Chapter 18
Roots of the Problem
Riven
There are exactly three things I’ve learned about human females from my extensive research of reality television: they enjoy elaborate displays of affection, they constantly require verbal reassurance, and they are incapable of traversing rough terrain without falling.
June, as with most things, proves to be the exception, but I’m not taking my chances considering who we’re going up against.
“Are you sure this isn’t weird?” she asks, adjusting herself on the custom saddle strapped across the back of my thorax. The sun has barely begun to peek over the eastern ridge as we prepare to depart.
“Weird would be you attempting to hike twenty miles of mountain terrain before noon,” I reply, flexing my legs experimentally to ensure the saddle’s stability. “Besides, I made this equipment for a reason.”
“Yeah, about that.” She leans forward, her breath warm against my sensitive neck plates. “You just happened to have a human-sized saddle lying around?”
If my exoskeleton could flush, it would. “I had… anticipated recreational activities involving forest canopy traversal.”
“Recreational—” She stops, and I can practically feel the moment understanding dawns. “Oh my god. You made this so we could have sex while swinging through trees like Tarzan.”
“I’m unfamiliar with this Tarzan, but your assessment is not entirely inaccurate.”
Her laughter vibrates against my back, sending pleasant tingles through my nervous system. “You’re unbelievable. Also, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”
I make a mental note: June appreciates sexual innovation. The reality shows got something right after all.
“Are you secure?” I ask, deliberately changing the subject before my body can react inappropriately to her proximity. The mission requires focus.
“As secure as I’ll ever be on the back of an enormous spider monster,” she says, but her hands settle confidently on the specialized grips I designed. “Let’s go.”
Without further warning, I launch us forward.
The sensation of carrying June is unlike anything I’ve experienced in my eighty years of solitude.
Her weight is negligible—I could carry five of her without strain—but her presence changes everything about how I move.
I’m acutely aware of every shift in her body, every tiny gasp as we navigate terrain that would be impassable to humans.
I scale a nearly vertical rock face, my specialized limbs finding purchase in microscopic crevices. June’s heart rate spikes as her thighs tighten around me.
“Holy shit,” she breathes as we reach the top, and the valley spreads before us like a topographical map. “Is this how you see the world all the time?”
“My vision is primarily adapted for detecting movement and reading minute vibrations,” I explain, pausing to let her absorb the view. “But yes, mobility has its advantages.”
“Advantages,” she echoes faintly. “That’s one word for it.”
We continue across the ridge, my pace quickening now that we’ve reached flatter ground.
I can move at over forty miles per hour on optimal terrain, though I’m moderating my speed for June’s comfort.
Even so, the wind whips her scent toward me—that intoxicating blend of her natural pheromones, my silk underwear against her skin, and the lingering traces of our mating.
Mine. The word pulses through me with each stride.
“You okay back there?” I ask, noting her increased heart rate.
“I’m… yeah.” Her voice sounds strained. “Just processing the fact that my boyfriend can outrun a car while carrying me like I weigh nothing. It’s a lot.”
Boyfriend. The human term seems comically inadequate for what we are to each other. In Vyder terms, she is my mate, my intended, my forever. But humans require different labels, different timelines. I’ve learned to accommodate.
“Is it unpleasant?” I ask, concerned.
“God, no.” Her fingers tighten on the grips. “It’s the hottest thing ever. Like, inappropriately hot given that we’re heading toward a potentially life-threatening confrontation.”
I allow myself a moment of pride. “Your arousal is noted and appreciated.”
“Of course you can sense that,” she mutters. “Your spider senses are unfair.”
I consider explaining that it’s less about “spider senses” and more about the specific chemical changes in her perspiration combined with minute alterations in her body temperature and heart rhythm, but decide against it. June prefers when I don’t over-explain biological processes.
We reach a stream, and I leap across it in a single bound. June lets out a startled laugh.
“Show-off,” she accuses, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
The terrain becomes more challenging as we approach our destination.
The logging site lies in a remote section of the mountain, deliberately difficult to access to discourage casual hikers from witnessing the devastation.
I slow our pace, senses heightening as we near the edge of my regular territory.
“We’re close,” I tell June, voice dropping. “From here, we proceed with caution. Kestra is… unstable. And powerful.”
