Curse of the Spider King (2 page)

1

Eight-Hundred-Year Echoes

CONCEALED IN a grove of alder trees, two cloaked figures waited; their whispered voices lost in the soft rustle of wind-stirred leaves.

“Commander, I had forgotten how brilliant the moon is.”

“I know, Brynn,” the burly warrior replied, absently rubbing a whitish furrow on his cheek, one of many scars on his face and neck. “Since we are allowed only rare views . . . I, too, drink it in.” He sighed.

“How many hundreds of years since we could gaze our fill?”

“Too many,” he said, more than a hint of bitterness in his tone.

They waited, not ten paces away from the flat side of a massive boulder. Beyond that, the silver moonlight shone down on a clearing framed by trees. It was a haunting view of their once glorious city, now in ruins.

Suddenly, the sheer face of stone radiated a dazzling blue light. The two crouched lower beneath the trees. Brynn raised her bow and drew the bowstring back to the feathery red sideburn near her right ear.

“Hold,” whispered the leader. “If it is the enemy, we are done.” The wall of stone rippled like a vertical film of water. It began to pulse and bulge as if the stone had turned to some elastic fabric or web. Something was struggling to break out.

Neither warrior breathed as a hand broke through, then forearms and a torso. But the light intensified, making it impossible to see beyond the form's black silhouette.

The portal snapped shut, just a boulder once more. They couldn't see much of anything as their eyes readjusted to the moonlight.

“Sir . . . should I—?”

“Brynn, stay your bow,” the commander said, relieved to give that order. He strode forward from the cover of the alders toward a female draped in a heavy cloak. His archer followed close behind.

“Elle, what have you learned?” he asked.

“They are on Earth,” she replied.

“Can you be certain?” he asked.

She removed her hood, shook out long blond hair—silver in the moonlight—and nodded. “There can be no doubt. I felt the tremors among the humans.”

“I cannot believe it. . . . Froth told us the truth,” said the commander. “I will gather the others still here for the mission. At last, some hope—”

“It will not be easy,” Elle interrupted. “They have been scattered.”

“Among how many?” he asked.

“Billions,” she replied. She stared at her feet.

The commander was thunderstruck.

“Billions?” Brynn gasped. “But that would be like—”

“Looking for a green coin in a sea of clover.” The commander rubbed his temples.

“And that is not the worst of it,” Elle said. “The enemy is there.”

“Then he knows,” said the commander. “Froth thought as much. Elle, you and the others already on Earth must prepare for battle. You must not let the enemy get to them first. Do whatever is necessary.”

“I understand,” she replied. “The humans have swords there and other weapons.”

“Good,” he said. “Their weapons won't match the quality you're used to. Do what you can. But no matter what, you must continue to blend in.”

Elle replaced the hood of her cloak and turned toward the portal. “If our race has become skilled at anything these bitter, long years, it's hiding.”

“Elle?” She heard the urgent questioning in her commander's voice and turned. “We must not fail.”

Elle crossed her wrists and bowed. “We will not. Endurance and Victory.”

“Endurance and Victory.”

2

A Surprise Gift

HUH?
TOMMY Bowman didn't know why his parents said yes. They usually said no—unless, of course, it was to chores. To chores, they said yes, each and every time. But to come back to school, at night, on short notice, and drop him off without going through their usual checklist.
Unbelievable.
Just the other day, he'd wanted to ride his bike up to the regional park only two miles away. His parents had made him wear a watch, a helmet, a walkie-talkie, and a cell phone in case the walkie-talkie's battery died.
Almost a teenager and they treat me like I'm seven
.

As his parents drove away, Tommy glanced back over his shoulder at the looming menace of the school. Thurgood Marshall Middle was all columns, statues, white stone, and red brick. Stained and weathered over many years, the façade looked more like a police station from Gotham City than a middle school.

