Web of Eyes

by Jaime Castle

  “By Nesilia, your wound.”

  Uriah helped him take a seat against a tree. He lifted the plating of Torsten’s pauldron to reveal the wound. Half of an arrow’s shaft stuck out of the back of his shoulder, surrounded by puss and blood.

  Whitney released a gagging sound. “How in Elsewhere did you get that?”

  “Did you learn nothing under my tutelage?” Uriah said. “You let a wound like this fester with no dressing?”

  “I was a little preoccupied trying to save the kingdom,” Torsten said, pain making his voice hoarse. He couldn’t even lift his arm any longer. “Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”

  “Mine is the work of all mortals. Now stop being so stubborn. If we don’t clean that wound, your kingdom, along with the rest of us, will perish.”

  Uriah positioned himself with firm footing and wrapped a hand around the stump of the arrow. Torsten winced and stared at his old friend. A messy gray beard hugged his chin, masking wrinkles deep as the caverns of the Dragon’s Tail. He looked exactly the same as the day he’d left to chase Redstar into these very woods…except in his eyes. Something was different there. Darker now that he’d begun to serve the Buried Goddess.

  “It’s a Shesaitju thorn arrow,” Uriah said. Torsten nodded in understanding. Shesaitju arrows were four-pronged, with backward facing spikes. They didn’t fly as far or as accurately, but once they went in they couldn’t be yanked out without causing a heap more damage. They were especially effective in naval combat, clinging onto enemy ships.

  “Shesaitju?” Sora questioned.

  “Yeah, I second that question,” Whitney said. “There are Black Sands. Here? I mean, as the King’s Shield knows fighting them is my specialty, but…”

  “They’re camped in the swamp along Trader’s Bay you fool,” Torsten growled, the pain making Whitney even more insufferable. “An army, prepared to attack the Glass Kingdom with nobody left to defend it. So the faster we get on with this, the faster we might have a chance to stop them.”

  “We didn’t see a camp,” Whitney said, looking to the ground as if he were insulted. Like he even could be.

  “Of course, you didn’t. You couldn’t find a—”

  Uriah suddenly pushed. Torsten didn’t even have time to scream as the arrow plunged deeper through his shoulder. He just sat, shaking, as the arrow fell to the ground.

  “There you go, old friend.” Uriah patted his other shoulder. “Now’s the fun part. Thief, use my torch to heat your blade.”

  Hearing Uriah issue orders brought Torsten back to simpler times following Liam into battle, though it may have been the pain.

  “I’m sorry, since when do you give me orders?” Whitney remarked.

  “Just listen to him, kid,” Torsten moaned.

  “If we do not seal the wound, infection is likely. That will kill him quicker than any satyr or spider—Bliss or not.”

  Whitney took the torch, eyed it quizzically. “You want me to…”

  “Men,” Sora sighed. “Don’t do it, Whitney, unless you want his screams to attract whatever out there is worse than Satyrs. I can heal him. I won’t let the Shesaitju kill anybody else.”

  “Sora, last time you almost—”

  “Last time, the wound was fatal. This is just one hateful knight being a baby.”

  “I don’t want to have to carry you.”

  “You won’t.” Sora blew by Whitney toward Torsten, her knife drawn and her bandaged hand fully stretched open.

  “What is this?” Torsten asked.

  “You’re sure you’re capable?” Uriah asked.

  Sora nodded.

  “Capable of what?” Torsten said.

  “I could sense how special you were the moment I saw you, blood mage. Nesilia would welcome you with open arms.”

  “Good for her,” Sora said.

  Uriah placed a hand on Torsten’s good shoulder to keep him steady. Torsten watched in horror as the Panping witch knelt in front of him, then slowly slid her blade across her hand. She cut deep, flinching as the blood oozed out.

  “What is this madness?” Torsten said. He fidgeted as Sora reached toward him, but Uriah held him steady. “In the name of Iam, don’t you lay your cursed hand on me!”

  “I am sorry if you’re not a fan of magic. But yours is not the only life at risk here. Now hold still.”

