The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge (28 page)

“Keep your eyes open,” Balin warned, close behind Damir.

Ahead of Damir, Israel unsnapped his staff from his belt and hit the switch, expanding it. The metal staff stood a foot taller than him, made of lightweight mithril and infused with light-based aether stones at the end. Israel had told Damir as they’d prepared for their journey that the weapon was called Barat.

“It’s so quiet,” Damir observed, pausing to crouch beside a tall flower. Its satin petals were shaped in a wide wheel the color of crushed raspberries and tipped with a darker red, as if they had been dipped in blood. Damir drew in a gentle breath and reached for the flower. “Everything is so beautiful.”

Balin caught Damir’s wrist in a vise grip, preventing him from touching the petals. “Careful. It may be beautiful, but nothing here is always as it seems. Many of the flowers are poisonous.”

Damir glanced up and drew his hand away from the flower, allowing Balin to pull him to his feet. He frowned down at the flower, noted its throne of leaves but no spines or barbs, and shook his head.

“Damir is right, though. It’s too quiet, especially after such an attack. A rampaging beslag should have made the creatures of the island alert. But instead, the forest seems empty.”

“If there’s one beslag, there’s usually another one to follow. So where is our friend?” Zephyr asked, shoulder to shoulder with Israel.

Damir continued on, pausing occasionally to brush aside the large green-striped fronds of ferns. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his body, a disturbance in the land. It made his heart pound with fear, a fear bred from the unknown and the unwanted.

The deeper they walked, the darker the forest grew, as if all the light were being drained into the tree trunks. Soon Israel summoned a glowing sphere and moved to the front of the line, guiding them. Damir looked at the sphere, fascinated with what Israel was able to conjure. He had his fire ability, but they needed light, not a scorched forest.

Time slipped into the shadows, lost with the sun as they tromped over underbrush and climbed over the fallen trunks of papaya trees. Damir picked up a piece of fruit and sniffed it, turning his nose away at the rancid stench. “It smells vile.”

Damir dropped it and rubbed his hand down his pant leg. Balin jumped onto the fallen tree and used it as leverage to grab a thick branch that extended out from a myristica tree. He pulled himself up, scaling the tree with the grace of a panther.

“What do you see?” Zephyr asked.

“NOTHING, A VAST nothingness,” Balin called down. His voice boomed in the stillness. Balin pulled his hand away from the trunk of the tree, grimacing at the sticky texture that seeped from the bark. It felt as if tiny threads were spiraling around him and clinging to his fingers and arms. “By the Scions, what is this? Israel, shine your light up here.”

Israel hoisted the rod up, brightening the tree enough for Balin to make out the airy veil of webbing. Balin cursed and quickly climbed down, knocking off the threads and the tiny spiders that scuttled up his hands.

“Come on; let’s keep moving,” Zephyr urged.

Damir was a step ahead of him. Israel swept the burning ghost fire back and forth, illuminating the trees and revealing thicker spider webs, the trees turning white beneath the gossamer strands. Webs stretched from the branches, larger and larger than the next, intricate in design. They glimmered against the corona of aether light.

“This is disgusting,” Zephyr hissed. “I hate spiders! Creepy bastards, with their dozen legs and eyes.”

“Eight,” Israel corrected.

“What?”

“They only have eight legs,” Israel said as he shook off some webbing.

Zephyr shot him a deadpan glare. “Not the point, love, not the fucking point.”

Zephyr swatted a few spiders from his arm and stomped on the tiny creatures. Balin noticed with increasing concern that the arachnids had begun to vary in size, just like the webs they had spun. He saw larger spiders climbing over the trees, cast away only by Israel’s magic light.

Balin slammed his dagger into the body of a black spider the size of his fist with a sickening squelch. He jerked his dagger out. “We best keep moving. I have a feeling things will only get worse.”

“How much farther until we get to the city?” Zephyr inquired.

“I don’t know, but move, damn it,” Balin said and started a brisk pace down the pathway.

Damir followed close by his side, drawing an arrow from his quiver. He froze and gasped, “Father of all, look.”

Balin stopped a few paces ahead of Damir and looked to where he pointed. Frozen in place was a monkey, its tiny frame swaddled in a spiderweb cocoon. Israel lifted his rod, scattering the spiders that crawled along the petrified body.

