Chapter 12
Heart of the Mountain
June
After breakfast, I find myself staring at the small mountain of dishes with a familiar practical assessment. Even monsters, it seems, aren’t exempt from the mundane aftermath of cooking.
“Do you have a dishwasher?” I ask, already gathering plates.
Riven clicks his mandibles and averts his gaze. “I do. I’ve never used it.”
“Never?” I turn to look at him, plate in hand. “And you’ve had this beautiful kitchen for how long?”
“Four years, two months, and sixteen days,” he answers without hesitation.
“And you’ve never once used the dishwasher?”
He shrugs, the movement rippling through his massive frame. “I rarely cook.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day,” I announce, setting the plate down. “I'll be giving you a crash course.”
His eyes focus on me with that intense, predatory attention that makes my stomach flutter. “You want to teach me how to load a dishwasher?”
“Someone has to.” I grin at him. “Unless you prefer washing everything by hand?”
“My hands are perfectly capable,” he says, flexing his long, chitinous fingers. “But I’m always eager to learn human customs.”
For the next fifteen minutes, I guide him through the mundane art of properly arranging dishes.
He approaches the task with the same meticulous focus I imagine he uses for his silk weaving, asking clarifying questions about optimal placement and the scientific reasoning behind detergent pod composition.
“My mother would have liked you,” I say without thinking as I watch him carefully position a coffee mug.
“Oh?” All eyes swivel toward me.
I busy myself with pre-rinsing a plate. “She was thorough like you. Always wanted to understand how things worked.”
“Tell me about her,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
The request catches me off guard. No one asks about my mom anymore. Dad and I have an unspoken agreement to mention her only in passing, preserving our memories without reopening wounds.
“She was a math teacher,” I begin, surprised by how easily the words come.
“Brilliant with numbers. She got sick when I was fourteen. By fifteen, she was gone.” I hand him a plate to load.
“Dad and I, we just… kept going. The delivery business was smaller then, just local packages around town. After she died, we expanded to the mountain routes. I think Dad needed the solitude of those long drives.”
“And you?” Riven asks.
“I needed to be useful,” I admit. “I handled the logistics for a while, then when Dad hurt his back, we switched roles. But I’ve always liked the work. It was something I could control when everything else felt chaotic.”
Riven nods, his large frame somehow conveying understanding without words.
“What about you?” I ask, eager to shift attention away from myself. “I mean, you weren’t always alone up here, were you?”
His mandibles click more rapidly, a sign of discomfort I’m beginning to recognize. “I’ve been solitary for most of my existence. It’s safer that way.”
“Safer for who?”
“For everyone,” he says simply. “Especially humans. Your kind doesn’t respond well to… this.” He gestures to his imposing form.
“Some of us do,” I counter, deliberately brushing my hand against his.
He makes that rumbling sound low in his thorax that I find oddly comforting. “You’re an anomaly, June Hartwell.”
“I don’t think I am. Not anymore, at least. Not since the Great Unveiling.” I close the dishwasher and show him which buttons to press. “People are getting used to monsters being around.”
“Are they?” There’s a weight of experience in his voice that makes me feel young and na?ve.
“Three years after the Unveiling, I came across a family camping in my territory. A black bear was stalking their site—mother with cubs nearby, highly aggressive. The humans had no idea the danger they were in.”
I lean against the counter, watching his face as he speaks.
“I intervened. Drove the bear away without harming it. When I turned back to the humans…” He pauses, mandibles clicking softly.
“The father was holding a knife, prepared to fight me while the mother screamed and clutched their child. The fear in their eyes… It wasn’t for the bear that would have attacked them, but for me, their protector. ”
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling the words are inadequate.
“After that, I decided observation was sufficient. I watch human television, I sell my work through Celeste, I order what I need delivered. It’s a satisfactory arrangement.”
“Is it?” I challenge gently. “You have this beautiful home, but no one to share it with.”
“I have you now,” he says with such simple certainty that my heart skips.
“For a few days,” I remind him, though the thought sends an unexpected pang through me. “Until the roads clear.”
His eyes fix on me with laser focus. “Yes. Until then.”
An uncomfortable silence stretches between us. I fumble for a way to change the subject.
“So, you mentioned your work,” I say brightly. “Celeste said you’re a master weaver. Can I see where you create your tapestries?”
