Curse of the Spider King (31 page)

T
he Drefids waited in their underground chamber, some forty feet below the Lightning Plains in the realm of Vesper Crag. They sat barely moving in their tall chairs carved from the living rock of the walls around the chamber. The seven stolen infants, children of Elven royal blood, lay silent or cooing quietly in the very blankets they'd been nestled in for their ceremony. As oblivious to the fate that likely awaited them as they were to the fact that they would never see their parents again, the babies seemed unusually content yet fully alert.

“Why do they not cry?” asked Bilec, the gleam of his large, white pupils just visible under his hood. As he spoke, he waved his bladed hand close to the face of the swaddled child at his feet. The child's expression remained unchanged.

“They are Elven Lords,” replied Mobius, “raised in the cradle of Berinfell. They have not yet learned to fear.”

“That might change,” Bilec said bluntly. The other five Drefids hissed in approval. Thunder rolled somewhere on the surface far above.

“It might,” said Mobius. “But perhaps not at your hands? In any case, we wait upon the Spider King's word. It should not be much longer.”

There was another muffled blast of thunder, this time almost directly overhead, but the Drefids barely noticed it. Electrical storms were nearly ever-present in Vesper Crag. Lightning and thunder, but never rain. The Drefids looked up, their white eyes locked onto a section of bare wall on the east side of the chamber. Blue and violet sparks appeared and rippled on the stone. Soon the surface began to undulate as if it were not made of rock at all, but some sort of stretching fabric. It bulged, first at the bottom near the floor, then in other places. Soon the recognizable shape of a clawed fist pushed out from within the stone. And at last, like a creature escaping from a vault of web, a Gwar foot soldier tore through the wall. With a few last ripples of electricity, the stone wall snapped back into place behind the Gwar.

The Drefids recognized the Gwar as Kithrend Rhot, the high messenger to the Spider King. The Gwar flexed his massive square-jawed head side to side, eliciting a muted cracking of bone within his thick neck. “Threading makes my muscles stiff,” he said with a grunt. “Why can't you have a normal door like everyone else?”

“We like to know ahead of time when someone is coming,” said Mobius.

“And deny them access if their arrival doesn't suit our needs,” added Grehl, his Drefid speech higher and more shrill than the others.

“Besides,” Mobius continued, “the Spider King rarely gives gifts. When he does, it is best to use them.” The Drefids hissed.

Kithrend chuckled. He thought it a shame that most Gwar—even the grizzled warriors—had such a fear of the Drefids. They could be quite witty. Mobius in particular had a deadly dry humor.

“Speaking of gifts from the Spider King,” said Kithrend, extending the rolled scroll he held in his massive fist to Mobius. “It is for that reason I have come.”

The leader of the Drefids flexed his knobby fingers, and his bony blades retracted into the clefts in his knuckles. Better to read a scroll without cutting it to ribbons, after all. Mobius broke the wax seal, unfurled the scroll, and began to read. The white pupils of his eyes grew smaller as the black surrounding them grew larger. “He cannot be serious,” Mobius murmured.

“You may ask him yourself,” Kithrend replied. “Though he rarely jests.”

“He wants us to kill them?” Bilec asked. He lowered his hood and scraped the blades of one hand along the stone armrest of his chair. He knew the answer before it came.

Mobius nodded and received a chorus of angry hissing. He ignored his comrades. “We led the assault on Berinfell, and before we left the High Elven city in ruins, we went through the trouble of capturing these—” he extended the blades on his left hand with a
schiiing
and made a sweeping gesture over the Elven children “—as prizes for the Spider King. Let him roast them on a spit and feed them to—”

“Do you then refuse?” asked the Gwar.

The Drefids were silent. Killing was their very nature. But this was different. They knew the ancient curse all too well.

“Why kill them at all?” asked Grehl. “Let them reach the Age of Reckoning here in Vesper Crag. Use their realized powers for our purposes.”