“Dear Lar,” Zephyr murmured, and then shouted, “Ow! One of the little shits bit me.”

He shook his finger, dislodging the tiny arachnid. He sucked on the bite, frowning deeply. “My hand is going numb. Fuckers are poisonous.”

Israel took Zephyr’s hand and hovered his palm over the injured finger. A warm blue light flickered to life from Israel’s hand and then vanished. “There you go.”

“Move, damn it,” Balin snapped and grabbed Damir’s wrist. He had seen a flood of black that was descending upon them from behind Zephyr and Israel. Without a word, Zephyr and Israel broke into a run, Balin and Damir following close behind.

The spiders came in hordes, crawling over the trees and plants, a thick mass of pulsating bodies. Balin could make out the frozen bodies of animals and birds, all caught in midmotion. It was a garden of bodies, and if they weren’t careful, soon they would be the next victims.

Balin used his dagger to cut through the thick vines that were strung from the trees, cutting a pathway deeper into the forest as he moved ahead of Zephyr and Israel. Damir leaped over another fallen tree, knocking stray spiders that dropped from the canopy overhead as he hurtled forward.

Balin glanced at Zephyr. Zephyr twisted around and released a volley of fire-charged bullets. An explosion rocked the black bodies but only dented the overflow of insects.

“This way!” Balin shouted and veered from the path, cutting through the thicket.

Branches slapped into him, and the hard burn of his constricted lungs intensified the stifling heat of the jungle. Israel stumbled beside Damir, catching himself on his rod. Zephyr came up behind him, caught him around the waist with an arm, and pulled him along.

“No time to stop now, darling,” he shouted.

They skidded to a stop, face-to-face with a sheer cliff face. Black polished stones were stacked fifteen feet high, towering over the treetops. Damir swallowed and nervously glanced behind him.

“What do we do now?”

“Climb,” Balin said, grasping a foothold.

DAMIR HESITATED ONLY briefly before he followed close behind, scaling the mountainside. The skittering of a million feet thundered in the dead forest, propelling them higher. Sweat built on Damir’s palms, and his muscles trembled at the exertion. He braced himself against the steep wall, sure that a single mistake would be his downfall.

“Did I mention I hate climbing?” Zephyr snapped as he took the rear. “We don’t have these fucking problems in the sky!”

Damir risked a glance down. A sea of spiders rolled below them, inky and blinking. Larger arachnids the size of small boulders had slipped into the tide.

“They’re right below us,” Damir called up. He stretched for the protruding stone that Balin had previously held, fingers slipping over it. He let out a shout, his grip briefly growing slack. Damir’s stomach rose in his throat.

“Shit!” Balin cursed, unable to reach for Damir.

Damir could feel his body slide away, the wind rush past him. He flailed his arms out and caught a branch that grew along the side of the cliff—he had no clue if it was a weed or tree, but it held against his weight. Damir dragged himself back and lay flat against the wall, his heart pounding.

The spiders worked their way up, climbing the trees and the mountainside. Israel took Damir’s arm and tugged. “Keep going.”

They finished the last leg of the mountain, scrambled over the ledge, and collapsed onto the grassy edge. The mountain cliff ran down the eastern length, and in the distance, Damir could hear the rush of a river. Balin pushed up and looked down the side.

“No time to stop,” he said.

Damir rolled onto his hands and knees and rose on shaky legs. All he wanted was the warm bed he’d shared with Balin just that morning. Was it only this morning? It felt like a lifetime ago.

“There’s water; run toward the sound. We should be safe there,” Israel said as he hauled Zephyr to his feet.

“Let’s help them, you said. We can’t leave them, you said,” Zephyr groused as he stumbled behind Israel.

The spiders surged over the mountainside, following closely behind the group as they ran. The open field stretched across the horizon, the treetops of the jungle visible from the edge behind them. Damir couldn’t make out the ledge from either side of them, just endless miles of grass and the thin line of trees. Tall sugarcane swayed in the humid breeze.

Balin led them into the trees, going deeper until they came upon a long river that stretched half a mile wide. The river churned with violent ferocity. Balin grabbed ahold of Damir’s hand and, without a word, leaped into the icy depths.