An engine growled, tires squealed, and Tommy whipped back around. He watched as a sleek black sports car pulled into the parking lot and stopped directly under the streetlight by the curb just thirty feet away. Like most twelve-year-olds, he loved sports cars—and he couldn't wait to see which one of his classmates got out of that car.
One of the rich kids probably,
Tommy thought.
Coming to the meeting to
steal the show. Give all the answers.
Tommy stared at the car and waited . . . and waited. No one got out. All Tommy could see was the blazing orb of the streetlight's reflection in a sea of dark-tinted glass. The longer Tommy waited, the more uncomfortable he felt. A chill slithering up his back, Tommy rushed inside the school building.

There was no one in the main hallway or in the front office. His sneakers squeaked on the newly waxed floor as he looked around. Tommy glanced at his watch. He wasn't really early, so where was everybody? He rocked back and forth on his feet, wondering if the meeting had been cancelled and no one had told him.
That would figure
, he thought. But he hoped he was wrong. Mrs. Galdarro, the librarian, had selected Tommy personally to be a part of the group. He still didn't know why, but it felt good to be asked.

Tommy had always thought of himself as a rather unremarkable boy. Few teachers ever seemed to take notice of him. He just floated through their classes with straight Bs and an occasional A. Tommy wasn't a bad kid, the sort who would leave a handful of centipedes in the teacher's desk drawer. Nor was he an exceptionally good kid, prim and proper, whose precocious nature drew all sorts of attention from his teachers. In fact, the only meaningful thing Tommy could ever remember a teacher saying to him directly was, “Oh my, what a wonderful head of curly hair you have.”

Yep, that's me,
Tommy thought.
Curly hair and unremarkable.

And yet Mrs. Galdarro had still noticed him. “Tommy Bowman, please see me after the bell,” she had said.

Tommy had wondered what he had done wrong, so he was more than a little surprised when Mrs. Galdarro said, “You have talent, Mr. Bowman. Extraordinary talent, yes. One of the reasons I came here to Thurgood Marshall Middle School is to spot talent. And I see that you have it.”

That had made Tommy wonder if the years had finally caught up with Mrs. Galdarro. Though, honestly, Tommy wasn't sure why he thought she was old. Her hair was not gray. Her skin was not wrinkled. But there was something about the depth of her green eyes and the richness of her voice that spoke of many years and a long history.

“I'd like to invite you to a meeting here in the library,” Mrs. Galdarro had continued. “Tonight at eight. This is an important meeting, Tommy. Only for those with talents like yours. And there will be cookies, delicious cookies. But better still . . . everyone who comes will receive a gift. Don't be late.”

Well,
Tommy thought,
even if she is a bit cracked in the head, it still
felt good to be noticed by someone.
And everyone liked gifts, especially Tommy. With that in mind, he decided he'd better at least check the library to make sure the meeting was indeed cancelled. He certainly wasn't in any hurry to go back outside.

Not that being in the school after dark was all that pleasant, either. Half the school's lights were off or dimmed. The halls became shadowy corridors. The empty classrooms . . . pitch-black caves. And the windows . . . dark eyes whose stare Tommy could not escape.
No cookies,
no gift could be worth this.

Then Tommy heard a squeaking sound, and Mr. Charlie, one of the school's custodians, appeared wheeling a cart out from the eighth-grade hallway. But Mr. Charlie didn't say a word. He just grinned at Tommy and stared. Even in the shadowy hall, Tommy could see Mr. Charlie's eyes. He had dark skin but very unusual dark blue eyes. They almost looked purple.

Mr. Charlie winked and rolled his cart toward the cafeteria. Soon, his cheery whistle floated back from the hall, that and the squeak of his cart. Everyone knew that Mr. Charlie had a few screws loose, but he was very nice and he smiled a lot. As a matter of fact, he always said good morning to Tommy.

Tommy hesitantly walked down the half-lit hall. Something small darted out from under one of the classroom doors. Tommy swerved to the right side of the hall.
Get a grip, Bowman!
he chastised himself.
It's
only a spider.
The quarter-sized, brown and black arachnid stopped about two feet from Tommy's left foot. A myriad of tiny black eyes stared up at Tommy. Small or not, Tommy didn't like spiders. He lifted his foot to squash it, but it skittered back under the classroom door.

Tommy hastened up the hall to the school's library. He turned the corner, walked out into the cavernous book-filled room, and called out, “Hello?” There was no one there. He reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone and flipped it open.