“They are Elves,” answered the Gwar. “And that is enough for the Spider King. Need I remind you of ages past? Of fetters and chains.”

“Spare us the history.” Mobius let the scroll close and tightened its roll. “All of Drefidkind lives with Elven cruelty burned into our minds.” Mobius was silent for a breathless moment. His eyes narrowed and he said, “When shall we do this . . . and by what manner?”

Kithrend Rhot replied as if rehearsing lines he had labored over. “Take the rest of this day, perform such rites as you know for protection, and then . . . slice them up, feed them to the fiery crevasses upon the Lightning Fields, or dash them on stones from the cliffs behind the stronghold. Just see to it that it is done before sunset.”

Mobius silenced the hissing of his comrades. “It will be done as the Spider King commands,” he said.

“Ah, very good, very good,” said Kithrend, extremely relieved to not have to deliver bad news to his master. He turned on his heels, stepped toward the back of the chamber, and raised one hand. The wall rippled with sparks once more. The red tribal tattoo on the back of his gray scalp was the last thing visible just before the Gwar melted into the stone wall and vanished.

“So that's it?” asked Froth, the youngest of the Drefids. He had remained silent for too long. “Kill the firstborn Elven Lords before the Age of Reckoning? Defy the curse?”

Mobius was silent for a few moments. “It is our task because even the Spider King himself would not defy the curse. Are we greater than he?”

“Then we are snared,” Froth muttered. “Caught between the ancient curse of the Elves and the curse of the Spider King.” Thunder rumbled above.

Mobius's voice lowered to a gritty whisper. “We cannot defy the curse. I for one do not care for never-ending agony.”

“But we cannot refuse the Spider King's order, can we?” asked Froth. “His wrath cannot be far beneath the curse. He might . . . he might give us to—”

“Do not speak it!” commanded Mobius.

“Then what shall we do?” asked Bilec.

“There is another way,” said Mobius. He glanced at the Elven children and then back to his comrades. “Let us thread beyond Allyra, abandon them on one of the dead worlds.”

“What?” Froth objected. “Thread without the Spider King's command?”

“Yes,” Mobius replied. “Let the little Elven Lords perish of exposure, just not in our world.”

“Think you that such a scheme will relinquish us from the curse?” asked Bilec. “If they die there, it will still be by our hand. We will not escape.”

Mobius opened and closed his fist, extending and retracting the blades. “No,” he replied with a hiss, “you are right. We must absolve ourselves of their blood entirely.”

“Wait!” said Bilec. “The human planet!”

“What of it?” asked Froth.

“What if we give them to humans? Their children do not look much different from the Elves.”

“The ears, you dolt,” said Froth. “Or don't you think the humans will notice?”

Bilec held up his hand and extended his bony blades. “I will take care of their ears.”

Mobius nodded. Hisses filled the chamber. “Once the humans take possession of the Elven babes, the blood will be on their hands.”

“Still,” asked Froth, “what if the Elven Lords grow up and return to Allyra?”

“How?” asked Mobius. “They will grow up to think they are fully human. They, like the rest, will never dream of another world so close to their own.”

“Besides,” Bilec agreed, “should they reach the Age of Reckoning on Earth and somehow discover their real home, what of that? Some eight hundred years will have passed here in Allyra. Berinfell has already been conquered. The Spider King will scour Allyra until all Elves are dead. The exiled Elven Lords will have nothing of their culture, nothing of their race to return to.”

Jimmy was startled out of the story by a knock on the door. He shut the book, and the scene vanished. “Jimmy?” came a muffled voice.

“Who is it?”

The door creaked open, fluorescent light nearly blinding him. “It's me, Miss Finney. Are yu all right?”

“Aye, I'm fine, Miss Finney. Thanks.”

“Do yu have any idea what time it is?”

“Time?” Jimmy pushed himself off the floor and stood. “Nay, why?”

