The morning sun splashed over Calling Rock, flowed through its crevices and gullies, and spilled across the flat clearing at the crest to anoint Robin’s sleeping, tousled head with a cool gold light. She was not alone. A yellow-eyed, ten-foot python dangled out of the thorn tree. It was awake. Its tongue flickered inches from her face. She stirred, brushed a hand sleepily across her eyes and blinked at the warm touch of sunshine. She rolled up on an elbow. The python spread its jaws with a rasping hiss that did not exactly say good morning, and, to let her know what kind of day it was going to be, displayed glistening rows of sharp teeth and two cold, black eyes set in a green scaled head. Robin screamed.
The python gathered to strike, and the leaf-shaped blade of a spear drove into its skull with a sharp crack, nailed it to the trunk of the tree.
The body of the huge reptile dropped out of the tree and coiled violently around the offending spear, collapsed when the spear was pulled out. Its tangled weight hit Robin’s legs as she scrambled away and knocked her flat. She screamed again, kicking at the writhing, thrashing serpent, finally rolled free and sat up on her haunches still screaming.
A shadow moved over her body. She stopped, looked up, screamed again, and buried her face under arms and elbows.
A huge, dark Barbarian stood over her. The bloody, leaf-shaped spear dangled from his right hand. His face was flushed. His dark eyes gleamed intently under the threatening bulk of his forehead. His helmet, tied to his belt, bulged at his hip like an unnatural growth. His armor, glistening on his chest, rose and fell ominously. The movement made the black fur under the armor appear to be growing from his oak-brown flesh.
Robin peeked from under an elbow and saw an arm reach for her. Its hand looked big enough to send to school. She gasped and scrambled back.
He put a foot on the hem of her tunic and brought her to a sudden stop. Frantically, she hid behind her arms again as the hand advanced like a siege weapon. It hesitated, then parted her arms until it found her face. She watched its thumb hover in front of her mouth, a breath away from the trembling curve of her lower lip. Then it gently stroked the lip.
Paralyzed, she closed her eyes, felt the thumb work her lip, then opened her eyes to see the veins cording along a thick metal-clad arm, moving each nick and hair, and surging with the taut muscles of his shoulder and thick neck. Her lids fluttered, then her head tilted back, and she looked into his shadowed face. Dark stubble of beard. Bright hard white teeth. Eyes that hid under a shaggy brow. Grey animal eyes of the predator ruled by the laws of claw and fang, yet black wounds opening on to a haunted past, to the child long buried within. Eyes proud of their mysteries. Eyes that had hidden his feelings too well and long, but which could not hide from her.
A rush of empathy pulsed through her, bringing color to her cheeks. Her smile was not far behind.
He touched her curved cheek, then studied her smile so intently it seemed he thought it had a life of its own.
Boldly she asked, “Are… are you Gath of Baal?”
His dark brow lifted as if he had never heard his name before.
She tried again. “You are?”
His eyes moved to her eyes and quickly withdrew. He turned to the tree, kicked the shuddering python aside, picked up her things and handed them to her. She took her belt with its dangling pouches, slid her knife into its sheath. She tied her cloak and blanket into a bundle and hung it on the end of her walking stick. She did all this with her eyes on Gath and speaking rapidly, in short breaths.
“I… I’m sorry,” she said. “I was wrong to scream. I should have thanked you… and I do thank you. You saved my life.”
“Go,” he said quietly. “You should not be here.”
She nodded, pleaded, “But… if you are… Gath of Baal, I must talk to you.”
He took hold of her elbow, guided her toward the trail at the north rim.
“Go! You do not belong here.”
With a willful strength she yanked free and confronted him bravely. “I will not go! Not yet! I have a message.”
“I have no use for messages,” he said curtly and pushed her forward.
She staggered, then stood her ground. “It’s important! Brown John sent me.”
“Go!”
“But I can’t.” Tears choked her words. “Not until… oh, please listen.”
Tears welled in her eyes; the corners of his mouth drew down hard. Gath’s eyes lost all expression, and he started back toward the eastern rim leaving her behind. She stared in disbelief, watched him stride casually past a massive grey timber wolf that was staring at her as if she were a disobedient pup. The wolf barked. Robin gasped, and hollered at the man.
“Wait!”
Gath kept moving, vanished among the boulders.
Robin started after him, then at the wolf and sank with defeat. A large cat howled somewhere nearby. She looked around wildly, the color gone from her cheeks. Warily she started for the trail at the north rim. After five steps she was trotting, then running.
She tore through shrubs and boulders, reached a crevice filled with loose rubble, and dashed down. She did nicely for ten strides, then slipped on the loose earth, pitched forward, hit the ground and rolled and slid for thirty feet raising a cloud of dust. The decision to stop was made by a flat wall, a painful decision to which Robin replied with a thud and a groan. When she opened her eyes, she was bruised and bloody, smothered with dust, sweat and sunshine. The crevice now angled west, and she was looking directly into the blazing ball of white gold still low in the morning sky.
The light, streaming through billowing dust, blinded her. Shading her eyes with a hand she started forward, blinking, trying to see the ground. Suddenly a rubble of rocks came loose under her feet. She staggered forward trying to keep her balance. The loose ground was not of a mind to help her. It abruptly dropped away at a steep incline, and she went racing down, arms flailing, into the dusty golden light.
