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Two webs.
I gape, unable to stop staring as I look at the threads that crisscross between the two webs. They’re maybe a foot apart, the two webs, but each tangle seems completely separate save for a few rogue threads. There aren’t many—maybe a dozen? Maybe fewer? Each of the rogue strings are pulled taut between the two webs, and when the Spidae gestures at “my” thread, it gleams with an u
Fascinated, I set my football “pod” down on the ground and step forward to study the webs closer.
“He’s not actually tied to this web at all,” the Spidae murmurs. “You are what anchors him here. When your co
I follow my “co
I stare at my co
“Your tether to your world is tenuous at best,” he agrees.
“What does that mean?”
“It means if you leave now, I can weave you back into the web of your world.” He gestures at the strand, completely taut between the two webs. He points where I’m intertwined with Aron’s thread. “If I cut here, your thread is loose and can be worked back into your world’s weave.”
I gasp. I can go home? All of this bullshit can be over and I can go back to my normal life? Back to a world with cars and phones and cheeseburgers and medicine? Where no one’s trying to kill me on a regular basis? My heart skips with joy for a brief moment—very, very brief. “You can snap your fingers and send me back?”
The Spidae inclines his head. “The veil between worlds was thin when Aron and the Aspects came through. I wove them into this web, and others were caught in the confusion. You were not the only one to cross over between worlds.” He gestures at the handful of threads crisscrossing between the two tangles. “Nor are you the only one that has found your way to the side of an Aspect. Even now, others from your world serve the gods.”
Nifty. I don’t care about them. I care about me. I still can’t help but feel that he’s giving me all this information as a test of some kind…like he’s dissecting my brain to try and read my thoughts. It feels like a trap, like if I say the wrong thing, I’m going to fuck myself over.
Or fuck Aron over.
Belatedly, I remember that Aron and Tadekha didn’t get along. I never asked if Aron and the Spidae got along. Shit. “Let’s just play a few scenarios out,” I say mildly, trying not to stare at my stretched-tight-about-to-snap thread. “What happens if I go back? To Earth?”
“I cut you free from this world.” His eyes seem more silver than ever.
I straighten, frowning. “I thought if I died, Aron died too? That I’m what’s anchoring him to the mortal plane?”
The Spidae nods again. “I cut you free…and we are down to two Aspects of the God of Storms, not three.”
My mouth goes dry. My heart hurts and all hope ends right in this moment. If I die—if my thread is snapped from this world’s weave—my Aron goes up in smoke. “He said that the Aron that’s left after all this…that he won’t be the same. The Aron I know won’t exist any longer.”
I look over at the Spidae, waiting for an answer.
He simply stares back.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
If I go home, I screw over Aron. My Aron. I take him out of the ru
He gestures at the Earth web. “Your co
Fuuuuuck. “So I’m stuck here even after he ascends again? Assuming we win?”
He blinks. “Are you?”
I grit my teeth. It’s clear he’s playing with me. I’m not dumb. There’s something he’s not telling me. Scratch that, there’s a lot he’s not telling me. Instead, I pace closer to the thread tangle, forcing myself to really, really look at it. What am I missing? What am I not seeing that he expects me to see? I lean in and stare hard at the thread tangle of myself and Aron. We’re woven into the web all right, but something about it still strikes me as odd. I want to touch my thread and pull on it, to see where it’s anchored, but I don’t dare. What if I end up lopping my own head off? “I’m missing something big here, aren’t I?”
“Are you?”
I make an exasperated noise. “You realize this is the most a
He laughs, the sound hollow and rusty, as if he doesn’t do it often.
“You said you wanted to talk to me. To give me answers. Here I am.” I spread my arms wide. “Waiting for answers still.”
The Spidae tilts his head. “You are not asking the questions. You are waiting for me to pose them myself.”
“I thought it was pretty obvious.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Let’s say Aron wins and wipes out the other two Arons. That leaves just him as the big wi
“Yes.” His eyes begin to gleam again.
