“That… healing is your work?” I ask.

  “Yes. Though the other interrupted me before I could finish making whole what was broken.”

  “Well, go ahead then,” I say, taking a few steps towards them. “We’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

  I take a second to eye the creature long enough for Identification to activate.

  Identification: Burl, Cobald Iron Worker (unemployed)

  Level: 3 (12)

  Strengths: Agility, Toughness

  Weaknesses: Will, Intelligence

  The Cobald are the Competitor species of the Eleventh. A race dedicated to the accumulation of wealth, the Cobald fit into two categories: employees and employers. The former serve only to aid and strengthen the latter in an oath bond that transcends any paperbound contract (exemption: Qellis).

  The Laranya splits her eyes three ways, some pointed at me, others at Three, and still more at the fallen creature. I deliberately walk past her to peer down the trail, though I can’t keep my face steady as I expose my back to her. All of my other senses are fixed on her, anything that would detect even the slightest hostile move. When she finally does move, it is with a whisper of sound that barely carries to my ears.

  I tense, but her quiet feet carry her to the fallen creature. She begins to whisper, the words in a language that defies the translation power. It is a cadenced litany, a rustling chant that doesn’t seem to speak to anyone, but rather to the universe itself. Light of brilliant green occasionally flares, painting the knifelike leaves of the everpresent trees with verdant light. I can’t help turning to watch.

  Her limbs are as precise as any surgeon’s, and hair thin strands of silk appear in intricate patterns across the Cobald’s injuries. Her chant follows a repeated pattern, low and building to a quiet crescendo. The web constantly glows a faint green, but each time she comes to the end of the chant, the light flashes brighter. The silk draws the gaping wounds together, though it feels like it’s doing more than that. When the cuts finally seal, the silk fades, disappearing in the space of three heartbeats until the creature’s skin looks… well, I’ve got no idea what it’s supposed to look like, but it looks good, I guess.

  The creature opens its eyes.

  And screams.

  Its shrieks grate against my ears.

  It kicks feebly at Zara, though it lacks the strength to move her. She takes a pair of careful steps backwards. A few steps on a few different legs. The Cobald looks around frantically, taking in Threenut, then me, before finally landing on the dead bodies of its friends lying all about it. Its screams redouble in volume, and I wince.

  “Buddy!” I shout, trying to be heard over the ungodly racket. “Buddy, calm down! We aren’t going to hurt you!”

  It doesn’t listen. I’m not sure that it can right now. Its legs kick mindlessly, and its eyes rove about in ceaseless circles. After a long minute, its screams turn to wheezes. Its gaze settles on me. I step forward, lifting a hand.

  “Buddy, listen…”

  I trail off as its eyes roll back into its head and it falls back to the ground.

  “Zara?” I ask uncertainly, glancing at the spider. “Is it…?”

  “Though I am not fully familiar with his species,” she rasps, voice like beads hissing through a rainmaker. “I imagine he found the current circumstances to be… overwhelming.”

  I sigh, looking down at the little creature. He looks peaceful in his swoon, like an ugly duckling princess waiting for a blind prince charming to stumble into true love’s kiss. What did his Identification say? Iron Worker? No way he was ready to handle all of our strange faces and the deaths of his co-workers both at once.

  And, judging by what came after his title, he’s going to have another shock when he realizes that he’s been fired. In a culture built around what looks like extreme capitalism, that might be significant. Who knows, it might be worse than death itself.

  “Well,” I say, glancing over at Zara. “Do you think we can move him? With all this noise and the Challenge nearby, there’s no way it’s safe here.”

  The Laranya doesn’t answer for a moment. For once, all of her attention—all of her eyes—are fixated on me. I shift uncomfortably under her gaze as the silence lengthens. When she moves, it is with the same sharp abruptness as when she first saw us. Her appendages spread out into what looks like some kind of pattern, there and then gone. Wait, that looked like way more than eight…

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Just like that?” she whispers. “You expect… you wish… my companionship?”

  “Are you kidding?” I ask, gesturing towards the fallen Kobald at our feet. “You risked yourself to protect this little guy. And why? It can’t be to your benefit. He is a Competitor, same as you. That vampire chick would have smoked you without effort, by the way. And I think you knew that, but you stood. You didn’t run. That’s got to mean something.”

  “I imagine you, too, would destroy me with little effort,” she says softly. “My people do not seek war, yet I know how this Tournament was made. We must kill to grow strong. Why would you be different?”

  “The Twelve know I would love an answer to that question myself.”

  Hush.

  “You want a selfish reason?” I say, nodding towards the unconscious Kobald. “Having a healer on your side has to be a good thing.”

  “Any alliance woven must be short-lived. They will not allow otherwise.”

