Rise of the Spider Goddess (6 page)

“What I do know,” he added, “is that Olara must not be allowed to continue her existence on this world. It is not a matter of good or evil, it is a matter of survival. If Olara remains, she will eventually destroy everything.”

“Everything,” he repeated, emphasizing the point.

Then he looked into Nakor's eyes. To Nakor, it felt as if those eyes were piercing into his soul. He felt an uncomfortable urge to squirm, but suppressed it.

“And you must be the one to destroy her.”

Nakor blinked. “Perhaps I'm just a little slow, Thomas, but would you mind explaining how you came to that conclusion?”

“You have never been in the underground vault, have you?” Thomas asked. Without waiting for an answer, he rose to his feet. “Follow me,” he said, walking past the altar to the door directly behind it.

Confused by this sudden change of subject, Nakor got to his feet and followed after Thomas. Pynne floated gently after, and Galadrion walked behind her.

Thomas opened the door, revealing a narrow, winding staircase that descended into darkness. Taking a step down, he paused to reach into a small niche in the left wall. He withdrew a smooth wooden stick, as big around as a man's thumb, with a silver sphere on one end. As soon as it emerged from its hole, the sphere began to glow, emitting a strong blue light.

“One of our bright initiates designed this,” said Thomas, leading the party down the stairs. “It's rather ingenious, actually. We still haven't figured out quite how it works.” He stopped at the bottom of the staircase. “Ah, here we are.”

They stood before another wooden door. Unlike the other doors in the temple, however, this one had no handle. Instead, a circular copper plate had been bolted to the center of the door at chest level. It was relatively undecorated, with a small, round depression in the middle. Thomas took his amulet and placed it into that depression.

With a click, the door swung open. “We don't allow most people to get down here,” Thomas explained as they passed through the doorway.

They entered into a large room, much bigger than the temple above. Rows of shelves filled the room. On a few of the shelves, different amulets, wands, and other items were neatly arranged. Other shelves held endless numbers of books. Built into the walls were hundreds of small holes, each about the width of a man's fist.

Thomas led them through the maze of shelves. After a while, he stopped and handed his glowing light to Nakor. He studied the wall for a moment, counting silently to himself.

“Ah, here it is,” he said at last. Leaning down, he withdrew a scroll out of one of the holes in the wall.

“It gets so hard to remember which scrolls are in which hole,” he commented. The one he held in his hand was yellowed with age. He slipped the ancient ribbon off with ease, for the scroll held naturally to its tightly coiled shape.

Our priesthood doesn't believe in the Dewey Decimal System! Or labels.

“If you could assist me,” Thomas asked, looking at Pynne.

He handed one end of the scroll to the pixie, and gingerly began to unwind it. Once it was fully unfurled, the scroll was over six feet long. Thomas gestured for Galadrion to hold the other end, and took the light from Nakor.

“This is the collected works of Ellana, a priestess of Olara,” Thomas explained, skimming through the document.

“She described a great spell that would free Olara, and return her to her rightful glory.”

Thomas brought the light close, finding what he was searching for.

“However, she also wrote that ‘Olara's new life shall be the means of her true death. Only one who restores the goddess will have the power to destroy her, and he shall strike her down with that power.'”

Thomas continued. “That was a rough translation of the original Elvish, but Ellana specifically referred to a ‘he,'” He looked at Nakor. “You are the only surviving male who participated in Olara's resurrection.”

Sexist prophecy is sexist.

Nobody spoke for a moment. Then Pynne asked “Is there any reason we should believe this prophecy?”

Thomas nodded. “There are other predictions concerning Olara's priesthood in the scroll, all of which have occurred. The passage I read is one of the few which has not yet been fulfilled.”

All of the predictions have come true, except for the ones that haven't. Sounds legit.

He pointed to a spot near the end of the scroll. “Here, Ellana describes her own death, which occurred shortly after she completed the scroll.”

“We believed this to be the only copy of Ellana's work,” Thomas continued. “However, if Olara has become aware of the prophecy, it could explain the recent attacks against you.”