June’s posture shifts from relaxed to alert. “Tell me about her. What exactly is she?”
It is now that I finally broach the topic of my suspect.
“Dryad is the closest human classification, though inadequate.” I navigate around a fallen tree, stepping carefully to minimize noise.
“She is a forest guardian, symbiotically connected to a specific ancient tree—an Old One. They live for millennia under normal circumstances, growing in power and wisdom.”
“And the logging company cut down her tree,” June concludes.
“Yes.” The word comes out harsher than intended. “A tree over three thousand years old, felled in minutes for lumber. Even I felt it from across the mountain.”
June’s hand rests gently on my shoulder. “So you knew Kestra before?”
“We had an understanding. Mountain territories often overlap. She kept to her forest; I kept to my caves and ridges.” I pause, an unfamiliar sensation of guilt washing over me. “I should have done more to help her.”
“What could you have done? Attacked them? Gotten yourself killed or captured?”
“Perhaps.” The guilt doesn’t abate. “But I did nothing. I watched. I waited. I hoped they would stop before reaching her grove.”
“And now she’s targeting the mountain for revenge,” June says. “Though I still don’t understand why she went after me specifically.”
I hesitate, then admit: “Because of me. Because you smell of me, of my territory. She knows you’re important to me.”
June is silent for a moment. “So I’m caught in some kind of monster territorial dispute? Great.”
“It’s more complex than—” I stop abruptly, all six of my eyes detecting the subtle shift in the landscape ahead. “We’re here.”
Before us lies what was once the heart of an ancient forest. Now it’s a graveyard of stumps stretching across fifty acres, the ground bare and lifeless. In the decade since its destruction, nothing has grown back. Not a sapling, not a weed, not even moss. The earth itself seems poisoned with grief.
And in the center of this desolation sits Kestra.
Even from a distance, the wrongness of her is apparent.
When I knew her before, she was a vibrant green, her form graceful and fluid like a willow in the wind.
The being before us is a twisted parody of that memory, with gnarled dark wood and thorns, her once-beautiful face split and raw like the heartwood of a lightning-struck oak.
I feel June’s sharp intake of breath. “Oh my god,” she whispers.
“Stay on my back,” I murmur. “If I tell you to run, you run. Understood?”
“But—”
“Understood?” I repeat, more firmly.
She sighs. “Understood.”
I approach slowly, each step deliberate. Kestra doesn’t move, but I know she’s aware of us. The air around her pulses with a dull, aching energy, the remnants of her power.
“Kestra,” I call when we’re twenty feet away. “I come without hostility.”
Her head turns with an audible creaking sound, like branches straining in high wind. Her eyes—once the clear green of new leaves—are now black and viscous, weeping a sap-like substance down her ravaged cheeks.
“Riven.” Her voice is barely recognizable, a rasping scratch like dead leaves across stone. “The mountain’s watcher.”
“I’ve come to speak with you,” I reply evenly. “About the damage to the mountain. About the threats to those below.”
She laughs, a sound like breaking branches. “Damage? You speak of damage?” She gestures around at the wasteland. “This was my heart. My soul. My child of three thousand years. And they took saws to her. They turned her into paper and furniture and toothpicks.”
I feel June trembling slightly against my back. Not from fear, I realize, but from empathy. Her heart rate has increased, but in the distinctive pattern I’ve come to associate with her emotional responses rather than terror.
“What happened was unforgivable,” I acknowledge. “But the humans you’re targeting now aren’t the ones responsible.”
“All humans are responsible!” Kestra shrieks, rising suddenly to her full height, nearly fifteen feet of twisted, thorny wood. The ground beneath us trembles. “They take and take and take without thought, without care!”
I remain still, though every predatory instinct screams to either attack or retreat with my mate to safety. “The mudslide,” I say instead. “The one that nearly killed June, my mate. That was your doing.”
“The human female who carries your scent all over my mountain?” Kestra’s head tilts at an unnatural angle. “Yes. A warning. One you clearly ignored.”
June shifts on my back, and before I can stop her, she speaks. “I understand you’re in pain—”
“You understand nothing!” Kestra howls, and the remaining stumps around us creak ominously. “What could a human possibly understand about watching your very soul be dismembered for the profit of others?”