up?”
“Not in the slightest, dearie.”
Despite Mother Ogma’s protests, Lonan fought to shift himself into a sitting position. This proved to be impossible. He was able to move his right arm, the arm that had been crushed by the boulder, but it was agony to do so.
“Dislocated, that was really the worst that it got, other than cuts and severe bruising, obviously. A miracle all the bones didn’t just shatter on impact. He must have just managed a glancing blow,” Mother Ogma explained. “It should heal up nicely, although I daresay it’s going to pop loose any time you take any bad knocks.”
His torso was in worse shape. He had correctly surmised that the kicking had cracked some ribs. There was not really much that could be done for them except to ignore the pain until they healed, hopefully back in place. One of the boulder blows after he had been knocked out had, however, punctured one of his lungs and his weak breathing had been a concern for a long while.
It was very clear that Mother Ogma had been dodging the subject of Lonan’s head injuries, however.
“Just give it to me straight,” he ordered. “It can’t be all that bad if I’m sitting here, talking to you both.”
She looked away from him. “I have to be honest, I was shocked when you spoke to me. I’ve seen people with head injuries like yours never able to interact with the world again. Poor old Harlow, for instance. Lonan, your head was broken. That evil man had cracked your skull before the Tumulty brothers made it to him. Any sensible person could see you were as good as dead, dearie.”
“Well, that explains it,” Lonan muttered, now very aware of the sharp pains all along his scalp, “nobody ever accused me of being sensible. So, I beat the odds, right? Because here I am, walking and talking. Well,” he continued, wiggling his toes under the bed sheets, “it certainly looks like walking shouldn’t be an issue when the time comes.”
“Yes,” she responded, uncertainly, “it looks like a true miracle. Still,” and at this she looked Lonan straight into the eyes, “let’s not assume you’ve gotten off without repercussions. You may find that headaches come more easily now, and there might be memory issues too.”
Lonan let everything sink in for a moment, now clutching Branwen’s hand. “I’ve one piece of good news, though. The dreams haven’t stopped.”
“Dreams?” Branwen queried, looking at Mother Ogma to clarify. “What dreams?”
“Ah, perhaps this can wait until later-” Mother Ogma began, but Lonan cut her off.
“No, I want her to know. I shouldn’t have to hide it anymore. Branwen, my Knack has appeared.”
Branwen shook her head in disbelief, smiling. “Your...?”
“I’m not sure if we ever confirmed that it is a Knack,” Mother Ogma intercepted.
“It must be. How else can you explain it? You were the first to say it, and it makes sense.”
“What in the Great Spirit’s name are you both talking about?”
“Branwen, I see things in my dreams.”
At this, Branwen turned to look at Mother Ogma in concern.
Recognising Branwen’s fear he continued, “No, this started before the attack. In my dreams, I follow the life of a prince up at the Eyrie, Adahy.” Then he directed his attention to Mother Ogma. “Except now, he’s the Magpie King. He found the flower that gives them their power, and used it to tear apart countless Wolves and their leader. The Wolves have fled the forest now. We’re all safe.”
Branwen clasped Lonan’s hand tighter, but looked silently to Mother Ogma with tears in her eyes.
“I think you should rest now, Lonan,” Mother Ogma said, rising from her seat to usher Branwen out of the cellar. “It seems we all have a lot to chat about when you are back on your feet.”
Lonan laughed. “I know what you’re thinking, Branwen, but it is true. There haven’t been any more attacks in the night, have there? Nobody has heard anything, have they?”
Mother Ogma smiled at him. “No, dearie, they have not. But you still need to rest
. This will have taken a lot out of you.”
Lonan looked at her sternly. After Branwen left, but before the healer took her leave too, he ventured, “How is she doing?”
“Her husband tried to kill their child, and she thinks the man who she is falling in love with is a raving lunatic. She has had better weeks,” came the chiding response.
“Haven’t we all?” Lonan countered, arranging the bandages on his head into a more comfortable position to allow him to get back to sleep.
He was not comfortable in these clothes anymore. Adahy pulled at his velvet tunic. Weeks ago, he would have been proud to have such a fine garment. They were even rarer now during this time of rebuilding. However, Adahy’s life had taken dramatic turns since the night his father had found him crying up on the ridge. He was king now, with all the responsibilities the title entailed.
It had been up to Adahy to piece together any remains of his father’s court, and to press the villages close to the Eyrie to supply young men and women to make up the low numbers at the palace. Most had been happy to come to join him. Life at court, even in a serving position, held considerably more promise for most villagers than anything their homes could offer. Even the thought of not having to hole themselves up in the ground every night was a huge draw. The Eyrie had done their best to convince the villages that this custom did not need to be followed through with anymore, but very few of them chose to experiment with different sleeping arrangements. There were still a number of villages that word had not spread to yet, but Adahy did not currently have the manpower to reach out to them, especially with other matters that had arisen since the Eyrie had come to life again.
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