  “Yeah, so they keep telling me.” I shrug and motion towards Threenut. “We’ve made a pact to remain allied until we’re the last two. No reason we can’t make the same promise, at least until this part of the bullshit is over. Last ten thousand, right? Why not us three? Or, uh, four?”

  “Aye, the twig has the right of it,” Threenut says, thumping his belly twice in rapid succession. It wobbles impressively, considering how small it is. “While we yet know the way to sunlight, we’d best seek it.”

  “Have you been to this Haven?” I ask. “This little dude could probably use a safe place to heal.”

  The Laranya sways in an unseen wind, her delicate limbs weaving another mesmerizing pattern. Nothing happens, at least nothing I can discern, but the sight of her movement leaves me a bit uneasy. Probably just my instinctual fear of spiders. She’s more the graceful, languid drift of a spider in its web than the horrible scuttle of their running. Not that that matters much.

  “Yes,” she whispers after a moment. Her limbs sway again in an impenetrable geometry. There’s no light, no pulse, nothing like the healing she’d done on the Cobald. If she’s activating Skills, they aren’t flashy ones. Not exactly a steadying thought. “But it may not be wise to go there. Not weak as he, and I, are. There are many Competitors there looking solely for weakness to exploit. For… bugs to squash.”

  That last bit felt like a quote. And an Earth one at that.

  “Then what do you suggest?”

  “Deeper,” she says, gesturing towards the path leading left. “Away. Let us find more Challenges farther from Haven until we are strong enough.”

  Part of me immediately rejects the idea. A safe place to sleep? Other people? Maybe other humans?

  Still, I can see the fear in Zara’s many eyes, the fragility with which she considers it. I think of the Deathlord and the strength he stole. If we go now, we may well be targets for the other, stronger Competitors.

  Don’t lie to yourself, Sam.

  Fine. A part of me that I certainly wish would be quiet just wants me to run after that vampire chick if only to get one more glimpse of her. And that voice, however persistent, is not one I need to listen to.

  “Alright,” I say, shrugging towards Threenut.

  “A root entwined with ours,” Threenut says easily, thumping his stick on the ground. “I’ve need of more rain for this soil.”

  “I am not sure I follow,” the Laranya says, half of her eyes settling on Threenut.

  “Don’t worry about it. I think he means ‘let’s do it.’” I offer her a reassuring smile. Hm. I guess I don’t know if it’s reassuring. Might look kind of like I want to eat her, to the uninitiated.

  Without another word, she steps to the unconscious Cobald and bends to lift him in four thin appendages. I narrow my eyes as she stands easily under his weight. Either he’s lighter than he appears, or she’s much stronger.

  “I’d tell you to be careful of who you trust, but that advice, I feel, would not be heard.”

  I am being careful. Why would she risk herself for this little dude? He’s level freaking three.

  “That I can’t answer that question should scare you more than it does.”

  What if it is as it appears? What if she really was just protecting him?

  “What if she wasn’t?”

  I sigh, trailing after the Laranya as she leads us on into the forest.

  After a long piece of an hour of silence, I exchange a look with Threenut, and he gestures slightly towards the arachnid.

  “So,” I say, glancing at Zara out of the corner of my eyes. “What, uh, kind of… God, this is strange. What was your life like before… all this?”

  Half of the Laranya’s eyes spin towards me, while the rest remain fixed on the path. She doesn’t stumble or falter even though several roots bulge up from beneath the earth. Trying to imagine looking two directions at once—or, probably, four or five directions—causes an ache to form at my temples.

  “I was a Weaver,” she says. “A… creator, so it was said. I wove together the strands of the Gilnyas.”

  “Okay,” I say when she doesn’t continue, though I have no idea what the hell she’s talking about. All of these aliens speak in weird patterns and strange syntax. Even the magical translation doesn’t do much to help. “What did you weave? I mean, what was… your proudest creation?”

  “My part in the Weave was small. Healing, as you said. Repair. I wove to make whole that which was not.” She shifts, straightening in spite of the weight of the Cobald in her arms. “I once wove into place pieces of the Mother herself, torn in conflict beyond the nest.”

  “A worthy cause,” Threenut says, thrumming happily. “To know the feel of the Tree’s great shade and shelter it from storm.”

  What the hell? Either Threenut has lost it, or this translation stuff is giving us very different interpretations of what she’s saying. She didn’t mention a tree at all. She doesn’t answer audibly, though the tips of her limbs weave an invisible mark in the air.

  “Did you have… do your people have… lovers? Partners? Friends? Children?”

  She freezes at the last, nearly dropping the little figure cradled in her arms. For the first time, she exudes the aura of the predator she embodies, still and silent and dangerous.

  I paint her in purple light, instinct screaming that she's going to attack. Shit.

  So much for friendship.