The people with the funny hands will be eaten?
And another.
Sa-at pulled a face. He didn’t like the idea of the people being eaten. He saw Spiderkin all the time but he rarely got to see people. He wanted to see more of them. Maybe there was a way to stop the Spiderkin’s trap …
As soon as he’d had the thought, Crowflies stiffened, unhappy.
‘But,’ protested Sa-at, ‘they’ll die.’
Crowflies gave a shrug of its wings.
He pulled his hand free, sucking the end of it as he stood up.
‘Sa-aat!’
He was being warned not to go.
‘I’m going.’
‘Sa-aat!’
He paused for a moment. Crowflies was his friend, his only real friend in the Wild. The Birdkin had brought him food and drink until he was old enough to hunt. It nursed his injuries, watched his back, taught him. Everywhere Sa-at went, Crowflies was there like a winged shadow. Deep down, he knew it was trying to protect him.
But then he thought of the Spiderkin wrapping the Gatherers in bladesilk. In a week or so he would come by this part of the forest again, and find eight skeletons stripped of everything save the hands and feet.
If he waited another week, the hands and feet would be gone.
The maimed skeletons would hang for a few more after that, and then vanish. Sometimes, much later, he’d see a fragment of bone attached to one of the trees like a trophy, and be certain that he’d seen it before.
His stomach turned a few times and then he started running.
Behind him he heard several squawks and felt the feelings behind them.
‘Sa-aat!’ (Annoyed.)
‘Sa-aat!’ (Go if you want, I’m staying here.)
‘Sa-aat!’ (Exasperated.)
A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he skipped between a tangly mass of bushes. Despite it all, Crowflies would come. It always comes.
The trees gathered closer in this part of the Wild, shutting out the day. Great strands of web ran taught between them. Where it rubbed against the branches, deep grooves were made, red fungus sprouting from it like raw skin. Fat shapes sat within the canopy, their legs bunched together to conceal their true size. Sa-at knew the signs and quickly guessed at their number.
The Gatherers did not.
A couple of them made a token effort to keep watch, though they had no light to penetrate the gloom, and were of little use. The others were clustered around a green trunk, as wide as a broad-shouldered man, with pale yellow veins running like marble across its surface. Several creeper vines were coiled at its base.
As he got closer, a nervousness began to grow within Sa-at. He felt something he did not have a name for – a desire to impress. He skidded to a stop and paused. He had very rarely seen people and had never spoken to one before.
One had spoken to him however, when he was tiny, a man called Devdan. Sa-at learned many words from him. He had been kind for a time, and then he had stopped being kind. Sa-at remembered the man’s hands on his throat, and then the threat of fire and sharp things. He had been tiny but the memory was vivid in his mind, like a body preserved in amber. These people seemed kind too, would they try and hurt him as well?
‘I see something!’ said one of the Gatherers, and they all turned towards him. They carried simple weapons, knives and long poles of wood. One carried a sling, that they proceeded to load.
Sa-at had never seen a sling before and was briefly distracted by the excitement of something new. The promise of the unknown made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle.
‘What is it?’ said a voice from the back.
‘Looks like a person.’
‘Ain’t no people here but us.’
‘Said we shouldn’t have come!’
‘Is it a demon?’
Sa-at tried to think of something to say but the excitement and nerves had made him too fizzy, so instead he took a careful step forward.
As one, the group stepped back.
‘Don’t look it in the eye!’
‘Don’t let it touch you!’
Behind them all, moving smooth and slow, the first of the Spiderkin slid down until it was level with the Gatherers’ heads. Upside down, its legs opened like bony petals, tensing to strike.
Sa-at finally found his voice. ‘Run.’
‘Did it say something?’ asked a Gatherer.
‘Don’t listen to it!’ said another. ‘Don’t let it get close!’
A second Spiderkin slipped down next to the first, a third and fourth close behind. These were the scouts, the fast ones. Their job was to slow down the food for their queen.
‘Run!’ he repeated.
‘Don’t listen!’
He did not understand why they were still standing there. The new Spiderkin flexed open as well, the little mouths tucked in their bellies oozing with drool. They were ready. He did not understand why it was so difficult to communicate with these people. Crowflies always understood what he said and all the meanings underneath.
With arms spread wide, Sa-at let out a wild cry and ran towards the group, desperate to get them to move.
The Gatherers cried out in alarm and the Spiderkin paused to assess the new threat. The sling spun round three times and a stone whizzed past Sa-at’s shoulder. He kept running.
The Gatherers fell over themselves trying to retreat, stumbling directly into the Spiderkin.
There was a flurry of legs and screams as the Gatherers tried to flee. They had finally realized the danger, but instead of running back towards the lighter area of the forest (which would have taken them past Sa-at), they ran away from everything, moving randomly off into the dark.
Seven vanished into the forest, but one was grappled by a Spiderkin, his legs kicking wildly as it began to ascend.
Sa-at used his momentum to leap, grabbing the Gatherer’s boot as it thudded into his chest. They swung, spinning on the end of the strand, the Gatherer dangling from the Spiderkin’s legs, Sa-at dangling from the Gatherer’s. Their arc took them into the path of other strands, tying all four together, and sending the other three Spiderkin into a frenzy.
The Gatherer shrugged off his satchel, getting partially free. A last leg was hooked under his shoulder however, and he fought desperately to unhook it. A droplet
