Robert Charrette: Find your own truth

"Do something!" he shouted at Masamba. The mage's face was gray with effort, but nothing manifested itself physically. "I can't," he gasped. "It's too strong."

Sato backhanded him, sending him sprawling. As the mage fell, he struck the table, scattering its contents. Useless magical implements rained upon the grass and rocks. From among their litter, the guardian stone rolled to Sato's feet. The opal glittered, almost glowing from within. Its rainbow of colors sparkled and seemed to flow.

The magic was there. Who needed a worthless mage?

He bent to retrieve the stone. When he touched it, he knew this was the final mistake in his war with Grandmother.

"Crimson Sunset!" he screamed as the pain exploded through his body. She would pay. Even if he was not there to see, she would pay. Akabo was already running for the Griffin to pass the order.

Sato doubled over as his side was scorched with acid heat. The skin over his shoulders and torso swelled and burst, freeing the arms that marked him as an avatar of the totem. The tide turned; what had been pain became pleasure, and he screamed again. He knew now that he had been lying to himself. He had been hers from the moment he had given her the first opening. There had never been any hope. The stone had been used to contain part of her for so long that she had bonded with it, using it as a channel to invade him and complete the possession begun when he had first accepted her offer of aid. He was filled with the terrible knowledge of her inevitable victory. Ecstasy flooded him as Spider entered his spirit and claimed the last vestiges for herself.

Masamba recoiled from what Sato had become. The fool had never known what he had served, despite all the evidence before him. Blind, blind. Almost as blind as Sato had been. But Sato-Spider was not blind. He-she had eight glorious eyes with which to view the world in its etheric and mundane manifestations.

The mage vanished from physical sight; Sato-Spider could still see him as he fled, but chose to ignore him. Such a one would be useless in the coming conflict. Later, his time would come. No matter how far or fast he ran he could never escape the web, for Spider wove too well. Once enmeshed, however peripherally, there was no escape. Any man-thing that touched the web would eventually be a victim. Just as Verner would soon be. A small part of Sato-Spider tasted anticipation of revenge as it learned the name the greater part had known all along. Resentment at the-withholding of that knowledge surged briefly in the lesser part, only to submerge within the swelling intensity of the predator urge to destroy Verner and his works.

Sato-Spider turned his-her eyes to the magic storm that was still whirling the trapped aircraft in its cyclonic funnel of destruction. Feet spread wide for stability, Sato-Spider raised six arms and channeled the power. The small part of him-her thrilled at the caress of the mana. It was terrified, amazed, gratified, and eager. The greater part knew the sensation of old. It directed the energy.

Crimson bolts shot from each clawed hand to converge on the surviving Firedrake, tumbling within the whirlwind. The arcane energy wove a cocoon around the gunship, isolating it from the hostile magic. In suddenly calm air, the rotors caught and the pilot regained control. Sato-Spider shifted the cocoon to shield the helicopter as it ran from the funnel, but though the crimson field could counter the effects of the magical wind it had not been configured to handle the storm's response to losing its victim. Bolt after eye-searing bolt of flashing from the gathered thun-derheads. Most missed the Firedrake, but enough struck to shatter it and send it burning toward the earth.

Sato-Spider snarled.

Direct action was in order. Clawed hands wove an intricate pattern of magic, gathering the strands of mana as they whipped through the storm. Tug. Slip. Push. Grip. The will was all.

First at the edges, then ever deeper, the energies began to twist and change.

Dancers twisted and stomped even faster, caught in the frenzy. The sprouting tree had glowed through the night, shedding light to replace that which the sky no longer offered. Sam sang louder, calling the dancers to follow the song. Faltering voices rallied and sang more strongly. The tree brightened now as the stars vanished behind gathering clouds.

Dancers were led before him. Knowing no other choice, he accepted them. The Dance was not yet over, no interruptions could be allowed.

Lightning flashed across the sky.

Sam gazed on many scenes, most of them blurred by the tears in his eyes.

It seemed to him that Janice stood before him. All of her: the girl he had hidden on the Night of Rage, the young woman he had last seen laughing as she went off to work, the ork form he had never known, and the white-furred giant all occupied the same space. She knelt before him and placed her hands on his head, drawing them down over his face and onto his chest before running them out to and down his arms. "I beseech you, Dog. Turn your eyes to my plight." "I will. After the Dance." She smiled at him sadly. "Face the truth, Sam." "No! It's not fair!"

"Yes. It's not fair, but it's my gift. You know it has to be that way." "You deserve better."

"That's not for you, or me, to say. The Dance will profit no one for personal gain, but it can redress wrongs. Hear my plea, Dog. Dance the steps that will free my soul. Set me against the betrayer who has joined the cause of your enemy, so that he will no longer plague the earth and her innocent children." "I can't." "You must."

Sam almost faltered. He felt the vibrations of his weakness shake the fragile structure of the Dance. The magic was founded on belief, conviction, and sacrifice. He had already accomplished so much. How much more was needed? How many more souls would he have to take onto his own? How could he take his sister's?

Wracked by the crash of his hopes he felt a tug, feather-light, at the edge of his awareness. Inu's voice barked in his head as he turned his vision outward to see the dark presence at the edge of the Dance. What he had refused to give freely was in danger of being lost through his weakness. All that had been gained could be lost. His jaw trembled as he looked into his sister's face.

Her hand touched him lightly on the cheek and brushed away a tear.

"It's the only way, Sam. The only way to save my soul."

He drew her hand to his lips. It was hot and cold at once. He kissed her hand, but was too frightened to look again at her face.

"Go," he said.

She was gone, and he howled his pain to the sky.

Sato-Spider was no longer simply a being of the mundane world. Eight eyes gazed on the physical as well as the astral. Spells and spirits were as visible as rocks and animals. Thus he-she saw the gleaming woman-thing that flew from the heart of the mana storm. The lesser part recognized the woman and the ork, but only the old arachnid knew the outer, white-furred shell that she had seen in the memory of her minions. The woman-thing recognized Sato-Spider, which was obvious when she spoke.

"One in evil, now one in body. How does it feel to change, Gold Eyes? I hated you, you know. If you hadn't done her work for her, I'd never have had to worry about falling to the wendigo nature. Hugh Glass, for all his evil, was acting according to his nature. He was already damned by the time I met him. He infected me because of what you had done. But the metamorphosis wasn't as good as you thought; if it. had been, I wouldn't have been able to fight off the wendigo nature when it changed me. You're no better at making deals than you are at making orks."

Sato-Spider laughed and spoke in Spider's cluttering voice. "You are wrong, Janice Verner." The man-voice sputtered, "It cannot be at fault. The serum was as perfect as science could make it. Your transformation to an ork was as complete as if it had been in your genes since your conception." The insect voice concluded, "I do not build poorly."