They Mostly Come Out At Night (18 page)

Despite this arcane protection, crafty Artemis was still vulnerable to detection from the normal senses of sight and sound, and the Guard’s continued dogging of him from village to village was weighing greatly on the thief. Where once a sly smile was permanently etched, now the man sported a tight grimace. His clothing, normally the most extravagant nobleman's washing he could find, was hanging off him in ribbons as unchecked movement through bush and thorn took their toll. Anytime Artemis thought he had found solace in a lonely barn or vacant cave, the sounds of pursuit would strike up again and he would be forced to push on.

Finally, in his desperation, Artemis turned to the dark heart of the forest where even the Magpie King would think twice about entering. This was a part of the woodland that the sun refused to visit, and greenery was merely a rumour on the wind. The trees here were barren, twisted and searching, and the bile in Artemis' gut rose to his mouth as he felt true fear for the first time in his life.

Just as sly Artemis had decided to take his chances with the pursuers in more friendly surroundings, he heard her speak.

"I can smell you, little one," came a chiding voice from somewhere in the woods ahead of Artemis. It was a sound like the fresh crinkle of leaves, followed by the plunging of one's foot into mud and shit hidden below them. "I can smell you and shall soon find you. Lay still, little one, and make things easy on mother after such a long, dreary day."

Artemis froze, wide eyed, searching for the source of the voice.

He heard a tutting, this time closer still. "It shall be dark soon, dearie, and my little ones will need fed. Why not be a good boy and come and say hello to them?"

Artemis exhaled slightly and heard a rustling coming from somewhere before him. His eyes raised slowly to the tops of the trees.

"I am not as young as I used to be," the rustling voice continued, "and have not the patience nor the heart for such a chase. I shall find you eventually, you know. And then catch you, and then eat you. Why not save each other the distress of a chase and give yourself to me now?"

It was then that Artemis saw her. High in the tree canopy, suspended upside down was a grotesquely fat-bodied spider, her once-black abdomen littered with pox marks and boils. In contrast, her thin spindly legs worked themselves methodically through the treetops, taking it in turn to support their owner's weight whilst probing for the next suitable branch to grip to. From the spider's head grew a length of bushy grey hair that trailed towards the ground like a curtain of filth.

Artemis stood perfectly still as the creature moved directly overhead, twisting back and forwards in the canopy to seek out the prey she knew was nearby.

"Strange," the creature mused in frustration. "I could hear you tramp into my black forest, I can still smell the fear on your breath. But I cannot find you."

Artemis gave a silent offering of thanks to the serpent witch. Her magics that clouded the Magpie King's senses also worked on this foul creature. Then he prayed she did not choose that time to remove her spell from him.

They say that familiarity breeds confidence, and this truth works doubly quick for a mind as cunning as Artemis'. Not permitting himself to give in to fear, Artemis studied his would-be killer and began to learn from her. In the hours that she stalked him unsuccessfully, he learnt her weak spots, and found the courage to make small movements when the creature above was distracted. Eventually, he was able to move confidently about the forest floor again, and began to make plans for his escape.

"Now dearie," the voice came again, the creature's frustration causing her to end each word spoken with a snap of her jaws, "this is enough. I am tired, I am hungry, and you shall be in my belly before long. Show yourself to me now and I shall make your end painless. Force me to continue searching and you shall be begging me to consume your heart and end your suffering before I let you slip behind the veil."

Cunning Artemis found the courage to finally shout out to his pursuer. "Mother Web, are you not enjoying our dance? It has been far too many years since I have had such an able partner, and it would pain me to end our festivities so soon."

At the sound of the trickster's voice, the ancient creature dropped from the trees, scuttling like a wounded rabbit to the tree root that Artemis had been behind. Artemis was already gone from that spot, a sly grin on his face as he watched her vent her frustration from afar.

"Curse you, root dweller," Mother Web roared to the forest. "My babies are calling to me, and I shall fill my larder before they hatch. Fie on you who taunts me so."

Once again, Mother Web took to the treetops, clambering through them with an increased urgency. Artemis, now, was always two steps ahead of his dancing partner. She would fancy she heard some movement in the darkness below and would dive down to seek it out, and then Artemis would move on further.

"You win, little mouse," Mother Web eventually admitted, her voice soaked in defeat. "I return to my children empty-handed. Think about their lifeless shells on the floor of my den when you walk free in the sunlight."

Not believing the creature would give up chase so easily, Artemis called out, "It was a fine dance, yes, like no other I have had. How good it is to part as friends after an evening of mirth."

Mother Web was on his hiding place in a breath, her front legs impaling the brown bush that Artemis had called from. However, she found only leaf and wood, for Artemis had moved on once again. The creature screamed and Artemis could not stifle his chuckle this time, which was almost the end for him, for it led Mother Web on another dash through the bracken towards his new hiding spot, which he had to vacate much quicker than anticipated.

More hours of searching followed, and it became obvious that Mother Web was becoming more and more weary. Her sudden leaps from the treetops were occurring less often now, and became slower and also less purposeful. When she called out for her prey, her sentences were shorter, and eventually pleading. Artemis noticed she was pursuing him in a circular fashion, spiralling ever inwards until eventually she reached her dark nest, a deep hole in the forest floor that sheltered the bones of her previous dinners and the white eggs that held her unborn children. With one final movement from the treetop, Mother Web dropped to the entrance to her nest and slowly pulled herself inside.

