Shadow Scale: A Companion to Seraphina(29)

Abdo halted his steed, looked around in confusion, then pulled his feet from the stirrups and stood balanced on the saddle to gain a wider view. His horse shifted uncertainly, pawing the ground, but Abdo retained his footing.

Is something wrong? I asked.

No, he said, scratching between his hair knots and staring east of the road, toward a low ridge. Her light is strange, that’s all. I reached out to tell her we were coming, and it shrank to almost nothing, like that plant where the leaves curl up when you touch it. He illustrated by making his hand close up like a flower. I’d never heard of such a plant.

Is she over that ridge, off the road? I asked.

Yes, but … He tapped a finger against his lips. It might be best to give her a little time to see if she unfolds again. Maybe we could eat first?

I conveyed this news to Josquin and Moy. Everyone seemed glad of a break; the Eight unpacked our simple provisions—bread from last night’s palasho, cheese, apples—and settled in for the midday meal. Some, sitting with their backs to resin-caked pine trunks, looked ready for a nap.

I must have been very hungry, because it took longer than it should have to notice that Abdo had disappeared. At first I thought he’d wandered off to “talk to the birds”—as Josquin had explained the Ninysh euphemism—but then Nan started to complain that a whole loaf of bread was missing. I called with my mind, Abdo? Where are you?

I’m going the last mile alone, he replied. She’s very shy, I think. The Eight will scare her, and she’ll scare them, and I don’t want them hurting her spiders.

Spiders? I said, looking around for any glimpse of him. Talking to him with my head gave me no sense of where he was, alas.

Josquin was watching me. “Are you well?” he asked.

I must have been making a face. “Abdo has gone on alone.” I explained his reasons, and whom we’d found—the eerie pale hermit surrounded by butterflies in my mind’s garden.

“We don’t need the Eight,” said Josquin, glancing over at our armed guards, some of whom were now napping heroically. “But I don’t think Abdo should go alone, either.”

I agreed. Josquin conveyed our intention to Moy, who frowned deeply and made Josquin take his dagger. I started up the ridge, Josquin at my heels. From the top, a barely perceptible track wound downhill between boulders; I couldn’t see Abdo but guessed he would have followed a visible path rather than charging through the thickening underbrush. The path grew steeper, and then we were descending a little ravine with a gurgling stream at the bottom. The pines grew thicker here, and the rocks mossier. The path ran downstream and soon became bogged in yellow clay. We slipped and skidded along, managing not to fall in the mud or the stream, until we reached a massive fallen tree covered in mushrooms and moss.

It seemed to be the only bridge. We crossed to the other side, and the path veered away from the stream, winding into the forest again.

Fifty yards along, we reached a clearing, where a shaft of sunlight illuminated a ramshackle hut made of bark and ferns. Abdo was halfway across, stepping gingerly, ducking something I couldn’t see. He’d mentioned spiders, and he looked like someone evading their webs, but I saw no silky threads gleaming in the sunshine.

Abdo looked back over his shoulder at us and said irritably, Stop right there.

Something in his tone made me freeze at once, but Josquin couldn’t hear him. I snatched at the herald’s sleeve as he passed, but missed. “Josquin!” I hissed.

Josquin looked back at me quizzically.

There was a sound of snapping twigs, and then Josquin disappeared down a hole.

Alarmed, I rushed forward. There was another snap, and Abdo cried, Duck!

I threw myself to the ground as an axe swung over my head and thudded into the trunk of a nearby tree.

“What is this?” I cried.

There are filaments of soul-light everywhere, like a giant spiderweb, said Abdo. Traps. You really should stay put.

He waved the pilfered loaf at me. I’ve been telling her about bread, and she’s very interested. At least I think she is. I get images from her, but no words.

He started picking his way forward again. I crawled through the ferns to the edge of Josquin’s hole and looked down. He waved from the center of a nest of broken twigs. “No casualties but my dignity,” called the herald, tugging on his chin beard. “Some might say that’s no loss at all.”

I explained about the filaments. “I’m not sure it’s safe to breathe.”

Oops, said Abdo. I looked up in time to see a cascade of small logs bowl his feet out from under him. He softened his landing with a diving roll, but some part of him must have grazed another mind-fire filament. Three mounds of pine needles began to rise from the forest floor, until each had grown to the height of a table. The nearest one twitched, shedding needles and revealing a woolly body the size of a human head connected to eight long, spindly legs.

I must have cried out, because Josquin shouted in alarm, “What is it?”

“Sp-spiders,” I managed. Josquin reached up and handed me Moy’s dagger. I took it, not sure what I could do with it. How could I reach the spiders—or Abdo—without snapping more invisible trigger threads?

Abdo, for his part, was gazing rapturously at the monsters with an openmouthed smile. Oh, Phina madamina, I wish you could see this.

I’m seeing plenty, I said. The spiders had begun taking shaky steps toward him.