Damir barely had time to draw in a breath before he was pulled under, his vision filling with black waves and silt. He tightened his grip around Balin and his blade-bow, kicking until he surfaced long enough to draw in a lungful of air. He couldn’t see if Israel and Zephyr had followed. Even while he held fast, he couldn’t see Balin.

The current sucked Damir down and spun him about. Damir struggled to hold on, but his lungs burned, and his mind screamed for life. Desperation clawed at his terrified heart.

Damir came up for air, shouting, “Balin!”

Over the rush he could make out the spiders, which had curbed their path and turned to follow along the bank, as if driven by a berserker state. Damir’s grip grew weak as he was dragged farther below, and with a cry of panic, he let go of Balin.

A rock hit Damir’s back, and he clung to it, trying to find purchase. Damir could feel the river growing more violent, and he wondered briefly if staying on land would have been better. But they couldn’t have outrun the horde. Not forever.

Damir’s grip only held for a moment before he slipped below the surface again. Damir fought against the current, a battle that he lost as soon as he began. He ascended long enough to realize they were headed straight for a waterfall.

“Damir!” Balin shouted.

“Balin!” Damir struggled to make his way to Balin, stretching his arms wide as he was pulled back under. Balin’s fingers brushed his, and Damir felt Balin grab ahold of him and haul him into the circle of his arm.

“Hold on to me; don’t let go,” Balin shouted, but they both knew that neither could control the force of the river. Damir kept his hold on his weapon, his arrows long lost from his quiver. He could replenish them later, but his blade-bow was harder to come by.

From the corner of his eye, Damir saw Israel’s head bob, but then the river swallowed Damir along with Balin. When they rose to the top once more, the roar of the waterfall consumed them. Most of the spiders had stopped chasing them, but those that pursued them churned over the ledge and free-fell to the earth.

Damir prayed he’d survive, but the words in his head were sucked out as he was pitched over the waterfall. For a brief moment, he flew. He tried to hold on to Balin, but they broke apart. His eyes grew wide as he plummeted into the lagoon below.

Damir spun and twisted when he plunged into the pool of water, caught in a weightless dance. His body was pushed deeper into the water, into the dark depths that compressed around him like closing walls. He turned around, managing to right himself, and began to swim toward the surface.

It felt like a fire had been lit in his lungs. Bubbles spun up, and with a final surge, he broke the top and drank in the air.

“Zephyr? Israel? Balin!” Damir shouted, keeping himself above the water. Along the shoreline, Damir could see where Balin had washed up. He began to make his way toward shore.

A sharp pain seared through his right calf, and before he could muster a cry, Damir was jerked under. He looked down and spotted a long silver fish with a harsh underbite and jagged teeth like razorblades.

It took Damir a moment to spot a second and third. Terror pounded in Damir’s ears. He swept the sharp blade of Drachenseele across the fish latched on to his leg, severing it in half.

He didn’t waste any time swimming to shore. A second fish barreled at him, its jaw unhinged and opened wide. The fish was hurled back by the blunt end of a mithril rod, and Damir turned to look at Israel.

“Come on! Get out of there!” Zephyr called.

Israel followed close behind Damir, crawling onto the shore and collapsing in the dirt. Damir panted, his hand limp around his weapon, and stared up at Zephyr and Israel. They both seemed to have kept ahold of their own weapons as well.

Balin rolled onto his back, gasping for air. “Fuck me. I don’t want to do that again.”

Israel sat up, one leg drawn close to his chest, an arm laid across it. His glasses hung askew, but otherwise had miraculously remained intact. He righted them on his nose and collapsed Barat, reattaching it to his belt.

Damir inspected the laceration on his leg. Israel leaned over and inspected it as well. The bite wasn’t bad, but it would make walking difficult if left unattended. Damir wrapped his hand around the wound and summoned the last of his energy to heal the damage.

“Well, I think that went rather splendidly,” Zephyr announced in a dry tone, breaking the silence.

“You’re insane,” Balin grunted and climbed to his feet. He patted himself down and then cursed. “Damn it all. I’ve lost my dagger.”

“Do you want to look for it?” Damir asked. He didn’t like the idea of Balin being unarmed.

“No. We don’t know when those things will show back up.” Balin shook his head. “Let’s move.”