  “Watch out, he’s bigger than that rancher,” Whitney said. “And infinitely more bullheaded.”

  Torsten continued to resist. “I will not be party to this heresy!”

  Sora lay her bloodied hand over the wound even as Torsten protested. The moment the bond was made, Torsten was rendered still. Cool blue smoke rose from the wound and Sora grimaced as if in incredible pain. His wound immediately stopped hurting, but he felt a deep chill spreading up his arm and across his chest—cold like he’d been half-buried in the Drav Cra Tundra.

  “Iam protect me,” he whispered over and over... Though he realized he was saying no words. His throat was closed and he couldn’t speak.

  Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the feeling was gone. Sora fell back into Whitney’s waiting arms, panting uncontrollably.

  Torsten sprang to his feet. He gasped, then glanced down. Where there had just been a hole, only a streak of red and dried mud remained around a barely visible scar. He stretched his arm, rotating it in wide circles. No blood. No puss. No gaping wound. He felt completely fine.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” A wide-eyed Uriah asked.

  “My teacher says it comes naturally to me… said…” Sora muttered, barely able to speak above a whisper. The magic left Torsten feeling like he could face any foe but left her unable to stand without Whitney’s help.

  “I would like to meet—”

  “What is this devilry?” Torsten barked, his shock finally waning enough for him to speak.

  “I healed you, you ungrateful triss.”

  “With the powers of the fallen gods themselves!”

  “You could show a little gratitude, Torsten,” Whitney said. “That takes a lot out of her.”

  “To her? I don’t even know who she is, but she has no place here.”

  “She’s an old friend from the homestead that wanted to help.”

  “Why am I not surprised that you are friends with a witch?”

  Sora reeled around. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead as she huffed. She looked like she was ready to pass out. “You are the most insufferable, hateful, ignorant—”

  Torsten could have sworn he saw small flames bursting in her eyes.

  “Everyone stop.” Uriah’s voice was soft but authoritative. It was almost as if the very words were a spell. Torsten couldn’t help but comply with his old mentor.

  “This is helping no one, Torsten,” he said. “If you only heed my advice once more, heed this: thank the lady, and let us destroy Bliss together—like old times.”

  Torsten shifted the aim of his ire. “There is nothing about this that resembles ‘old times.’ My mission is to find Redstar and, forgive me, but I will not take the word of a traitor. I don’t care who you are.”

  “I don’t know, I think we let him tag along,” Whitney said.

  “He locked us both in cages! Lies spew from his mouth now as if it is his very nature.”

  “He saved our skin. Plus…a dire wolf? There’s a good chance we are going to need him.”

  “Then go with him. Go with both these heretics. My soul is with Iam and the Glass alone.” Torsten snatched up his sword, placed it in his back-scabbard and started trudging away.

  “You promised me a name!” Whitney shouted. Torsten didn’t even slow down.

  “Stop,” Uriah said. “Let me lead you to where I know Redstar had last been.”

  “Why would you know that?” Whitney asked.

  Torsten stopped and spun back. Uriah stood, calmly stroking the neck of his pet. “Yes,” he said. “Why would you know that?”

  “Don’t misunderstand. I never did find t
he man after the Oleander sent me after him, but I’ve heard of his exploits. His apostles left him to die after he forced them to hide here. Now, as you know, they continue the great cause he abandoned at my side.”

  Torsten stormed back, hand on the grip of his sword. The giant wolf at Uriah’s side crouched and let out a low growl, the hair on his back rising. “You said he abandoned them to come here.”

  “I’m sorry, Torsten,” Uriah said. He rested a hand on the wolf’s head. The beast calmed immediately. “I wanted to tell you everything, but you wouldn’t listen to reason. I didn’t want you to go chasing ghosts.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Sora muttered, still using Whitney as a crutch.

  “You betrayed me and the Glass,” Torsten said. “You betrayed Iam. Your King!”

  “Do you serve Queen Oleander?”

  “I serve all the royal family.”

  “Even her?”