This time she came to a sudden standing halt, arms spread, and bounced; but snapped back. Her body was stuck flat against a wall of light. All except one leg. It dangled helplessly, like a noodle just before it is swallowed.
Dazed and astounded, she wrenched wildly at whatever held her, but could not get free. She pulled her head back, looked down, and a spasm of horror tore through her. Just below her chin was a hairy, thick rope, coated with a sticky wet substance which glistened in the golden sunlight. Her hands, arms, and body were glued to a huge spider web. It spread like a target to the sides of the crevice. Her right leg, from the knee down, hung loosely over the open center of the web.
She thrashed helplessly against the gooey threads. The effort only secured her more firmly to the web.
Her strength ebbing, Robin hung in place like the last bite on a plate. Tears welled up under her lashes, but she fought to see the source of a grating sound below her. At the base of the web, a circle of ground three feet across was lifting. She screamed. Her body shuddered, shaking tears loose from her eyes.
Staring down into widening darkness, she watched spellbound as hairy clawlike legs grasped the rim of the dark hole. The legs flexed, then lifted the dark umber body of an enormous spider out of the darkness. It was a Chupan, about forty pounds, the color of dirt and in bad need of a haircut. Its body was all belly. It was mostly mandible, except when the curved mandibles were open, as now. Then it was all bad intentions. A meat eater.
Robin flailed, and long strangled cries leapt past her trembling lips. Music to the Chupan’s ears.
The spider watched Robin’s right leg flail wildly at the open center of its web, then started for it, but reconsidered, as if the leg were too great a bother. Instead it moved sideways for the other leg. That sandaled foot was securely stuck to the web.
Robin wiggled furiously and managed to twist her head under her shoulder until she could see the hairy creature nearing her foot. She yanked frantically on her left leg and freed it slightly so that its sandled foot sank even closer to the advancing mandibles.
The Chupan lurched upward, snapped at Robin’s trembling foot and came away with the sandal.
Her eyes sliding back, Robin sank, semiconscious.
The spider chewed on the sandal for a while, then its pea-sized brain seemed to decide there had been some kind of mistake, and it spit the sandal out in pieces. Seeing the pinkish underside of Robin’s bare foot, it started up the web again.
When the spider was positioned to dine, with a choice of five perfect toes as appetizers, spreading jaws crashed over its pulpy body.
The jaws belonged to Sharn. He was still in midair when they snapped shut, cleaving the spider in two. He landed cleanly on all fours ten feet beyond the web, then calmly spit bits of its chitin and hairy pulp from his mouth as he watched the two oozing pieces of the Chupan roll past him and down the crevice. Calmly the wolf began to pick off the bits of web which had caught in his fur.
A short time later, when Robin’s eyes flickered open, Gath’s shadowed body blocked out the sun. He was cutting her free of the web with his dagger. She whimpered, looked into his dark face and found his slate-grey eyes wandering across the rise of her breast, the turn of her neck. His cheeks felt like flames against hers as they brushed past.
Leaning her head against his cheek, she moaned, “Gath!”
Ignoring this inadequate effort to restart their conversation, he continued to cut at the web. Suddenly she dropped and landed hard on her backside at his feet. She groaned and pushed herself up onto her hands, and looked at him. Did an amused glitter pass behind Gath’s eyes? She was too dazed to be certain.
She caught her breath, then dragged herself to the side of the crevice and let her exhausted body sink back against it. Her mouth trembled. “I…1 thought I was going to die.”
Her dark feathery eyes grew wet. He squatted facing her. A cheering grin lifted the corner of his mouth, defying her to cry. She dropped her dusty head in her hands and began to sob.
The grin went away, and he stood abruptly. “You are not hurt.” •
She looked up past her hands, startled by his abrasive tone, and stammered, “But that… that thing almost killed me.”
“In The Shades one is always almost dead.”
She flinched, glanced at the wolf then back at him, and saw no opening in the armor of his eyes. Had they been watching the whole time? She indicated Sharn, said uncertainly, “You ordered him to… to save me.”
“No. No one orders him to do anything.”
She nodded and looked off at Sharn gratefully as she pulled at the sticky residue on her cheeks.
He picked up her walking stick and extended it to her. “You are too far from home.”
She nodded. “I know, but I believed you would listen to me.”
She passively accepted the stick, and he lifted her off the ground as if she weighed no more than a basket of peaches. She staggered slightly and caught herself against his arm. He did not pull it away. A smile leapt back into her cheeks and her eyes lifted to his, but the armor was still in place. She withdrew her smile.
“Go,” he said quietly.
She nodded, removed her remaining sandal and tucked it in the bundle hanging from her walking stick. She sighed, then barefoot moved down the crevice towards Sharn. As she came alongside the wolf she stopped, kissed him on the head before he thought to protest, then continued on down until she was swallowed by the sunlight.
At the bottom of the crevice, she looked back up at the two predators standing in the dusty glow. Massive. Impressive. As one with the rocks and forest.
She turned and started through the forest. After traveling over a mile, she could still feel Gath’s presence, and see him in her mind. Held there by the fingers of her imagination.