Artemis smiled to himself at evading such a foe, but his gaze lingered on the spider's nest and he pursed his lips. After a moment's brief thought, he strode forward and entered the dark domain of Mother Web.

On all fours, he crawled through her round passageway, the earthen walls of the tube covered with pus from the boils on her abdomen that had burst as she had squeezed her large body through that narrow opening. Eventually, the smaller tunnel opened into a larger cavern. There, on the far wall, was a hive of white eggs, writhing and squirming as the unborn lives within them sensed the arrival of something that they would eventually call food. In the middle of the cavern, collapsed on a pile of bones, lay the exhausted Mother Web.

Artemis stepped forward into the chamber, and the only response he received from his foe was a brief movement of her head as she shifted it to regard him. She had exhausted her ancient body chasing nimble Artemis through the black forest, and had no energy left to pounce.

Confident he was safe from further attacks, devious Artemis drew his dagger and stepped towards the trembling egg sacs.

"No..." was all Mother Web could muster as Artemis took his blade and slid it across the thin skin of the eggs, sending their malformed contents to the floor of the cavern. Artemis watched the white spiders struggle briefly, coming to terms with the world outside of the safety of their mother's purse before he crushed them underfoot. The thief performed the same act with the remaining eggs until none were left alive. Satisfied his work was complete, Artemis cleaned his blade and made to leave.

"Why?" came the tortured question from Mother Web as she lay weeping and powerless to avenge her offspring.

Artemis turned to his defeated foe, thought briefly, then gave her a gentle smile.

"The man who escapes from the spider is lucky. The man who defeats the spider is a legend. Otherwise, they would never tell this tale."

And from that day on, Mother Web forever cursed his name.

Lonan drifted in and out of consciousness. Through half-open eyes he was able to discern that he was in a cottage, although it was difficult to say which one. There were many voices around him - he recognised the busy tones of Mother Ogma barking sharp orders at everyone else, as she did when her Knack was under great strain. Every now and again Lonan was able to make out a baby crying, and his sister's voice rang loud and clear when she visited his bed. His hand and brow were handled constantly, and he came to recognise the sensation of someone else's tears on his skin.

When he gave his first moan, many voices, mostly female, called for aid and ordered each other about. He blacked out again shortly thereafter. This routine continued for a number of days - slipping back to his sick bed in the cottage to cause a few minutes of excitement, with Mother Ogma or Branwen desperately trying to hold a conversation with him, and then back to blackness. Often blackness would be all that he would experience, but now and again he drifted back to Adahy for long enough to get an idea of how the new Magpie King was faring. Although Maedoc remained ill, the liberation of the Eyrie spurred hiding nobles back into the open, from their shelters among the trees or local villages. The Eyrie began to fill again, with pockets of guards returning as well, but more strong men were recruited from the closest Corvae villages. Adahy seemed driven, saddened beyond belief by the death of his father and so many others close to him, but determined to rebuild what had been lost. Of Inteus Lonan saw no sign, but the name Smithsdown did pop up in conversation now and again, and there was much talk of sending tax collectors out to the villages again to reestablish connections. Unfortunately, in his ill state Lonan could not piece all of this information together to make much sense of it.

It took five days for Lonan to speak again.

"The... baby?" was all he could manage, addressing the shuffling figure in the darkness beyond the candle by his bedside. The concerned wrinkled features of Mother Ogma drifted into his view.

"Now there, dearie, don't stress yourself. You've still got a lot of work to do."

Summing up all of his strength, Lonan feebly grabbed the healer's tunic and repeated his question, "The baby?"

She smiled at this. "Well, I am glad to see he didn't manage to beat your stubbornness out of you. Yes, the babe is fine, now. It needed a good bit of warming up and both she and her mother were in a decent state of shock, but unlike some people a few days were all it took for her to be as good as new again." Concern bloomed on her face as she checked the bandages that were wound around Lonan's head. "Some wounds are easily mended."

"If you're trying to tell me that I'll never go courting again, I think I'll survive," he attempted to croak out from between cracked lips.

Mother Ogma did her best to smile as his comment. "Now, you rest up, dearie. I imagine Branwen shall be here soon, and she'll not be happy with me if I use up all of your energy."

"Branwen? Where are we?"

"You're at my house, in your usual bed. Branwen and Clare have been staying with us for the past few nights. It seemed necessary given the... unusual situation in the village right now."

Lonan fell back asleep at this point, and spent a lot of time with Adahy in a boring meeting with an emissary from outside of the forest, from the owl people. He faded back into reality at the sound of Branwen's voice.

"...what was he saying? Is he going to be alright? You said too much may have been broken..."

"Now shush, dearie, I have been wrong many times before, and look - your patient is stirring."

Branwen's face faded into the candlelight, tears forming as she looked into Lonan's opening eyes. "Please don't hit me," Lonan croaked with a smile, "if I say that this is the prettiest sight I could have hoped for."

The familiar anger touched Branwen's ruined face for a moment, but then tears leapt forth instead and she kissed his hand. "Look, Clare," she managed, raising her daughter to Lonan's eye level, "this is the man who saved your life."

"In fairness, I remember you doing most of the swimming."