CHAPTER 22

It was not possible for the impostor to respond while silenced by the finger-vines, so Naia touched them and asked them to relax their grip. They did, just enough that Tavra—or whoever it really was—could spit. Now that the secret was out, any effort in pretending to be the All-Maudra’s daughter was expired, and she thrashed and hissed. She was strong enough that some of the vines snapped, but dozens of new tendrils reached out in replacement.

“I am a loyal servant of the Skeksis—more loyal than you Gelfling! You Gelfling, whose entire life being is thanks to the Skeksis and their work at the castle! You should be grateful for them!”

So ensnared by the vines, only her face was visible in the torchlight, and one of her hands. The gem-like shape dangling at her ear glinted in the torchlight, swinging wildly. Its eight slender legs shone like black metal, its abdomen a deep faceted violet. It was a spider with a body that looked like a jewel, hanging from a silver thread. Kylan cursed himself for not noticing it before. He had seen it many times but had thought nothing of it. Yet there it had been, the entire time.

“Is that you? You’re a spider?” he called.

“My name is Krychk!” it shrieked through Tavra’s mouth. “Don’t you forget it! Tch! It’s the name of the one who will put you and all you Gelfling in your graves!”

Naia grabbed Kylan’s and Amri’s arms, dreamfasting urgently.

What if it drops off of Tavra? We’ll lose it in the vines!

“You better hope I don’t leave this Silverling’s bag of bones!” cried the spider. “Yes! I can hear your stupid dreamfasting. Spiders are so much closer to the lifeblood of Thra than you Gelfling . . . We hear much more that goes on in the world. So much more than your puny little thoughts.”

Kylan’s heart sank. Bag of bones? And their dreamfasting was useless—were they in over their heads? Krychk the crystal spider smiled wickedly with Tavra’s face.

“For example, I can hear your Silverling princess now. I can hear her voice coming from inside this dead body. My life force is the only thing keeping her alive! So pray, little Gelfling vermin! Pray I don’t leave her to die in this hollow shell.”

The threat was clear: destroy the spider and doom their friend. But if they did not . . .

“The crystal-singers,” Amri whispered. “There are stories on the walls of Domrak about how Gyr had to run them out of the caves. They sing songs in the ears of living creatures and hypnotize them.”

The spider swung on its thread enough to land on Tavra’s neck, alighting like a dancer on its long legs. It waved the front two as if it was laughing.

“Had to run us out. Ha! Wanted to! Stupid Shadowlings. We lived there first. We sang the songs of Domrak. And now we have Domrak again. In exchange for our loyalty . . . for you, Drenchen, and your despicable brother. Yes! My people have already taken Domrak. So before you do anything brash, you ugly, vapid unamoths, think upon that.”

“Taken Domrak . . . ,” Amri whispered. “What have you done?”

“Tch! Gullible Gelfling! Stupid Gelfling! Didn’t think twice about trust when I showed up with the brother! Didn’t think twice about trusting! Tch! Now my people have reclaimed Domrak, and the Skeksis will have you!”

Amri grabbed Naia’s arm, black eyes wide in fear. “We have to stop it—if they’ve taken Domrak—my people! Naia, Kylan—what do we do?”

The recent thrill of success was fading quickly. Kylan had been so elated that they had caught the creature parading as the All-Maudra’s daughter, and that his plan had worked. Naia and Amri had understood and followed him as he’d hoped. Everything had gone according to his song, but this was an ending he had not foreseen.

Kylan’s heart hammered in his chest as he tried to think of what to tell Amri. But what could they do? Though the spider was immobile while it used Tavra’s body, it was they who were still under its control. If they made the wrong move, whatever was left of Tavra would be gone.

“What do you think, Kylan?” Naia asked, voice low and grave. She had her hand at the hilt of her dagger, past any joy born in the challenge of trapping the spider.

“It was Tavra who was trying to warn us,” Kylan realized out loud. “The message on the rocks—she put it there, but the spider must have called its kin to try to hide the message. Then later . . . the symbol for S . . . and in the cave. She was trying to kill you, wasn’t she? By cutting at her own neck!”

Amri cursed under his breath.

“Kylan. Naia. This spider must die. Before it tells the Skeksis what’s happened. If your friend Tavra risked her own life to try to kill the spider, then that is what we must believe she is willing to sacrifice!”

“You’d kill what remains of your Silverling?” Krychk crooned. “You Gelfling are more fickle and traitorous than I thought. You betray the Skeksis and even yourselves. You deserve what’s coming to you.”

Though the spider’s voice was taunting, its legs splayed out, latching on to Tavra’s neck. In the lull of quiet that followed, while Kylan raced to conceive a plan, he heard the familiar clicking, ticking, crawling of millions of tiny legs. At first there was no sign of the creatures that were coming, but then the finger-vines twitched and jerked. The twitching became writhing, and in the torchlight Kylan saw throngs of black spiders pouring out of the cliff, biting at the vines. Tendrils fell like cut grass, squirming as they dropped, and the finger-vine thrashed in agony as it was torn apart by the swarm of black gem-bodied spiders.

Kylan waved his torch, catching the brush on fire where he could. The spiders fled from the flames, the few that were trapped closer getting stomped by Naia and Amri in his new sandals. They were easily crushed when they were singled out, one at a time, but there were thousands here and thousands more throughout the rest of the mountains and the wood.

The heavy smoke from the wet brush fire parted. Krychk, attached to Tavra’s neck like a welt, stepped over the ring of fire, sword drawn. All pretenses dropped, the spider’s power over the Silverling’s body was like an infection, dark and encompassing. Kylan shuddered as Krychk stepped forward, crafting that unnatural smile on Tavra’s pale face.

