Chapter Eighty. Spiders and Rubies.
Eighty
Spiders and Rubies.
On the far side of the gate, the mist is even thicker than I remember, and I’m battered from all sides as we go through the trees with their slapping branches.
Lavante is just too good at weaving in and out of that which I cannot see, another game he likes to play.
The torch that I got from the guards doesn’t help.
Flames flare and spit as I dodge the arboreal attacks, but all the golden light gets consumed in the thick humidity, frustrating me as I search for the drop-off down to the ruins—
We find the slope when Lavante’s hooves slip out from under him.
As he goes into a topple, I’m nearly unseated, and grab on to his mane to try to steady myself while also making sure I don’t light either of us on fire.
Even with his superior sense of balance, he’s falling sideways through the mist, his hooves digging for purchase, his grunts a testament to how hard he is working to recover.
I look back at where we were; then attempt to see forward.
If the mist persists below now, I worry that we’ll not be able to orient ourselves at the bottom and sure enough, we finish the scrambling descent without notice, the ground underfoot suddenly angling sharply to the flat.
I can see absolutely nothing.
And then, as I cue Lavante forward, there’s a sloppy sound.
Fates, I think we’re in the marshes. I’ve gotten turned around without knowing it, distracted by conjecture, fear, and sorrow—as well as our sloppy, flailing nosedive—so I didn’t check in with the compass. And now I’m certain we are much, much closer to the ocean than the ruins.
Pulling up on the reins, I squint as I look around even though that doesn’t help. If we keep going in the wrong direction, we’re going to get mired in, and that is going to be disastrous.
Arranging the torch under my leg, I mutter, “You need to stay still or that mane of yours is going to be the hair equivalent of kindling.”
Shucking off my pack, the compass finds my hand as if it’s ready to go to work, and I picture the ruins as clearly as I can recall them, with the megalithic sculpture in the center—
The top pops open, the map appears, and the spinning starts. My heartbeat redoubles as I try to imagine making this foolhardy attempt without the instrument—and I think of what Mr. Lewis said so very, very long ago.
“One makes it possible, the other is the reason for it,” I whisper under my breath.
I think of the crown of black crystals and resolve that somehow I’m going to get that ruby, and then I’m going to force the Queen to accept her destiny.
I had to accept mine even though I didn’t want to. And now here I am.
Her Royal-damn-Highness can do the same.
In the flicker of the torch, the directional notes on the compass face continue to go round and round, and the red arrow works in counter to that. As with before, it takes longer, as if the mist is a disorientator, but then the arrow settles and points behind us.
So I was right, we would have gone the wrong way.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I return the compass to its satchel and the satchel to its place in the pack on my back.
Lavante is agreeable to the about-turn and off we go, trudging our way along until the ground becomes solid.
It’s right about this time that the mist thins out—at least on the ground.
There’s still heavy cover overhead, and I try to tell myself that’s somehow an advantage.
I don’t know how, though, except for keeping dragons at bay?
But sometimes, we need to create our own optimism.
The ruins come up to us, it feels like, as opposed to my stallion and me approaching them, and I pull up on the reins while we’re still a couple of lengths outside the walling.
Though the diffused afternoon illumination remains choked by the fog, I remember enough about the layout to know where to enter between the crumbling statues and how we’re going to have to go.
I also see in my mind the web strands and cocoons that dot the lanes and pepper the collapsing buildings.
Like I’m ever going to forget being captured like that or the red eyes of those spiders.
Glancing at the torch, I know that the flame is going to have to do all of the work, and I can only pray that my foolhardy plan works. At least I didn’t plan on using the red wash and their supplication to my advantage. With this fog? There’s no sun to create the visual effect, no matter the hour.
“Faster than you’ve ever run.” I look down and think of the pavers we’re going to encounter. If there’s too much condensation on them, Lavante’s shod hooves will slip. “And fates, may you stay on your feet—”
With a shout and a strike of both heels, I command him to run.
