Cursed

“It’s good you worked things out.”

I glanced around the walls. “You did a good job cleaning the place up.” My eyes wandered to the jagged roof of the side tunnel. “How many bodies were there?”

“Three.” Arachne’s tone of voice suggested it was an ordinary question.

“You didn’t find a fourth?” I nodded at the tunnel. “Under the rubble down there?”

“No. Why?”

“Just wondering.” So no trace of Garrick, and if Arachne hadn’t found his body, I was pretty sure he wasn’t dead. Probably he’d set up an escape route ahead of time. He’d always struck me as the type to plan ahead. “You’re okay?”

“Perfectly fine. It took me a little while to recover but that focus didn’t do any permanent damage.” Arachne paused. “Of course, if the ritual had been completed …”

“I know.”

“Thank you.”

I looked up in surprise. Arachne was looming over me, her legs on either side of the couch. Her presence was at odds with the sound of her voice. “I know how much danger you put yourself in for me.”

“Uh … that’s okay.” I couldn’t help but feel that the whole thing had been partly my fault. After all, the way Belthas had managed to break in had been through Luna and Martin …

“No,” Arachne looked down at me with her eight eyes. “Alex, I’ve lived a long time. A very long time. I’ve seen many mages and there have been some I could trust as much as you. But not many. I’ve never known why some mages are loyal to creatures like me when other mages see us as monsters, but I’ve learnt to know it when I see it. I see it in you and I’m grateful. If you ever need my help, you’ll have it.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Thank you,” I said at last, and rested a hand on one of Arachne’s legs. I can’t really read Arachne’s expressions but I think if she could, she would have smiled.

We talked a while, about old times and new, remembering past stories and wondering about what was yet to come. Finally I looked into the future and sighed. “Well, I’d better go take care of something.”

Arachne gave me her equivalent of a nod. “I under-stand.”

I rose and stretched, then paused. “Arachne? I know you don’t like talking about yourself—but I’d like to know. Why did that dragon help us?”

Arachne was quiet for a little while before speaking. “A creator can be as a mother.”

I looked at her, puzzled.

“You would recognise her name.” Oddly, Arachne sounded as if she were smiling. “I expect you’ll work it out some day.”

I thought about it as I made the journey back up the tunnel, and as I did, something else occurred to me. When the dragon had given me the tooth, I’d assumed it was meant for Arachne. I’d thought that by using it against Belthas I was going against the dragon’s plan, and I’d wondered if the dragon might not be very happy about it.

But now I thought about it, the dragon had never actually said who I was supposed to use it on.

I stepped out into the cool night air and walked up the slope of the ravine as the entrance closed behind me with a faint rumble. There’s an old tree trunk near the ravine, one that fell many years ago. The park rangers cleaned it up and tidied away the dead branches but left the log where it was, and I sat down on it and looked up at the sky. It was a clear night, and the autumn stars shone down through the fuzz of the city lights, the Square of Pegasus high to the southwest while Orion rose in the east. It wasn’t silent—even on the Heath, London’s never really silent—but it was as quiet as it gets. The only sounds were the faint murmur of nighttime traffic and the wind in the leaves.

I waited.

I heard him before I saw him: dragging footsteps mixed with the crunch of undergrowth. He fell once on his way up the hill, lying still for a moment before pulling himself to his feet. I waited for him to get close enough, then when he was within twenty feet I switched on my torch, keeping it pointed down and away.

The figure standing before me was a wreck. The clothes were ripped, dirty, and threadbare. The once-blond hair had been rained on and dirtied until it was a brownish mess, and the eyes blinked, squinting in the light. He looked like he’d walked the whole way from Scotland. Maybe he had.

It took a good few seconds before a light of recognition came on in those eyes. “You.”

I looked back at him steadily. “Hello, Martin.”

Martin just stared at me.

“I was expecting you sooner,” I said when Martin didn’t speak. “I guess you didn’t have anyone to give you a lift.”

“You,” Martin said again. His voice shook. “You’ve got it. Why? I’ve seen it, all of them, all of it, should be killing you, you’re just there, you’re sitting there, you’re …”

“You can’t learn to be a mage in a day, Martin.”

“Couldn’t be, I saw it, I had it.” Martin shook his head, distracted. “Wrong. Shouldn’t be dark, should …” He trailed off, muttering to himself.