“I am glad it came to this, Gelfling. I was tired of pretending to like you.”

Naia pulled her dagger in time to block the spider’s first attack, an unrestrained lunge that kicked up embers and dust. Kylan and Amri fell back, unarmed, while Naia fended off the endless slashes of the Silverling’s sword. She spun away in time to avoid the sword’s tip across her eye. Blood dripped from her cheek where she’d been nicked, two of her locs flying loose from her head. Kylan gave Amri the torch and fumbled at his hip, finally releasing the bola there, but they were so close, there was no way to throw it.

“I don’t want to hurt her!” Naia cried. “But I can’t hold her off forever!”

She grunted in effort as Krychk’s attacks came again and again. Kylan held the bola with two of the three stones in either hand. If it were two against one, they could probably defeat the spider, but Kylan didn’t want to hurt Tavra. Yet the truth was that the spider would not tire. Tavra’s body had no life force to expend. For it to end, someone would have to die.

“I’m sorry!” he said, and swung just the loose end of the bola. The rock whipped in an orbit around his hand and smashed into Tavra’s head. He had been aiming for the spider, but the effect was the same. The Silverling stumbled and almost went down. Naia leaped at the opportunity, cutting at Tavra’s sword hand so strongly, she released her grasp. The blade dropped, and Naia tackled her, knocking her to the smoldering earth.

“Damned Gelfling!” Krychk screamed. “I’ll have you no matter what the Skeksis say! Drenchen!”

The spider released Tavra and was suddenly racing up Naia’s arm. Tavra’s body went limp, and Naia yelped as the spider dived into her hair. Kylan dropped the bola and ran to her.

“No! Naia!”

“Get it off me!” Naia choked, clawing her hair and tearing at her cloak. “Quick, quick, get it off me!”

Kylan skidded to his knees beside her while Amri continued to fend off the spiders held just at bay beyond the fire. He could see the spider’s black and shining body for a moment, but then it was gone. He plunged his hand into Naia’s hair and grabbed it. It bit him and thrashed with its sharp legs, sending trills of nerve pain through his body, but he held on as tightly as he could.

“Gelfling! Damned Gelfling!” it screamed in its own tiny voice. Kylan could barely hear it with his ears. It seemed to sing more in the tone of the mind, saying only one thing over and over: “Damned Gelfling vermin!”

“I told you they would succeed.”

The voice came from Tavra. Her eyes were open, but barely, and milky like a lake frosted over. She did not move except to close her eyes, long silver lashes brushing her cheeks. Naia shook the Silverling’s shoulders, but she did not open her eyes again.

“No. Tavra! Tavra, don’t go!”

Amid the thoughts that they would lose Tavra again and the pain where the spider was clawing him with its razor-like legs, Kylan felt dizzy. Naia shook Tavra and called her name again, but it felt far away. Even the spider’s screams were muffled.

Someone will have to die . . .

Kylan squeezed the spider’s body, feeling the sharp edges in his palm grow hot. The heat of his dream-etching burned into it, and it screamed, a high-pitched whine that registered in his brain. He thrust the spider’s body against Tavra’s smooth forehead. The light of the dream-etching flashed blue and white, and the wails of the spider grew so intense that the rest of its swarming brethren backed away, then receded altogether.

“No!” Krychk screeched. “No, no no! I won’t lose! Not to Gelfling! Not to the Shadowlings! Not to the dirt stealers! NO!”

“Kylan—”

The light of the dream-etching died, and Kylan took his hand away. Etched into the spider’s crystal abdomen was a spiraling triangular symbol, one which even Kylan did not recognize, though he was the one who had put it there. The fire around them was going out, unable to live on the lush vegetation. The throngs of spiders, seeing their champion defeated, continued a slow retreat back into the darkness.

“No, no no, nooo . . .”

This time the voice came from Tavra, weak and soft, but it was not the Silverling’s voice. It was the spider’s. It breathed once, with strength only enough to let out a last breath. “Damned . . . Gelfling . . .”

Then Krychk was gone, with no life left. The spider lying on Tavra’s forehead pulsed with light, its gem-like body changing from the darkened violet to a lighter blue, almost silver. The symbol etched into its abdomen glowed like starlight. Now that he had his head back on, Kylan realized he did know the symbol. It was one that Maudra Mera had taught him in his first lessons in dream-stitching, but it was different—more intricate, with several flourishes and diacritics he did not recognize. He wasn’t sure where the symbol had come from, except somewhere deep in his mind.

“What did you do?” Naia whispered.

Kylan shook his head. “I . . . I don’t know.”

“Dream-stitching,” Amri said. He stood over them, holding the torch, though there were no more spiders left to hold it against. He looked down with them at the black-and-silver spider on Tavra’s face, pulsing gently like a heartbeat. “That was dream-stitching vliyaya. I’ve only heard of it.”

“But what did you do?” Naia repeated.

The spider twitched a leg, coming to life. First one leg moved, then two, then all eight curled enough to raise its crystalline body. Naia clenched her hand into a fist, ready to smash it if the need arose, but Kylan held her back. Something was different.

“Wait,” he whispered.

The spider did not attempt to run, or even bite Kylan where his hand was within striking distance. It rotated one direction, then another, then spoke in a tiny, wary voice that bore no malice or rage—just hesitation, and the slow-speak of someone who had been woken from a very long, troubled dream.

“Naia? Kylan? What . . .”

Naia put down her fist, and Kylan let out a shaky breath. It was difficult to hear above even the quiet night, but it was unmistakable: annunciated, with the northern accent of the Vapra of Ha’rar. The spider turned, examining its legs and then tapping three of them. It let out a spider-size sigh.

“Oh, eel-feathers,” it swore mildly in Tavra’s tired voice. “You’ve really done it this time.”