“So he’s stuck on the mortal plane until…the High Father snaps his fingers and calls him back?”
The Spidae simply arches an eyebrow at me.
Yeah, I’m guessing that doesn’t happen. I turn and stare at the threads again. Okay, something has to happen for Aron’s thread to be severed—
Oh my god. I whirl around. “Aron has to die?”
He inclines his head again in an elegant nod. “Now you understand.”
“But I thought the point of this was for Aron to learn a lesson? To beat the other Arons out of existence so he can return the big damn wi
“That is what he has been told, yes. He will learn no lesson if he has nothing to strive for.”
I stare at the Spidae, feeling hollow. It’s like a punch in the gut. Aron’s doomed. None of this matters…because we’re all going toward the same end anyhow. “So the Aron I know will cease to exist?”
“No.” He crosses his arms over his chest and glides toward the web. “The strand that survives the longest becomes the dominant thread. His memories will remain, but all the ills—lies, hedonism arrogance and apathy—will be purged from him. He will return to the Aether to take up his mantle and continue on, serving as he should…until we repeat the cycle all over again.”
“All over again?” I echo, the words a sick whisper in my throat. “This isn’t the first time it’s happened, then?”
“All gods become corrupted eventually,” he agrees, reaching a long-fingered hand out and ru
I blow out a breath.
There’s no saving Aron.
Maybe you are my heart, Faith.
I’m too shocked to even hurt. This is all just a big game to someone up above, so Aron and the others can learn lessons and be better gods or something. It’s awful. “So…Aron has to die. Does he know this?”
“Do you think he would be fighting so hard if he did? He thinks wi
And that makes the ache spread. Oh god. “But there’s no wi
The Spidae nods again.
“So you’re asking me to pick between my life and his. If I go home, I’m okay. If I stay here, I die. It’s just a question of when.”
“Is that what I’m asking from you?” He studies me intently.
I fling my hands in the air and stalk away, frustrated. As I do, my nightgown sweeps the floor and I notice little bits of what look like fuzz or dust cling to my hem and stick to my feet. I lift one foot…and pluck a short string from it. Horrified, I look over at the Spidae. “What is this?”
He tilts his head in that weird way of his. “The god of family is not in the heavens. He is in the mortal realm.”
I throw the string away from me as if burned. “That’s a fucking baby?”
“Is it?”
“Oh my god, I hate you.” I press my fists to my forehead, because it’s throbbing again. “It’s a dead person, then?”
“The god of the dead is also split and wandering this realm.”
My temper explodes. “Well who the fuck thought this was a good idea?”
“It is not a good idea,” the Spidae admits, and for the first time, his voice is sad. “But those that become corrupted must remember who they serve. What better way to remind a god of what a mortal endures than to make him walk in their footsteps? Sleep in their beds? Eat their food?”
Except Aron doesn’t sleep, and he doesn’t eat. I do it all for him. I’m about to point this out when the Spidae reaches into the web, plucks out a strand, and flicks it to the floor.
“Why did you do that?” I ask.
He just blinks at me.
All right, I’m not entirely sure he’s sane. I pace back and forth in the room, trying to digest all of this.
Aron has to die, but he can only die after the other two Arons die.
I have to die, period.
I feel like collapsing. I want to put my hands to my head as if I can squeeze out the things I just learned. I want to go back to being ignorant, because it hurt so much less. A sob rises in my throat but never makes it past the knot that feels lodged there.
If I go home, I live, but Aron’s zapped out of existence. He won’t learn his lessons. He won’t be the Aron that goes “home” to the Aether. He’ll be part of the god that was “purged” and either Hedonism or Apathy will remain.
I feel dead inside. Defeated.
Resigned.
Even though I’m terrified, I won’t abandon Aron. I can’t. He’s kept me safe all this time—
He thinks wi