Jaleigh Johnson - Spider and Stone

“We have proven ourselves worthy, a hundred times over,” Zollgarza argued. “Lolth sees that and blesses us with her power. Why should we not seek her guidance as well?”

Fizzri slid off the bed and reached for her piwafwi . She shook her head in disgust. “I tire of having this discussion with you, Zollgarza. You have always expected more from the goddess than what you’re owed. It is dangerous and blasphemous.”

“I seek purpose,” Zollgarza said passionately. “I want to be the instrument of Lolth’s will, to earn her love over and over until my death. Tell me, how is that blasphemous?”

“Because it is presumptuous!” Fizzri cried. “What makes you worthy of being Lolth’s instrument in anything? Is your pride and arrogance so great that you think yourself her equal?”

“Never that.” Zollgarza bowed her head. “I hear your words, and I take your warning, but I must have the answers to my questions.”

There must have been a hint in her tone, for Fizzri spun in the act of dressing. Her breath caught audibly. “What do you intend to do?”

“I’ve prepared a ritual to summon a yochlol.”

“Alone?” Fizzri’s eyes narrowed. “That is too bold. You should have more priestesses present to satisfy Lolth.”

“My request is personal and private,” Zollgarza said. “I would only have one other.”

She knew that would appeal to Fizzri’s vanity, but she did not truly expect her lover to agree. Fizzri risked too much personally helping Zollgarza with what she considered a fool’s presumption.

The bedroom memory faded, and Zollgarza saw herself back in the temple, kneeling before the altar as Fizzri broke their kiss.

“What made you change your mind?” Zollgarza asked, half-grateful, half-suspicious of her lover’s motives.

Fizzri’s forehead creased in irritation. “You planted doubt inside me,” she muttered. “I told myself over and over that you are a fool, but then a voice inside whispered, what if you’re right? What if the goddess does favor us and this bold venture? So I am here. Let us proceed.”

Fizzri gestured to the shadows, where two slaves waited. They dragged forward a bound captive. Through dirt and ragged clothing, Zollgarza recognized a young female elf, her golden skin covered in bruises, her eyes bulging with fear.

“Tie her to the altar,” Fizzri commanded.

As the slaves hurried to comply, Zollgarza smiled at Fizzri and offered her a half bow. “You honor me,” she said. “I know she is a favorite of yours.”

Fizzri waved it away. “A bold act requires an item of value,” she said. “ You may risk the full brunt of Lolth’s ire, but I do not.”

The slaves finished their work and retreated. Zollgarza took up her dagger with the figure of the spider affixed to the hilt. With the tip of the blade, she opened a deep cut on her forearm. She held the bleeding appendage over the elf and let her blood drip on her exposed skin. Fizzri removed her own dagger from the sheath at her belt and repeated the gesture, their blood mingling on the elf’s stomach and dripping down to fill the carvings in the altar.

The candles in the room flickered and flared red for an instant before returning to their normal color. Fizzri began to chant, her eyes closed, her body swaying back and forth as she praised the goddess.

Zollgarza stood over the elf. She writhed on the altar, whimpering around the gag in her mouth. Ripping away the rags covering her belly, Zollgarza held the knife poised in the air. “We offer this flesh to you, Mother Lolth. Hear your servants’ prayer and share your wisdom in our time of need. We call upon you, and as we give you this life, put our own lives into your hands.”

She brought the knife down in a quick, brutal arc. The moment the blade passed through the elf’s flesh, Zollgarza felt a burning explosion of pain in her gut.

She collapsed, writhing on the floor in front of the altar. At the same time, the elf’s lifeblood flowed through the carvings and glowed a brilliant red.

Somewhere behind her, Fizzri began to laugh. “Yes! Goddess, yes!” she cried, exultant.

Only then did Zollgarza begin to realize the depth of her lover’s betrayal.

Fizzri bowed deeply before the yochlol. The beautiful demon stood over Zollgarza, lip curled in disgust. Agony kept Zollgarza on her back, watching the blood drip from the altar.

“On your feet,” the yochlol commanded and, without waiting for Zollgarza to comply, made a gesture and spoke a word that pounded against Zollgarza’s temples. Unseen force yanked her to her feet and held her suspended in the air. “See what your ritual has wrought this day, Priestess,” the demon said. “Behold your offering to Lolth.”

Fizzri looked at Zollgarza, and her face contorted with a mixture of triumph and revulsion.

I remember it now. This was the moment when my memories twisted. I am Zollgarza.

A priestess born in the city of Guallidurth.

Lie.

A renegade male seeking refuge in the Temple City of Lolth.

Lie.

Who am I?

I am Zollgarza.

“You desired knowledge of the males in Guallidurth,” Fizzri said, running a sculpted fingernail along Zollgarza’s throat. “At first I dismissed your worries, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized you were right. The balance is shifting, and we must assure our dominance. You gave me the answer, my love, when you said you wanted to be Lolth’s instrument.” A wicked light burned in Fizzri’s red eyes. “You shall. Female becomes male. By arcane power is the divine transformed. When the time comes for Lolth’s ascension, you will be the nexus, the conduit for the creation of the Demon Weave. You will have purpose-a sacrifice to Lolth’s greater glory.”

My purpose. To die. Even that is fading. They took my memories, remade me completely.

I presented myself to Mistress Mother Fizzri Khaven-Ghell and offered my services as an assassin and master of poisons. She took me in, protected me.

Is that what you really are?

Show me your face, Zollgarza.

No, I am a high priestess of Lolth. I serve none but the goddess. Fizzri is my equal. I know her flesh as intimately as my own.

So many contradictions in your flesh-unremarkable male. Unworthy … lesser creature.

No! Goddess, forgive! Don’t do this.

Too late. I am already lost.

I am Zollgarza.

They call me the Black Creeper. I must keep my head down. I have felt the sting of the snake-headed whip too often.

No!

Yes.

I am Zollgarza.

Zollgarza screamed as the scene faded. Her last sight was of her male form standing in a pool of elf blood, gaze fixed beseechingly on the yochlol’s cold face as the demon stole her memories, filling her with Lolth’s dark power.

The library faded back into focus around Zollgarza. Shadows shrouded the room, and the whispers still hissed from the empty corners.

Show me your face, Zollgarza .

Lost child, helpless male, newly born female .

The voices mocked her. Zollgarza pawed the air as the shadows crept closer, taunting. Was it the seneschal’s books-whispers Zollgarza was too lost to hear? Or was she truly going mad?

Who am I? Goddess, please tell me!

“There’s no hope for questioning her,” Mith Barak’s deep voice drowned out the whispers briefly, but Zollgarza could not see the dwarf’s face. She’d fallen into darkness, and the shadows wouldn’t let her go. “She’s half-mad already. Look at her.”

Show me your face, Zollgarza .

Yes, look at me, Zollgarza wanted to scream. Someone, look at me. Tell me who I am.

During those times in her life when she’d felt lost, Zollgarza had taken comfort from the knowledge that she was strong in her goddess’s love. But that was a lie. Hadn’t she also felt strong as a male, knowing she would one day earn Lolth’s favor?