“It's nearly five o'clock. I looked for yu all over school with no luck, so I came back here. I was at a loss until I noticed the closet door cracked open.”

“I stayed put like yu told me,” Jimmy said, trying to sound obedient but knowing full well he was terrified to come out should Mr. Ogelvie be there; while Jimmy had seen Miss Finney alone in the hallway after he pulled the fire alarm, he assumed Mr. Ogelvie had left with the students. He had no idea what had actually happened.

She helped Jimmy out and closed the storage room door. Jimmy couldn't help but look toward the hall and wonder.

“He won't be a bother to yu anymore,” said Miss Finney.

“He won't? I mean, who?” Jimmy tried to act brave.

“Mr. Ogelvie.”

“Oh, yu mean me neighbor.”

“He's hardly yur neighbor, Jimmy. Still, yur quick thinking allowed me to kill him.”

Jimmy was incredulous. “Yu killed him?”

“I killed a Wisp, Jimmy. I'm afraid Mr. Ogelvie, the
real Mr.
Ogelvie
, has been dead for quite some time. I suspect the authorities will find his body in the basement of his home. Pity that. He was probably just a kind old man looking for a quiet place to retire.”

“Hold on a sec, yu killed a
what?
” Jimmy's mind raced back through the story. “A Wisp? As in the
History of Berinfell
Wisps?” He tapped a finger on the book.

“One and the same.”

“But—how is that possible?” Jimmy felt himself overwhelmed.

“I think we better go for a drive, Jimmy. In fact, I'm taking yu home to gather some things.”

“Gather some things?”

“Aye. We're going on a bit of a road trip.”

“A road trip? To where? Why? What's going on?”

Miss Finney gestured for him to sit down and then walked over to close her classroom door. She came back and sat in a desk across from him. “We need to go to Edinburgh.”

“Edinburgh? Whatever for?” If Jimmy was confused before, he was truly baffled now. “I can't go to Edinburgh, Miss Finney. I mean, what about school? And me parents?”

“Are they really yur parents?”

Jimmy sat in silence.

“Jimmy?”

“What,” he said indignantly.

“I know all about yu.” She smiled softly.

“Sure yu do. Everyone's read my file.”

“I know yu don't feel like yu belong, like yu are second rate. I know yu don't love easily because yu've been hurt by people yu were supposed to be able to trust. I know that yur brother is dearer to yur mum than yu are.”

Hot tears began to well up in Jimmy's eyes. It was like she was reading his thoughts. But how?

“I know that all yu dream about is a place yu've never been, knowin' yu were destined for greater things than Ardfern, but never sure how to get there. And I know that yu can see glimpses into the future.”

“Stop!” Jimmy blurted out, rubbing the heel of his hands into his watering eyes. Neither of them talked for a moment until Jimmy could compose himself. “How do yu know all this? I mean, who—who are yu really?”

“Do yu trust me?”

Jimmy eyed her. Everyone had let him down. Everyone had promised things only to change their minds when it seemed convenient. In their best interests . . . never his. But something in his heart told him that he could trust this lady. Something that felt like she was more family than anyone else had ever been. “Why do we have to go to Edinburgh?”

“For one thing, yu cannot stay here. They know yu're here now—”

“Who's
they
?”

“Never yu mind, Jimmy. Everything will be explained to yu soon enough.”

“So many secrets! How do yu expect me to trust yu?”

“Jimmy, Mr. Ogelvie is dead because a Wisp killed him and took his place. But the Wisps are just the spies . . . the scouts. Soon this place will be crawlin' with somethin' even more fierce than Wisps. And they will kill anyone who gets in their way. Includin' the Gresham family and everyone one of yur friends in school.”

“Drefids?” Jimmy inquired, thinking back through the story.

“The very sort. If we get yu out of here, there's a good chance they'll leave the Gresham family and the school be. They'll come after us. No time to waste. We need to get yu out of here, Jimmy. Now.”