He never dialed.

There was a book that caught his eye from across the room.

The room was full of books, of course. But, in the exact center of the third shelf of the middle bookcase on the far wall, one book stood out. It was as if a bright spotlight shined upon its golden binding, and all the other books dimmed.

Tommy put his cell phone away, dropped his backpack on the floor, and strode slowly over to the bookcase. When he touched the book and felt it slide into his palm, he had a strange nostalgic feeling, as if he were about to open an old family photo album. He could almost smell the years of memories on the pages.

He turned the book and held it so that he could see its title.
The
History of Berinfell
. And beneath it, in smaller script:
The Chronicles of
the Elf Lords and Their Kin
.

From behind came a powerful voice: “Well done!” Tommy spun around, and there was Mrs. Galdarro. Only . . . she looked different. Gone was her normal librarian garb: the plaid skirt, ruffled cuffed blouse, and thick glasses. Instead she wore a long, dark hooded robe. It might have been deep purple or blue. In the shadows, it was hard to tell, but it was not black. Embroidery that bordered the hood and the sleeves shimmered, even in the dark.

“Mrs. Galdarro?” Tommy looked at her.

“Yes, lad.” She lowered the hood, gave a warm smile, and nodded. “. . . and I say again, well done! You found your gift . . . or, perhaps I should say, it found you.”

Tommy looked down at the book and back up to the librarian.

“All who come to the meeting get a gift,” said Mrs. Galdarro. “Isn't that what I told you, Tommy?”

Tommy nodded again.

“The book you hold . . . is your gift. Though I must confess, it is not a right regular gift since it was yours to begin with.”

“I don't understand,” Tommy said, feeling like he might have blown a fuse in his brain.

“Of course you don't, my boy,” Mrs. Galdarro replied. “I know that it is all very sudden and confusing for you. Why don't you come sit down?” She gestured to the round table on her right. Upon it lay a platter laden with piles and piles of cookies.

Tommy wondered how Mrs. Galdarro entered the library and put the tray on the table without him noticing. He shrugged. He wasn't about to turn his nose up at the cookies. Still hugging his book to his chest, he took a seat. Mrs. Galdarro sat across the table from him, and the cookies waited between them. He looked at her, the question forming on his lips.

“Go ahead, Tommy, have one.”

Tommy picked one up. “It's still warm.”

“Yes,” she replied. “Just took them out of the oven.”

The smell was delightful, sweet and fruity and something else Tommy couldn't quite put his finger on. Tommy took a bite, a big one, and began to chew. The flavor was so rich, so intense that it seemed to melt into his tongue as he chewed. Tommy took another bite and mumbled, “These are . . .
mmph
. . . these are . . .
mm, mmph
, delicious. I've never had anything like it.”

“No,” said Mrs. Galdarro, “I don't imagine you have.”

Tommy was into his third cookie when it finally dawned on him that none of the other kids had shown up yet. “Mrs. Galdarro . . . um, where are the other kids?”

“Let me put it as simply and directly as I can. You are the only one in this . . . this meeting—for now—though others will come in due time. This gift is yours to explore. Oh, I do wish I could be with you when you read page 17. Yes, yes, and page 77 is wondrous, too. And I mustn't forget page 140 . . . ah, those were amazing days.”

Tommy stuffed another cookie in his mouth and, forgetting his manners, mumbled, “Sounds like a cool story.”

Mrs. Galdarro smiled. And for a moment she was lost in deep thought, staring beyond Tommy.

“Mrs. Galdarro?”

She blinked and looked back at Tommy once more. “Ah, yes, it is a
cool
story . . . but not yet finished.” She paused. “Now, lad, listen to me. Reading this book will be quite an experience. Unsettling at first, I should imagine. Just remember, you will be safe. If it becomes too much, you simply close the book.”

“Uh . . . okay.” Tommy had read creepy books before. No way this elf book was going to scare him. “No problem.”

The librarian raised an eyebrow. “I wonder.”

“So are we going to meet at lunch to talk about the book? I mean, how much do I have to read? I'm not going to get quizzed on this, am I?”