  Torsten nodded.

  “Why?” Uriah asked. “What has she ever done for you?”

  “She is the wife of Liam and the mother of our present King—if Liam trusted her, so shall I.”

  “She’s not bad to look at either,” Whitney added. Torsten and Sora shot daggers his way. “What? I met her.”

  “You did not,” Sora said.

  “Well, I saw her. Running. From a great distance.”

  “I tried to tell you the truth in the ruins,” Uriah continued. “The truth on many things, but you would not see. Nesilia is not who you believe her to be, Torsten. Imagine Iam to be like King Liam.”

  “More than any man who ever lived,” Torsten said, back straight and head tall.

  “Now imagine Nesilia as the Queen.”

  “Blasphemy!”

  “The answers were all there in my camp. The Drav Cra seers have a hymn. When I heard it from Redstar’s lost disciples, I finally saw. I knew what I had to do.”

  Uriah cleared his throat and began to sing softly. His voice was raspy, coarse, but Torsten and the others couldn’t help but listen.

  When last the dew drops come to dry

  Clouds and heavens unleash a cry

  Dragons bellow, thunder cracks

  When truth’s forsaken, the sky grows black

  The fire levels meadow plains

  And smoke devours; ne’er wains

  Beneath the earth her death she feigns

  The God and Goddess cease their reigns

  “This is absurd,” Torsten interrupted.

  Whitney hushed him. “Let him continue, I liked the tune.”

  Uriah smiled and went on.

  Nary a whisper; nary a word

  Nary a flight of galler bird

  It ended terse with his anger spurred

  Love destroyed by a witch; the third

  Eye always wary and never known fear

  Abruptly disrupted by a single shed tear

  Beneath soil and stone, the Lady awaits

  The heart of her lover shall ne’er abate

  Biding her time, her pain like a flood

  A torrent of anger, a flowering bud

  One for the Lady and one for the Lord

  Shall settle it all with power and sword”

  When he was done, the silence was palpable. Not even Whitney spoke.

  “That could be about anything,” Torsten finally rebuked. “Bard’s songs and poet’s musings.”

  “Sounds pretty clear to me,” Whitney said. Sora slapped his arm.

  “They were lovers Torsten,” Uriah said. “It is the lie we’ve all been taught. That Iam stood alone in defense of man during the God Feud and let his brethren destroy each other in their arrogance. But he was not alone. You see, to follow Iam is to follow Nesilia. They are bound eternally like you to your King and country. Why shouldn’t even Iam find love?”

  Torsten stared, incredulous.

  “I’m not asking you to believe fully at this moment,” Uriah continued. “But please, trust the man you once knew?” He extended his hand. “It is the One Who Remained who is the root of all evil in this world. Redstar’s followers showed me that after I survived her wrath. She is spider, she is satyr, she is every foul demon loosed upon our world from Elsewhere. But most of all, she is Bliss and we must snuff out that evil in the name of the light.”

  “I’m confused,” Whitney said after a brief silence. Torsten’s head whipped toward him like a powder keg had gone off. “Aren’t we here to steal a doll?”

  “A powerful Drav Cra effigy cursed by a rejected brother,” Uriah clarified. “Redstar fled here, and it is here he fell with what was taken. If he did bring it, it will be where his followers claim they abandoned him: in the lair of The One who remained. In the lair of Spider Queen Bliss.”

  “Blasphemy,” Torsten said again, but no one was listening anymore.

  “Then we have to go there,” Sora declared. Her strength seemed to have returned, leaving Whitney’s side and standing on her own, dark eyes glimmering.

  Even without any promised reward, she appeared to care more about the quest than the thief. But Torsten had encountered enough blood mages in cults and covens throughout the kingdom—followers of Nesilia and other fallen gods, or worst of all, followers of nothing at all, those who simply desired power for power’s sake. They were most dangerous of all.

  “I will take you there,” Uriah said. “But only on one condition.”

  “And what might that be?” Torsten said through his teeth.

