Ensnared: An Alien Romance Trilogy (The Spider’s Mate Book 1)
Ensnared: Chapter 4

The sound of branches breaking and leaves thrashing were deafening as Ketahn hit the plant web. Wood scratched and pricked Ketahn’s hide, so much of it at once that he couldn’t identify any single point of pain.

The stronger branches and vines jolted him, not enough so to halt his fall but enough to slow it. His body was twisted and whipped around wildly, destroying his understanding of up and down; was he falling into the pit or into the sky?

Bramble claws raked at Ketahn from all directions, a thousand hands all trying—and failing—to catch hold of him. The tangle of plant growth seemed endless, but all too soon, he’d smashed through to a layer of dead, brittle, particularly biting branches. He lashed out with arms and legs made numb by pain in search of something, anything, to grasp, but all the branches broke off in his hands or shattered against the hard hide of his legs.

He glimpsed only darkness below—darkness bearing that strange orange light.

Ketahn plunged into that darkness. His body rotated again, and he found himself looking up at a large gap broken through the plant web, its edges lined with jagged branches.

He could not help noticing the glimmering stars through the opening, or the tuft of dark cloud lined with pale moonlight. The Eight must have decided his fate truly was to die in some dark hole, after all.

At least it wasn’t Takarahl.

The silk rope cinched around his hand, bringing Ketahn to an abrupt halt with all his weight on that arm. He growled; this pain was unique to all the rest, and he doubted his shoulder could take much more of such punishment. Would the rope give out first, or his body?

Dangling in the air, Ketahn reflected briefly upon his choices today, found no reason to regret any of them, and pulled himself up high enough to grasp the rope with his other hands. His movements set him to swinging, and soon he was also slowly rotating.

The branches creaked and groaned overhead, and the leaves shook when he tugged himself higher and clamped the claws of his forelegs down on the rope, pinching it between them. With a drawn-out crack like rolling thunder, a series of branches snapped overhead. The rope dropped by a full segment, dropping Ketahn an equal distance and making his insides lurch again.

He refused to suffer another fall.

Keeping himself as otherwise still as possible, Ketahn glanced down. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom—which was now somehow absent of that orange light—before he could make out the bottom of the pit. Much of what he saw was deep black, but there were shimmering points of faint light closer to the pit wall—reflections upon the surface of standing water. Fortunately, there seemed to be solid ground directly below him, strewn with countless branches and other debris.

Climbing any higher now would only result in a longer fall to the bottom of the pit, which was at least ten segments down already.

As delicately as he could, Ketahn curled his hindquarters and shifted his rear legs to gather the silk from his spinnerets. His body pulsed as he drew out the thick thread, and he began to swing again, gently—but not gently enough to prevent more groans and cracks from above.

He passed the silk thread into one of his lower hands and tied it off to the spear’s rope. Slowly, he lowered himself, unraveling the rope from his hand as he moved and drawing more silk from his spinnerets. As soon as he was close enough to the ground, he stretched his rear legs, setting their tips down to reduce the strain on the rope.

Cutting off the thread, Ketahn settled his other legs on the ground and studied his new surroundings as the punishments his body had endured echoed and throbbed. The ground was damp, blanketed not only with the twigs, leaves, and vines that had fallen with him but a thick layer of rotting leaves and debris. Only a few segments away, the ground gave way to black water. The air smelled of wet dirt, decay, and stagnant water, but there was something more, a tang almost like that left in the aftermath of a lightning strike…

And the pit’s energy was stronger than ever, coursing up through Ketahn’s legs and across his body in steady, buzzing waves.

Thick shadows dwelled outside the shaft of moonlight streaming through the break overhead. Ketahn could make out more scattered rubble, stones, overgrown vines, and dangling moss, but it was all indistinct, as though he were peering through a veil into the land of spirits.

Orange light flared behind him, bathing his surroundings in an eerie glow that cast long, deep shadows. He glimpsed everything more clearly—untold years of rotting plants and leaves, piles of broken branches, boulders and roots coated in muck and moss, standing puddles outside the surrounding water, and even bones amidst it all.

