“Just keep going,” he muttered. “Almost there.”
He focused on an image of his wife and child, steeled his nerves for whatever could come hungrily crawling out of the shadows, and kept one foot moving in front of the other. Webbing clung to his boots stubbornly. Smaller spiders skittered among the webs and roots, feasting on gnats that seemed to thrive in the warrens. Though his notebook was stowed in his pack, he kept his thoughts busy, identifying the spiders he knew and giving names to those he didn’t.
Leading them all was the quiet, whispering voice of Chevat, echoing back eerily as the aranea spoke of what he knew concerning Tohrepur.
“Once the song was an accepted part of these warrens, like the wind or the storm,” he said wistfully. “Strong yet soft at night, weak and subtle during the day. We never questioned its presence; the eldest of us barely heard it unless they listened. But, just over a tenday ago, it changed.”
The caverns widened and narrowed as they passed, climbing close to the surface before plunging steeply again. The webbing oh the walls became more deliberate, more patterned and decorative. Bones littered the silken designs, arranged in pictures and grisly mosaics that made Uthalion think of the men he’d lost upon his crossing of the Lash six years ago. He wondered if the empty sockets of cast aside skulls watched him accusingly, imagined them whispering his name and asking if he recalled theirs.
“Arasteht was the first,” Chevat continued. “He disappeared one night, following some powerful call, a summoning that no one could dissuade him from obeying. He wept when restrained and fought fiercely to escape. Several others followed him in the days after, fleeing in groups to the south.
Not all of us could hear the singing, and a few that could were able to resist. Before we could learn much else, Arasteht returned and he… well…”
The aranea paused before an ornate passage that glowed with a dancing orange light. His strange, elflike features were troubled as he turned and eyed them all suspiciously. Finally, he gestured them into the passage. “In here,” he said simply.
The ceiling of the cavern rose dramatically, and a scent of damp earth and rotting flowers hung thickly. Warm, humid air made a welcome change to the colder tunnels they’d come from. The light came from torches set in makeshift sconces along the walls, adding a light smell of smoke to the chamber. Large rocks obscured their view of the eastern end of the cavern, and swirling clouds of gnats filled the damp spaces between. Fat spiders crawled lazily over their webs, their abdomens glistening in the torchlight as they gorged themselves on the plentiful bounty.
The quiet was broken by a soft moan, a hollow sound that carried loudly in the chamber. It rose to a horrible, groaning cry that set Uthalion’s teeth on edge. The sound scratched at his ears painfully, seeming to crawl through his hair and down the back of his neck as he pressed his hands to the side of his head. It faded as quickly as it had come, leaving his skin itching and tingling uncomfortably.
“What is it?” Ghaelya asked breathlessly, her wide eyes fixed on the glowing cleft between two large rocks.
“Arasteht,” Chevat answered solemnly as he strode forward. “One of the Choir.”
Cautiously they followed the aranea through the rocks into a rounded area that glistened with smooth, wet bones and polished seashells. They formed intricate and beautiful patterns around a shallow pool of dark water, designs rising along the walls and meeting across the ceiling. Ghaelva gasped as she observed the walls, shaking her head slightly at images of sea monsters and strange, watery letters that swirled into one another. Uthalion watched her curiously for a moment, but something else soon caught his attention.
On the far wall, the bone and shell patterns were obscured by a blanket of thick webbing that rose and fell as if with a soft breeze, except that there was no wind in the chamber. Something in the web twitched as they approached, a long-fingered hand bearing hooked claws and pale, mottled skin. Uthalion made out a manlike form, though any similarity to any man he’d ever seen ended at the general shape of the thing. Segmented legs protruded from the web at odd angles; the flesh was covered in dark bumps and spines like a crustacean. Thin, ropelike tentacles were tangled in silk, curling endlessly, weakly, in a futile attempt to escape.
At its head a pair of flexible mandibles pulled at the web while a sharp-angled jaw opened and closed behind them, gasping like a landed fish and hissing through protruding, spiny teeth. Where the creature’s eyes might have been was a ridged, chitinous coating streaked with blue markings.
“When they return, those that do, they usually come here first,” Chevat said. “This place has been here longer than any of my kind can remember. We call it the Temple; they call it”
“The Deep…” Arasteht’s hoarse voice boomed through the chamber, echoing like the weak breath of a dying god yet resonating with a lilting undertone as gentle as a child’s song.
“Calm yourself!” Chevat cried, advancing closer to the hanging thing, reaching for something around his neck. “Or you shall be punished.”
Arasteht shuddered and twisted his head away, gnashing his teeth and flexing fingers that bent backward as well as forward. He remained silent.
“Why do you let him live?” Brindani asked, his eyes and voice a bit clearer after consuming Chevat’s potion. “Why do you not kill him, and be done with it?”
“For information, or at least whatever we can glean from his mutterings,” Chevat replied, crossing his arms and turning to glare at Ghaelya menacingly. “He warns us when the Choir, or their servants, are near… He told us that you were coming last night.”
“H-how could?” Ghaelya stammered.
“How is not a factor that concerns me,” the aranea interrupted loudly. “I should think the why of it would be of far more importance.”
Uthalion stiffened, hearing the scratching approach of spidery legs from all sides. Jade eyes appeared in holes along the ceiling in groups, and others approached from behind the rocks they’d passed just moments ago. He cursed quietly, his hand edging to his sword as he realized Chevat’s intent. Though with all that had occurred, he could not blame the aranea.
“The twin…” Arasteht muttered, suddenly focused on the genasi. “The Prophet-…”
“Quiet!” Chevat yelled.
“She who would sing” Brindani uttered and took a step backward, shaking his head and wiping his lips as if they’d betrayed him. He looked wide-eyed at the ceiling and walls, turning in a circle. “They’re coming!” he added in a rushed whisper.
“Who?” Uthalion asked, narrowing his eyes at the trembling half-elf. “Who’s coming?”
Distant buzzing shrieks echoed through the tunnels, followed by growl-like clicking and sounds of combat. Chevat snarled at the sound, his face twisting briefly to reveal his dual nature, his pointed chin splitting at the base like mandibles.
“More of those you fought on the surface,” Chevat answered ancrrilv. “The servants of the Choir.”
“The Flock,” Arasteht grumbled with a low chuckle like rocks rolling in a tin bucket. He faced Ghaelya, his mandibles rising as he spoke. “They see you little one… They love you…”
“Enough!” Uthalion yelled, drawing his sword and advancing on Chevat. “Get us out of here!”
Chevat bared his white teeth, double-sets of eyes protruding from his cheeks as he fumed and flinched as the sounds of fighting drew closer. Piercing screams rippled through the warrens, bounding off the walls like living things as Arasteht sighed loudly, licking his thin, drawn lips with a long tongue.
“If you want us dead, do it yourself, or give the order,” Vaasurri said. He drew his bone-blade though he did not level the weapon at Chevat. “But letting those things take Ghaelya will not solve the problems you have here!-“
“And letting you go will?” Chevat replied incredulously.