Pynne chose this point to let out an enormous yawn.

I know exactly how she feels.

“My apologies,” said Thomas with a smile. “I will show you to a room you may sleep in for as long as you need.”

Handing the light back to Nakor, Thomas took the scroll from Galadrion and began to carefully roll it back into its original form. Once finished, he slipped the ribbon over one end and set the scroll back into its niche in the wall.

Turning, Thomas led them back out of the vault, pausing only once to take a small trinket from one of the shelves. Upon returning to the main level of the temple, Thomas pointed to one of the doors. “It's a small room, but it will allow you to rest.”

As the trio turned to go, Thomas gestured to Galadrion. She looked back.

Thomas handed her the small, round coin he had taken from the vault. As she looked at him with a questioning gaze, he explained. “I am aware of some of the difficulties you face. That will allow you to travel unharmed in daylight.” He gave her a small pouch with a long drawstring that could be word around the neck.

Anyone else curious who the heck Thomas is, or why he's helping our heroes, or what made him decide to hand a super-powerful item to a strange vampire? It's been a long time, but I think the answer was, “Because that's what I wrote on the outline.”

Galadrion studied the small, golden coin. There was a stylized picture of the sun on one side, with symbols from some foreign language on the other. She nodded her head once in thanks, and dropped the coin into the pouch. Slipping it over her neck, she turned to follow the others.

The first thing they saw after entering the small room was Whoo, sleeping contentedly on a small straw mat. Pynne flew to his side immediately, examining his newly regenerated wings. Nakor smiled for a moment, then went over to collapse onto another mat. Galadrion unbuckled her sword and carefully placed it on the ground before sitting down in front of the door. There she watched, back against the door, as Pynne and Nakor joined Whoo in his slumber.

* * *

Nakor stood on the edge of a cliff, looking out into the sandy wastelands beyond. The sky was a deep red color, and the wind blew small whirlwinds of sand around his feet.

He turned around, trying to figure out where he was. “Galadrion?” he called. “Pynne? Whoo?”

“They aren't here, Nakor,” replied a deep feminine voice.

Instantly, Nakor's rapier was out and ready. He looked around, searching for the source of the voice.

“Where are you, Olara?”

There was a brief shimmering of light to his left, and the Spider Goddess appeared out of thin air. “Hello, my friend,” she said warmly.

She glanced at the sword in Nakor's hand. “I see,” she said with mock surprise, “you seek to destroy me.” Her face took on an expression of pain, as if she were deeply hurt by Nakor's malevolence.

Suddenly she was armed. In one hand, she held a black sword. A stylized spider formed the crossguard, and the blade seemed to radiate darkness from within. In her other hand she held a matching dagger. “Very well,” she said, anger rising in her voice, “if this is the way it must be.”

Nakor had seen Olara's weapons before. He backed up a step, seeking to put distance between them. The magical blades were enchanted to be razor sharp, as well as being unbreakable. The real power, however, lay in their ability to drain the blood from a body within seconds, leaving their victims dead before they could fall to the ground.

Suddenly Olara lunged forward and swung her sword. Nakor stepped back, raising his rapier to block. He watched in despair as Olara's black sword sliced cleanly through his blade, leaving him defenseless.

Nakor took another step back and stopped, suddenly realizing that the edge of the cliff was right behind him. There was nowhere else to run.

Olara smiled sadly. “I'm terribly sorry, my dear Nakor. But surely you must have known the futility of your quest.” Her voice grew louder as she spoke. “The gods themselves could not destroy me! And now, you truly seek to accomplish that which the gods could not?”

Her sword vanished. Nakor watched as she slowly took the dagger in her right hand, holding the blade in a throwing position. “I wish it didn't have to be this way,” she said, a cruel smile upon her face.

As she raised her hand to throw, Nakor turned and leapt from the cliff. Her deep, mocking laughter followed him down as he fell.

He landed on the floor of a damp, dimly lit hallway, flat on his back. He looked up in confusion, then rolled to one side to avoid the axe that was descending from above toward the middle of his head. As the axe thudded into the ground, inches from his ear, Nakor grabbed it by the handle and rolled backward, bringing his feet over his head to kick the axe-wielding goblin in the stomach.

