home
***
CD-ROM
|
disk
|
FTP
|
other
***
search
/
ftp.ee.pdx.edu
/
2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar
/
ftp.ee.pdx.edu
/
pub
/
frp
/
stories
/
jayhawk
/
jay13
< prev
next >
Wrap
Text File
|
1991-04-30
|
4KB
|
99 lines
13. Spider
Jayhawk dreamed that night, a dream of memory, crisp and clear as if stored
in circuitry; and woke disoriented, imagining for a moment that she was
back in Seattle. For a long time she lay curled in a tight ball, wishing
she could go back to sleep, could manage even that false escape. It was
impossible. At last she gave up, went back to her coding.
Her dream was of the night they'd destroyed Cavilard Base, nine desperate
people against the largest Paradisian installation in Seattle, and
were sitting in a parking lot planning their strike against the last
and worst of the survivors, High Priestess Aliantha and her attendant
sorcerors.
Ratty was sitting alone on the pavement weaving a summoning, trying to
call up aid for the fight they anticipated. Jayhawk watched him idly,
expecting to see nothing, or at most a shiver in the air.
The air shivered, shimmered, and a creature stepped out of the night,
stood regarding Ratty. A spider nearly the size of their station wagon,
its impossible bulk limned with a tracery of shifting green light, an
ever-changing pattern flowing beneath the coarse black hairs that covered
it. Smaller, it might have been called a wolf spider; it had the long
legs of a hunter, knobbed joints towering far above Ratty's head.
All conversation in the car came to an abrupt halt, seven faces pressed
against the glass.
Clusters of eyes, black tipped with sparks of crimson, probed into theirs,
bent toward Ratty. He looked up at it, did not move.
"What do you ask of me?" it said conversationally, a cool, vaguely sardonic
voice with a distinct Seattle accent.
"Help against my enemies, against the High Priestess," said Ratty in a
voice she could barely hear.
"And what will you give me in return?"
This seemed to dismay the shaman. It went on, "I make an offer: for
every life I take for you, I will take one for myself."
"I can't let you kill my people, I would be no better than my enemy."
"I do not mean to kill them. That would be wasteful."
Ratty considered that, while the rest of the team held its collective
breath, waiting. "I don't have the right," he said at last. "I can't
give away people like that; they're not mine to give."
"I will promise to spare you and your friends."
"No. No. I can't do this."
"Then may I have leave to go?" It turned a little, feather-light for all
its bulk, seemed about to walk off. Its legs pivoted with the grace of
a fine machine.
Ratty raised one hand, made a convulsive clutching gesture. "Wait. I
will make an offer, I will....if you will aid us, I will search for a
student for you, someone to willingly accept your power and do your work
in this world. Is that what you want?"
It turned, stood almost over him, dwarfing his slim form. "And you will
do this within three months, or else I will take you instead. Yes?"
"What should I tell the one I choose, what will become of him?" Ratty
whispered.
"Do you wish to become my initiate? No? Then it is no concern of yours.
He will share my power and my knowledge, and he will understand it. And
I will help you against your enemy."
Lights traced and shifted across its body, like a map of the dataflow,
the endless dance of the Matrix. Jayhawk stared at it, caught between
admiration and terror. It was beautiful, the most beautiful creature
she had ever seen. She could barely breathe, afraid to attract its
attention to her. And yet she didn't want it to go.
"How will I know," said Ratty at last, "who is suitable?"
"You will know them when you see them," said the Spider; though it
had no face to show an expression, she thought she detected amusement in
its eyes. It glanced up at them once more--at her, she thought, and
would have drawn back if she could, hid from that probing many-eyed
gaze--back down at Ratty. "Are we agreed? Yes?"
"Yes." As if dismissed by his words, the Spider turned away, walked off
in a direction that her eyes would follow only for a brief, offended
instant. The night seemed very dark where it had been, and very still.
The crickets had stopped.
"All right," said Duende after a moment. "Are we ready, then? Let's
go."
--
(c) 1991 Mary K. Kuhner