Robert Charrette - Find your own truth

"So if we're headed after her," Janice said, "she didn't explode."

"That's what Dodger's data says," Ghost confirmed. "Bad guys know it, too. The Wichita didn't sink when she went under the waves. At least not immediately. Captain Walker was running a scam, but the tech didn't match his nerve. He wanted to run for safe territory, didn't want the Indians getting control of the missiles on board. He barely coaxed the Wichita out past Cape Flattery. The sub was in no shape to make it down the coast. Wouldn't have had a prayer of making it to the Canal, so he scuttled her."

That had all happened before Janice was born. It seemed incredibly ancient. "What makes anyone think that the missiles will be any good after more than thirty years under water?''

"Oh, the missiles won't," Tsung said. "But the bombs, that's another matter. Missiles are cheap, but bomb production is quite restricted. There's not so much fissionable material around anymore. What comes out of the plants is strictly monitored by an international commission, which doesn't leave a terrorist squad much chance of getting their hands on anything."

"And we're going to keep it that way," Ghost said solemnly.

The dance was well under way.

Sam rose on the power and felt himself widening, spreading through the sky. He rushed through the hole to the otherworld. He reached the guardian, no longer a Man of Light that mocked him, but something unseen, yet somehow recognizable. Tonight it had no power to limit him. He felt it bow out of his way as he approached.

Beyond the tunnel, another night sky awaited him.

The silver moon hung overhead, its glow full of magic and wonder. Its light lay on the land like a shroud, blanketing the woods and rolling hills in argent stillness. A thread hung from the moon, and from that thread a darkness.

The dark spot descended, growing as it did or only appearing to grow, but appearance was reality in the otherworld. A rush of power swept by Sam, fluttering his clothes. The air carried a scent at once familiar and alien. Familiar, in that he had sensed it once before in a diluted and fragmentary fashion. Alien, in that it was so other in its simultaneous menace and fascination.

When the darkness settled to the ground, it danced before him on eight slender legs. The many-jointed limbs arched out of the forward portion of the great, furred body, rising above it to angle down again to the ground. A shining drop of half-formed silk beaded at the spinneret tipping the end of the abdomen. The rounded head glistened with moonlit highlights that ran in silver streams from its crown to the great mandibles. There were no markings that Sam could see. Spider.

Sam could feel the eyes two large and six lesser-watching him. Unnerving, their jet gaze raised childhood fears. Sam's image was reflected in their depths as the totemic creature bobbed up and down. The multiple reflections jittered, their motion reflecting his feelings.

This was not as it should be. "How have you come here?" he asked. Spider's voice was sweet, uncanny in its warmth. "How have you? Power calls to power, does it not? Out in the colorless world, you did me a service. For a time, you carried a small fragment that had been touched by my power. Through such trifling contact, I came to know you and your power. Now that you walk the realms where the totems dwell, how could I miss you? You shine like a beacon. The power cloaking your shoulders calls me to be near you."

Sam didn't like the idea that Spider could follow him wherever he went. Did she already know of his plans? "What do you want?"

"To help you." One of the great eyes seemed to wink at him. "I know many secrets."

"For which the price is, no doubt, more than I care to pay."

A shrug rippled through her battery of legs. "Cost is balanced by desire and need. I can be helpful."

As could any totem, for they were inherently powerful. "You can be deadly as well. I've heard the stories."

"You cite stories as a reason to distrust me? Fairy tales and myths? Who has told you of any personal dealings with me?"

"No one," Sam answered honestly. "Then how can you know what it is like to deal with me? How can you know whether I am trustworthy or not? Where is your proof, your evidence? Do you condemn so blindly? Those who shutter their minds and hearts with fear of the unknown travel a perilous course. Have you not been maligned by those who oppose you? I, too, have been maligned by ignorant enemies. I am innocent of crime."

Sam was confused. "If you're innocent, why did the elves lock you up?''

"Did they tell you that they had?" Spider's amused laugh was a high-pitched chitter. When she continued speaking, her voice was full of indignation. "Such as they cannot chain me. They are petty flesh entities, moved by petty and foolish flesh desires. They do not understand my nature, and so they fear me. They turn their backs on the wisdom I offer."

The shift in Spider's mood, from amusement to something that smelled of anger, made Sam think the elves had the right idea about Spider. "As do I."

The scent of anger faded and was replaced by a sweeter, almost sexual odor. "Do not be hasty, Samuel Verner Twist. I am the holder of secrets and the crafter of power. I know many things that are mysteries to others. Many secrets are mine and mine alone. I share my secrets with a chosen few." Sam's head was getting light. "For what price?" "Small services."

Rallying his resolve he said, "I'm not interested. I already have a patron in this place, and he doesn't like you."

Spider dismissed his objection with the wave of a leg. "Jealousy only. Dog is young and I am old, older than your kind. And age brings wisdom, Samuel Verner Twist. Such wisdom could be yours to call upon. You could know secrets of many things. Much would be within your power. For example, your sister need not remain as she is."

Sam felt the truth behind Spider's words, but sensed a lie as well. Both truth and lie were hidden in Spider's honeyed promises, but which was which? His head was spinning, and he couldn't sort out what he felt. The deep ache that was his hope to save Janice made him want to believe Spider. Was it only her frightful appearance that made him distrust her? Janice, too, appeared scary now, but he knew that her goodness still lived within. More than anything, he wanted to bring that goodness out. "That's what the Ghost Dance is for."

"Now you attempt to deceive me," Spider chided gently. "Your dance raises power to change many things, but I know that you will focus it to do other things. You are not raising the power of the earth to help your sister. You have not the knowledge to apply the change magic to her." Sam feared she was right. "And you do?" "I know many secrets of metamorphosis. I can teach you, if you let me."

He wanted to know, needed to know. For Janice's sake. "What do you want?"

"Channel to me this power you raise, and she shall be changed. It is but a small matter for me to alter the intent. Let me guide you."

Sam closed his eyes; there was too much input. He needed to think. Spider said that Janice would be restored. It was what he had been seeking ever since he had learned it might be possible. All he had to do was let Spider take the reigns of the power that was building in the Dance. It would not be hard.

A brush of fur caressed his cheek. He thought of Inu, but the smell was wrong. He opened his eyes and saw the bristled surface of Spider's leg. Above him, another limb cradled a strand of silky white stuff. Sam turned and ran.

Spider's laugh was mocking. "Run," she taunted, "but you can never get away from the truth."

Near and far, the dancers moved in rhythm. Faster, ever faster, they flashed through the steps, raising the power that surged through Sam.

He felt the dancers. Myriad images flashed through his head as though he could see everything the dancers saw. Castle towers. Trees. Curving, cramped walls. The sprouting tree. Dark tunnels. Shamans moving in a circle. The stone of earth, alive and rippling. Dog.