Ketahn spun toward the source of the light and stilled.

His mouth opened, and a sound might have come out—a gasp, perhaps, or some oath to the gods—but he couldn’t be sure; just as he couldn’t be sure of what was before him.

Something huge jutted up from the ground, big enough that part of its base was in the water, something far too big for the orange light to fully illuminate. Ketahn couldn’t even get a complete sense of its shape. It was simply too large.

The light was positioned at least eight segments above the ground. It came from a small circle, as steady as the sun without any of the heat or intensity. In seven years of wandering the Tangle, Ketahn had never seen anything like it. Reminiscent of sunlight or the glow of a wood fire, it was entirely unlike either, and though it wasn’t particularly bright, it was almost blinding relative to the surrounding darkness.

Ketahn lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the light. At a glance, the thing it was attached to seemed to be made of stone, overgrown with clinging moss and draped with pale vines. But the texture was unusual, and there were bits of it gleaming in the light—almost like the gold so popular with the females of Takarahl.

Releasing the strand of silk hanging from overhead, Ketahn crept toward the strange stone. The reflected light on its surface moved as he did.

The orange light went out.

Ketahn stopped, barely keeping himself from trembling as the unknown energy coursed over him in the darkness. The huge stone thing took shape again when his eyes readjusted, outlined now in the dim light of moons and stars that penetrated the tangled web overhead.

Though much of it was covered by dirt and plants, this thing dominated the base of the pit, spanning almost from wall to wall. Ketahn had come down on a relatively narrow stretch of ground between it and the water. At its top, the stone seemed to touch the web of vines, roots, and branches. It must’ve served as a support for those plants to grow across the pit.

Even if it could somehow be moved there, he doubted the massive stone would fit in the Den of Spirits.

Far away and unimportant, the soota called again; it might as well have been in another world.

Ketahn continued forward. The air hummed around him, vibrating over every one of his hairs, across every threadspan of his hide, and down into his bones.

He extended an arm and brushed his palm across the face of the rock. Flecks of dirt and a hard, brittle, abrasive substance broke away.

“By their eightfold eyes,” he rattled.

It wasn’t stone beneath that grime. Gold remained his closest comparison, but he knew that was wrong; at best, this was some distant cousin of gold, some other metal. It was cold, solid, unyielding, and impossibly smooth beneath the crust that had formed upon its surface. And it was abuzz with that energy and something much deeper—a rumbling that could only be felt, not heard.

The orange light flashed on.

Ketahn snapped his hand back and retreated. This close, he could see the object’s surface gleaming between the dirt and those rough patches, between the clumps of moss and dangling vines.

As he tipped his head back, his eyes caught on something above his eye level. He shifted to the side and stretched up on his rear legs, tearing away some of the vines and wiping away more dirt, working quickly—he didn’t know how long that unnatural light would last.

Once a wide enough piece of the surface was cleared, Ketahn eased back.

There were markings. Deliberate markings—lines forming unfamiliar shapes that had no meaning to him but undoubtedly had some meaning. When he looked at them directly, they were black, but when he shifted his head to either side, they took on a sheen like sunlight reflected on the surface of a pool.

What was this? His mind raced, sifting through every detail he could recall regarding the monster that had been cast into this pit by the gods. Was the orange light cast by one of its fiery eyes as it opened and closed, searching for whatever had disturbed its slumber? Had the beast’s skin been described as gold but not gold? If he were walking in a place where the gods had done battle…

He was uncertain of what that meant or how he should have felt about it. Perhaps he’d simply disrespected the Eight a few times too many, and they’d tossed him into this pit to rot like the flame beast of legend?

The orange light died again. A reddish afterlight lingered in Ketahn’s vision like an angry gash on the beast’s unnatural hide, but that afterlight didn’t fade as his eyes readjusted.

Ketahn’s mandibles twitched, and he found himself longing suddenly for his spear, which was still lodged in the web of plants above.

There really was a gash in the side of this…thing.

