David Cook - Beyong the Moons

A tight cluster of slender spars, jointed like gigantic legs, were affixed at the front of the head. Four swept to the rear, arching above and below the main hull, and each tapered to a point. Four others reached out to the front, probing into the darkness. Teldin could only see the spars as the spider’s legs, completing the image of an immense, bloated arachnid hovering in the sky. Gossamer sails, woven like vast cobwebs, stretched between the tips, trembling on the slightest breeze. More webs, strung like ladders, reached from the abdomen of the hovering thing to the shore. The ship was a maleficent spider weaving its web over the helpless Unquenchable .

Teldin’s ride, forced as it was, became rougher as the umber hulk scrambled down the talus slope. For once the yeoman was thankful for the creature’s gripping claws, though its bony hide scraped his chest nearly raw. Finally it reached the bottom of the slope and grabbed a webbed ladder. The farmer expected the massive beast to tear through the thin hawsers but the cables were far stronger than they seemed. The ladder swayed and tossed as the immense bulk ascended toward the ship’s belly. Teldin could clearly see the gnome sidewheeler floating in the water below. While he knew it was undamaged, the ship looked like little more than floating wreckage.

The swaying stopped and darkess closed about Teldin as the umber hulk struggled off the ladder and into the neogi ship’s hold. Apparently the neogi did not feel the need for lights, since none of several commands the leader hissed involved illumination. The words were foreign, but Teldin felt he understood them. “Dead meat take to food lockers,” the foul thing told its slaves. “Live meat take to Chamber of Pain. Live meat guard well, and see it escape does not.”

“I obey, small lord,” rumbled Teldin’s keeper, its chest trembling beneath his legs.

“Do it, lordservant.” A scrabbling series of clicks told Teldin the neogi had departed. He was unable to follow their progress in the darkness, and Teldin could do nothing but let himself be carried to some new destination. Somewhere along the way, the umber hulk climbed a ladder, pressing its claws into Teldin’s back and causing warm blood to seep into the weave of his shirt. Held helpless, he gave up his ideas of escape.

The umber hulk reached another deck, no brighter than the previous, walked a short distance, then stopped. Teldin heard the rattling of a lock, then the faint creak of a well-oiled door. With a savage clench to the ankles, the beast swung the human off its back and hurled him through the doorway to crash to the floor, skinning his body even more. Teldin heard the door slam and the lock drop into place.

Teldin huddled on the floor in the darkness for he didn’t know how long, his mind shut down in shock. Eventually self-preservation took hold and the farmer pulled himself up. “Don’t sit there! Do something!” he cursed under his breath. Teldin carefully began to crawl on his raw knees across the prison’s floor, feeling his way. Groping along this way, the captive bumped into several tables, each of them bare, though he could feel the tops were scarred and scored. There was a smell in the air, the faded suggestion of a sweetly thick odor. What was it that seemed so familiar? As he surveyed the cell’s dimensions, the mule skinner in Teldin remembered the odor, a long-forgotten scent from the war. It was blood, dried and stale to be sure, but blood just the same. Suddenly fearful in the darkness, Teldin pressed himself against the wall, trying to melt into it, fighting the panic that rose from his core.

“Keep going!” the farmer snarled at himself, whispering the words through clenched teeth. He thought of Amdar, scowling at his weak son, remembering the disappointment so clearly etched in his father’s face. The grim memory stiffened Teldin’s resolve; he would not fail this time. He would meet every one of his dead father’s expectations. Painfully, slowly, the trembling yeoman moved forward, fingers following the wall. He desperately tried not to think about the smell, the blood, the scarred tables, the “human meat,” as the neogi had called him. Scratching the metallic surface, the farmer finally touched something different. Fingers eagerly caressed the surface until it was cleat that it was the hinge of the door. There was almost a sense of hopes that the joints might offer some chance of escape.

It was while he was probing the door that Teldin heard faint voices from the other side. He pressed his ear to the metal and strained to make out what was being said.

" …human I found and brought. My property he is. Tattoo him I will!” snarled the first voice. Teldin could only guess that the speaker was his neogi captor. While he magically understood their speech, the nuances were still beyond him. The words were distinctive enough, though.

“Overmaster you defy, M’phei. Human meat overmaster claims until found is the cloak.” Although not raised, the second voice spoke with clear menace. “Here cloak is, overmaster believes. A giff with gnomes, reports say. A giff went with human, groundlings said.”

“If my meat overmaster wants, in pit overmaster I will meet,” M’phei promised. “Human meat and cloak who will get we will see. If cloak I have, benefit greatly my friends do. This world with cloak the overmaster could enslave."

There was a long pause. The second voice started speaking, softer than before, as if the speaker were walking around. " …loudly you speak not. Nearby overmaster is."

The first voice spoke again, louder and stronger than before. “Growing old overmaster is. Another yrthni ma‘adi in fleet may be soon.” Teldin barely understood the meaning of the word yrthni ma‘adi . The literal translation- which the cloak imparted? — was “great old master.”

"…cloak find?” The words were drawn out, tempting.

“Ah, cloak. Key human meat is and give it up meat will.” Even without understanding nuances, there was no mistaking the triumphant gloat in the neogi’s voice.

Teldin unconsciously touched his hand to his throat. The silver chain and clasp were still there. Feeling the back of his neck, the cloak still was little more than a strip of cloth, and the whole thing felt like no more than a necklace or amulet. The farmer wondered what would happen if he just gave up the cloak-if he could get it off. Could he convince the neogi to let him go? Teldin refocused his thoughts on listening for more.

“Discuss I will not until…" Teldin had no idea what the two voices were now debating, but it did not matter, since the voices trailed off. The captive kept his ear pressed to the door, but there was no more.

Slowly the farmer let his body slide to the floor, his long limbs slowly folding underneath him. Part of his spirit sank into despair. The neogi’s meanings seemed clear; Teldin could not imagine any other “human meat” on board the black ship. Apparently the creatures knew about the cloak. Indeed, it seemed they knew more about its purpose than he ever imagined. The neogi wanted it desperately, enough to trail him halfway across a continent and slaughter untold numbers of innocents. Now that the creatures had him, Teldin had few doubts about the extremes to which they would go to attain their goal. The farmer thought of the Penumbra , Liam, Vandoorm, and the-gods-knew-how-many gnomes. How many more had the neogi killed searching for the cloak? Teldin tried not to consider the bloody responsibility that rested on his shoulders, but he failed to drive the thought from his conscience. For a moment, the human’s thoughts sank to resignation, surrender, and sacrifice to prevent more death.

Still, there was a small spark of promise that kept Teldin from utter despair. Apparently, while they had him, the neogi did not know their human prisoner wore the cloak. That, the farmer guessed was all that kept him alive. Teldin squatted against the door and tried once more at the clasp, hoping to get it unfastened. With it off, his numbed mind rationalized, he would be free from its burden and the neogi might even let him go.