Riven goes completely still, all six eyes widening slightly. “You want to see my workshop?”
“Is that okay?” I ask, suddenly uncertain. “I mean, if it’s private—”
“It’s not that.” He shifts his weight, legs moving in that hypnotic pattern. “My workshop is… less human-accommodating than the rest of the house.”
“You mean it’s more… Vyder?”
He nods. “It’s the cave portion of my dwelling. The center of my web network.”
“Now I definitely want to see it.”
Riven studies me for a long moment, as if weighing a significant decision. Finally, he extends a hand. “Very well. This way.”
He leads me through the modern part of his home to a solid, natural wall at the end of a hallway. With a press of his palm against an imperceptible sensor, a section slides open, revealing a passage carved directly into the mountainside.
Cool air rushes out, carrying a faint, sweet scent I can’t identify. Riven hesitates at the threshold, suddenly looking uncertain.
“No human has ever entered this space,” he admits.
I take his hand, threading my fingers through his. “I’m honored to be the first.”
He nods, then leads me forward. The passage slopes gently downward, lights activating automatically as we move deeper into the mountain. The walls transition from finished drywall to polished stone, the ceiling gradually rising until I realize we’re entering a much larger space.
And then we emerge into the chamber, and I stop breathing.
The word “cathedral” comes to mind, but it’s wholly inadequate. We’re standing in an enormous natural cavern, at least three stories high, its ceiling lost in shadows. But what makes me gasp isn’t the size—it’s what Riven has created within it.
Thousands of silk strands stretch in all directions, creating a three-dimensional lattice that seems to defy physics.
Some are as thick as ropes, others delicate as thread, all forming an intricate structure that fills the space without cluttering it.
Suspended throughout this framework are the most breathtaking tapestries I’ve ever seen.
“Riven,” I whisper, afraid to break the spell of this place. “This is…”
Words fail me. The tapestries range from abstract explosions of color to photorealistic landscapes to complex geometric patterns that seem to shift as I look at them. Some appear to glow from within with a soft blue bioluminescence, creating pools of light throughout the cavern.
“This is where I work,” he says simply, but I can hear the pride beneath his restraint.
I walk forward slowly, afraid to disturb anything. The floor beneath my feet is smooth stone, but a few steps in, it gives way to a bouncy, resilient surface.
“Silk,” Riven explains. “More comfortable for extended work sessions.”
I continue deeper into the space, marveling at how the tapestries are displayed. Unlike a traditional gallery with works confined to walls, Riven’s creations hang at various heights and angles throughout the three-dimensional space, creating a completely immersive experience.
“How do you reach the ones up there?” I ask, pointing to a particularly stunning piece suspended near the ceiling.
In answer, Riven simply walks to a thick vertical strand and begins to climb, his eight legs effortlessly finding purchase. He scales thirty feet in seconds, then hangs inverted from a horizontal strand to adjust the tapestry in question.
Watching him move in his natural environment is mesmerizing. Here, his monstrous form isn’t awkward or frightening. Instead, it’s perfectly adapted, powerful, and strangely beautiful. He navigates his web with a fluid confidence that makes my breath catch.
When he returns to my side, I’m still staring upward in awe. “How long did it take to weave all of these?”
“Many decades.” He gestures to different sections. “The older works are there, newer explorations here. The commissions that pay for my modern conveniences are in that alcove.”
I walk slowly, taking everything in. “They’re amazing, Riven. This whole place is amazing.”
He makes that pleased rumbling sound again, clearly gratified by my reaction.
In the center of the cavern, I notice several large, bowl-shaped structures suspended from the main web. They’re lined with impossibly soft, fluffy silk, creating inviting nests.
“What are those?” I ask, pointing.
“Resting hammocks,” he says. “For when I work long sessions and need to rejuvenate. While I enjoy the modern comfort of a mattress, sometimes I become obsessed and can’t leave the cavern until I finish a piece.”
I walk toward the nearest one, reaching out to touch the downy silk. It’s unbelievably soft, like it’s made out of a cloud.
“Is this how you used to sleep, before modernizing?”
“Yes.” He pauses, then adds, “The hammocks are… a Vyder tradition.”
Something in his tone makes me look up sharply. “What kind of tradition?”
“They serve multiple purposes. Work rest, certainly, but also…” He stops, seeming to search for words.
“Also?” I prompt.