Lavante is more than ready. The stallion tears off, making lightning speed over the grass.
As soon as we get to the gates, his hooves hit the stone lane, and the sound is a blaring drumroll.
With the wind ripping at me, I focus my attention on the torch, willing the flames to burn hotter and brighter—and just as the red fires that burst out of the red earth listened to my commands, so too does what tops the bundle of oil-soaked reeds.
If my flames go out, I’m dead.
If a lot of things happen … I’m dead.
Columns and broken statues fly by on both sides, and the salt in the air stings my eyes and coats my throat. I know that the spiders will come for us, I just pray that we are far enough along—
The first of them appears off to the left, eight-legging it out of whatever lairs they have.
My instinct is to charter our course to avoid them, but I can’t lose my concentration on the torch.
All I can do is hold on with my knees, focus on keeping the flames going, and trust Lavante to carry me down the lane to the statue.
Just as with the entry to the city, the center statue jumps out of the mist ahead of us.
By this time, we’re leading a parade of spiders, so there’s no time for an orderly dismount.
I pull back on the reins, and Lavante fights me for his head, as if he knows that speed is our friend if we want to escape. But that’s not what I need from him.
His velocity barely slows, however, and in the end, I just have to leap off. As I leave the saddle, I slap his rump so he carries on. Not that he wouldn’t keep going without me, his survival instinct being what it is.
I land in a tumble, rolling on the slick, wet pavers—
As I go to jump out of the momentum, there is a spider right in front of me.
The beast opens its mouth and starts to send out a silken thread. Whipping the torch up, I send the flames forward, and there’s an instant response to my mental command, a great burst of fire licking forth.
The spider squeals and backs away, but it’s too late for him. The arachnid is done for, the stench of burning hair and flesh wafting over as the spindly beast tries to escape what’s consuming it. There’s no time for triumph. Another takes its place. And another. And—
I wave the torch in a circle, and will the flames to form a barrier around me.
Somehow, this works and as I go forward, the webs that are sent my way sizzle into black smoke as they’re consumed by the billowing barrier.
I try not to think of how many are upon me, the whole of the colony called out, great, streaking lines of spiders flowing toward me, an evil tide.
When I arrive at the goddess statue, I see that she’s standing on a temple that forms her base.
The single-floored building is in tatters, all of its columns collapsed, as if it’s given way under the great weight of the stone above.
I’m going to have to find a way into it, and can only hope there’s an access point somewhere, although I’m worried about whether trying to figure my way around will make me lose the coverage of my flames: The spiders are constantly testing for lapses in the fire field, their silk forays coming from all angles—and I pray they can’t hop, because if one got on top of me, I’d lose my concentration and then for certain they’d all be on me.
Glancing up to the goddess’s stained and cracked robing, I visualize her palm and remember the beam of red light.
The Queen of the South Kingdom’s ruby is what sits there. That enormous stone is what catches that slice of sunlight that swings through the spires at a specific angle at a specific time, the refraction causing the temple and surrounding environs to change color.
And hypnotize the spiders.
I don’t know how it got there, who put it there, or why. All I care about is getting the gem down—and for that, now I need to go up—
Through the licking, dancing flames, I see a better path to the statue’s bottom.
Starting off with care, instead of trying to navigate an interior that might well collapse right on me, I mount one of the fallen columns and travel up its tilted, ridged flank.
The going is tricky because of the carved fluting and the fact that everything is wet and slippery from the humidity, but I keep my balance and link up with another one that’s angled into an intersection.
My soft-soled slipper shoes help, my toes gripping at whatever contours they can find to hold on to, my free arm out to the side for counterbalance.
The whole time, I pray that this pick-up-sticks arrangement is not disturbed by my weight. If any of the columns start rolling? I’m going to be crushed—if I’m lucky.
Except I’d rather go out that way than face the spiders.