  “That if you find what you’re looking for there, you will consider helping us destroy Bliss. I will not judge should you walk away, but when you see what wickedness she is capable of, I believe you will see as I do, Holy Knight.”

  “I know what I’ll choose,” Whitney said.

  “A fight?” Sora said.

  He scoffed. “Of course, it seems fair to me.”

  The teachings of Iam warned against any mortal who would turn to Elsewhere for power, but as Torsten scanned the ranks of the three unexpected people he’d found company with in the Webbed Woods, he realized the truth: if he had to risk the wrath of Iam in order to save the Glass, then so be it. If the grief-stricken Queen allowed that heathen army of Black Sands to invade, the Kingdom of Iam would fall regardless.

  Torsten clasped Uriah’s hand and pulled him in close. “Do not betray us.”

  “We serve the same side.” Uriah snapped his fingers, and a handful of cultists emerged from behind trees. They wore those same terrifying, expressionless masks as they had in Oxgate.

  Whitney spun, one hand on the hilt of a dagger and the other holding Sora. “Oh, not these guys again.”

  Torsten’s hand instinctively went to his weapon as well.

  “Relax,” Uriah said. “They listen to me now. We will lead you.”

  Uriah, Gryff and his followers set off through the forest. Torsten eyed Whitney and Sora who, like him, hesitated to follow a fallen knight and a bunch of the Buried Goddess’ monks further into the blackness of the Webbed Woods.

  Torsten took a deep breath, lowered his hand from his sword, and waved them along. Finding anything in the place except for killer vines and demonic satyrs would be impossible without guides.

  What choice was there?

  XXXIII

  The Thief

  “THERE’S ANOTHER!” Whitney said, pointing at one of the red blisters on a tree trunk. None of them knew what they were, but they seemed harmless enough, and it was passing the time.

  “No one else is playing this stupid game,” Sora said.

  “We’ve been walking through the canvas of the world’s most boring painter. Just dark greens and black and then suddenly… look, darker green! Over and over again. I have to do something to stay sane.”

  “It’s only been a couple of hours, Whit.”

  “Longest of my life.”

  “Won’t be much farther,” Uriah said. His pet—the scariest pet alive—a dire wolf, still stalked beside him, occasionally sniffing at shrubs shrouded in darkness. His cultist followers
kept a wide perimeter, nothing but shadows moving with them.

  Uriah stopped suddenly. He said something in a foreign language and his cultists gathered and sprinted off in another direction.

  “What did you say?” Whitney stuttered.

  “I told them to scout ahead,” Uriah replied. “We’re not far.”

  “You’re sure where we’re going is where Redstar was last seen?” Torsten asked.

  “I’m sure you’ll find his rotting remains, yes.”

  “Lovely thought,” Whitney said.

  “I didn’t say it would be lovely or easy,” Uriah said. “I’ve made it clear from the start: this quest is not smart. Bliss is the true enemy.”

  Torsten grunted but kept plowing forward. His sword was out now, and he used it to carve a path through vines and branches. The deeper they delved into the woods, the more congested they grew. Maybe it was the smothering darkness making Whitney imagine it, but he could barely stretch out his arm in any direction without hitting a tree, as if they were closing in all around them. The smell of death and decay surged stronger the deeper into the woods they traveled.

  “When you say, ‘we’re not far,’ what does that mean to you?” Whitney asked after Iam knows how much longer walking. His legs were beginning to grow sore.

  “Do you ever stop talking?” Torsten spat. “Keep quiet or we’re going to end up attracting more enemies.”

  “Are you forgetting about the giant wolf flanking us?”

  “You can call him Gryff,” Uriah said.

  “It’s got a name?”

  Uriah raised one hand to stop everyone. One of his cultists suddenly appeared from around a tree and nearly gave Whitney a heart attack.

  Whitney squeezed Sora’s arm. Her glare frightened him further.

  The cultists said something in that same foreign language. Uriah replied, then thanked him. He pointed over Torsten’s shoulder. “See that ridge? Her lair is just beyond, but we don’t believe her to be there.”