Ketahn approached the opening. It was nearly twice as tall as him, wide enough to allow a female vrix through at the base but barely stretching a handspan across at the top. The outer material was mangled and bent all around the edges. Thick vines and moss hung over it in places, but there were other things dangling and protruding within—some of them vinelike, some bonelike, most of them hinting at that odd metal luster through the grime.

Dirt and debris had flooded in at the base, which was angled slightly downward from the ground. This was like the mouth of a cave—not that he’d ever seen a cave like it.

As large as that opening was, the damage and debris made it difficult to see far inside. Ketahn had the impression of a cavern beyond—or, perhaps, a chamber.

He must have recognized the foolishness of what he did next. He must have realized he was beckoning death, but something deep and mysterious drove him, something beyond explanation or understanding.

Ketahn brushed aside the hanging plants and entered the cave.

Though the dangling, vinelike things inside gave way easily as he passed, he occasionally felt the scrape of sharp edges against his hide. The red light strengthened as he navigated the debris around him, and so did the thrumming in the air. It was relentless now, and it was everywhere, even in the dirt beneath him.

He emerged in a large chamber that was flooded with red light, making everything seem dark. The floor, ceiling, and far wall were broken, split along the same line as the gash through which he’d entered. To one side, a sharp decline led below ground level. To the other, it was on a far more gradual incline. More of those bone and vine-like things jutted from the breaks, but the tearing here was less jagged; much of it seemed to have come apart in rectangular sections along the wall and floor.

The dirt from outside continued well into the chamber, where it created the washed-out look of a dried stream bed. It was piled highest at the base of the sloped side of the chamber—which also happened to be partially filled with murky, unmoving water. There were weathered branches and rotted leaves scattered across the floor.

The air was thick, but the stench of fetid water, the slime on its surface, and mushrooms wasn’t as strong as it should have been.

Ketahn crept farther into the chamber. The walls, ceiling, and floor were not of the same material as the exterior, though it was impossible to tell what they’d been crafted of in the red lighting and through all the dirt.

Still, he’d never seen such clean angles in a structure, had never seen pieces that fit together so smoothly and sleekly—as though they’d been woven from the finest silk rather than shaped of stone or some other solid substance.

But most curious of all were the large objects along the walls. Some of them had been tipped over or displaced, but many more were lined up in neat intervals, covered in dust and dried mud. Ketahn might have guessed they were cocoons of some sort, left behind by unknown creatures, as some of them appeared to have opened, but that didn’t seem right. There was nothing natural about this place.

Ketahn approached one of the open objects. A significant portion of the inside was hollowed out, like some sort of basket, but it seemed large enough to fit a broodling within—even a broodling on the cusp of maturity. It was at least a segment and a half long and half as wide.

The inside was caked with muck and slime, some of which glistened in the red light. The pit likely filled with water in the flood season—and it did not seem this chamber was spared.

Moving to the next of the cocoon things, Ketahn placed his hand atop it to wipe away the dirt. The buildup flaked away to reveal something smooth and slightly curved beneath.

Ketahn’s mandibles clacked together as he cleared away more of the dirt. The smooth material was clouded, but light passed through. Had it somehow been shaped of colorless crystal? He leaned down to look closer, but the interior was too dark for him to make anything out.

Perhaps these were…eggs of some sort? He could not imagine the size of creatures that hatched from such huge eggs.

Ketahn lifted his gaze and searched the walls for some sign, some symbol, some writing, some clue as to what all this was, but there was nothing. Nothing save a narrow opening in a recess along the wall, through which more of that red light was visible.

He walked to the opening, feeling cool air flow from it as he neared. That must’ve meant there was another entrance somewhere that was allowing the air to move.

After a brief examination, he determined the recess was actually a doorway—one that was mostly blocked by a slab cut to match the opening almost perfectly. Bracing his shoulder against the entryway frame, he clamped two hands on the slab and pushed.

The slab groaned, creaked, and clanged, the sounds all bearing an unusual reverberation that Ketahn felt in his bones. Once the slab had slid into the opposite side of the doorframe, disappearing completely, he eased his hold, ducked his head, and slipped through.