Nakor leapt to his feet as the goblin stumbled back. As the goblin was wrenching his axe from the ground, Nakor pulled his rapier from its sheath. Now where had that come from, he wondered, studying the undamaged weapon in his hand.

Once armed, it was relatively easy for Nakor to dispatch the goblin. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was now. He was in a long, narrow hallway. There was a slight musty smell in the air. It all seemed vaguely familiar somehow, as did the goblin who had attacked him.

Dang. Even in dreams, it sucks to be a goblin.

Nakor pulled his dark purple cloak around him, using it to help blend into the darkness. Still holding his sword in front of him, he began to walk noiselessly down the hallway.

Up ahead, the tunnel branched off in two directions. Nakor stopped a little ways before the fork, for he heard noises coming from one of the tunnels.

As he watched, a pair of skeletons walked into view, their bone feet clicking against the stone floor. Each of them held old, battered swords in one hand and equally decrepid shields in the other.

I have absolutely no idea what the point of this sequence was. Or why I never bothered to spellcheck my manuscript.

Nakor stepped back, hoping to avoid being seen. But some magical sense of the animated dead alerted them to his presence, and they turned toward him.

With a sigh, Nakor stepped into the center of the tunnel. Holding his sword in a guard position, he raised his left hand and cast a spell. He didn't know how susceptible the skeletons would be to fire, but hopefully the distraction would give him time to escape.

Pain shot through his entire arm, and the world blurred briefly. Nakor blinked, to see the two skeletons still advancing.

The lead skeleton swung its sword, knocking Nakor's rapier aside and slashing him across the ribs. Nakor winced in pain and backed away, glancing down at the cut in his side. It was not a fatal wound, but it was a painful one. A look of shock crossed Nakor's face as he realized what had happened. His spell had failed. Taking a few steps backward, Nakor turned and ran.

As he stumbled along, holding his side, Nakor cursed to himself. He knew, now, where he was. Somehow, he was once again in Olara's temple, the same temple which he had entered two years ago when he had first freed the goddess. Nakor remembered the first time he had tried to cast a spell inside the temple. He remembered his surprise as the spell failed, sending pain through his body. Something about the temple had prevented anyone from using magic. Calugar had explained it as an effect of the incredible magic used by the gods in this place. It distorted the lesser spells used by mortals.

Aha! That's right, this was a flashback-in-a-dream. How original!

Whatever the explanation, it complicated matters immensely. Nakor stopped to listen. The skeletons had fallen behind, but he could still hear their footsteps in the distance as they followed.

Sheathing his rapier, Nakor pulled a leather sling from his belt. He reached into his pack and withdrew a pouch, from which he took a small lead ball. Dropping the ball into his sling, he replaced the pouch in his pack and he waited.

As the clicking footsteps of his foes drew closer, Nakor began to twirl his sling overhead, still holding his side with one hand. The moment the first skeleton came into view, Nakor launched his small sling bullet.

The lead ball streaked through the air and impacted with the skeleton's skull, sending splinters of bone in every direction. It collapsed to the ground in a pile of bone and metal.

The second skeleton dropped its shield and picked up the sword of its companion. Holding a weapon in each hand, it advanced toward Nakor.

Hastily tucking the sling back into his belt, Nakor turned to run. If he could repeat this trick, he might be able to get away.

Behind him, the skeleton stopped. Drawing back its arm, it hurled one of its two swords at Nakor's retreating form.

Nakor stumbled to the ground as the sword sliced across his legs. He tried to stand, but the cuts on the back of his legs prevented it. Taking a deep breath, he rolled over and drew his rapier. There he waited, trying to marshall enough strength together to defend himself.

All too soon, the skeleton was there, swinging its sword. Nakor brought his rapier up to block the blow, feeling the impact numb his arm. Again the skeleton struck, and again Nakor parried. He was sweating now, as the skeleton began to beat through his defense. Then he saw an opening.