He found himself in a tunnel that had a curved ceiling and walls but a flat floor. To one side was the break, carrying through from the prior chamber, beyond which the tunnel sloped sharply down until it hit dark water. Though there was plenty of dirt and grime, it was less abundant here.

Ketahn’s fine hairs flattened and stood up as he realized there were more entryways along the tunnel, each crested with a red light. From where he stood, he could see that only one of those doors was open—the one directly across the tunnel.

“Delver, guide me,” he said; his voice echoed along the tunnel, stretching into something unfamiliar.

If ever the Eight heard the pleas of their children, Ketahn doubted they would answer in places such as this. Places such as this shouldn’t have existed.

He crossed the tunnel, braced his hands to either side of the doorway, and leaned forward to peer inside.

The large chamber was like the first in all ways but two—the grime here was not quite so thick, and the implied flood line didn’t quite reach as high, leaving several of the cocoon things uncovered.

One of those cocoons near the break in the floor had split open. Dirt coated the bits jutting from its shattered shell, but they did not command half as much of his attention as what he saw through the top, where that clear, crystal-like material had broken away.

Bones. Old and darkened and unlike anything he had ever seen—though nothing in this place was like anything he’d seen. He could not imagine what that rounded skull with its two gaping eye holes and straight, flat teeth must’ve looked like with muscle and hide still attached. He’d encountered no such creature, whether living or dead. The skeleton was partially out of its cocoon, the head and one arm sticking through the shattered top.

The skull was cracked, a wedge of it having fallen away, and there were shallow gouges in the arm bones as though left by deep cuts.

Ketahn checked the other cocoons. Though most were too hard to see through because of their clouded covers and the poor lighting, he glimpsed a few more of those strange skeletons in a few.

It seemed impossible that his confrontation with Zurvashi had occurred earlier this very day, impossible that Takarahl lay less than half a day’s travel behind him. Again, there were no markings on the walls, no carvings or sculptures to offer insight regarding the nature of this place or these creatures. Perhaps…it was a burial chamber?

The vrix had such chambers in the deepest parts of Takarahl, where countless holes had been bored into the stone for dozens of segments down. Dead vrix, wrapped in raw silk shrouds traditionally spun by their kin, were laid to slumber in those chambers forever under the care of the Eight. Did this place serve a similar purpose for these odd creatures?

A thoughtful trill sounded in his chest. He’d explored many dark, hidden places, and he’d discovered a few old burial chambers and abandoned dens in the process, but he’d seen nothing like this place—and each of his questions about it seemed only to spawn three more without ever being answered.

What did this place have to do with the ancient story, with the fiery beast overcome by the Eight?

Exiting the chamber, Ketahn glanced along the tunnel, first toward the portion that was lost beneath the water, then toward the other, where sealed entryways lined the corridor on either side. He tilted his head and turned to face that side of the tunnel. All the doors had red lights over them but one at the limits of what he could see—that door had a green light that was barely visible in the red glow.

His legs were moving before he made the decision to check that door, and he didn’t fight them. Why was one light green? What did it signify?

Within a few segments, he’d passed the thick band of dried mud and residue that marked the flood line. The floor beyond was surprisingly clean, as though yet to be touched by the ravages of the Tangle. The air flow was a little more pronounced, a little cooler, the scents upon it more muted.

He stopped in front of the green light door. It was closed completely, and though the frame was separated from the sealing slab, there was no apparent gap—not even anything significant enough to work the tip of his smallest claw under.

Ketahn tried anyway, poking and prodding around the inside of the doorframe, pressing his claws against it in search of purchase. He needed only a strong enough grip to force it open. But the door slab was smooth and hard, and it refused to yield to his efforts. Even when he curled his fingers and raked his claws against it, he failed to leave the smallest mark.

Spreading his arms, Ketahn slapped all four hands on the door frame and bowed his head.

There was a strange noise from somewhere around him, a soft but startling tone that made him recoil from the doorway and dart his gaze around.

It wasn’t until his attention returned to the doorframe that he noticed the faint green glow emanating from beneath one of his hands. Slowly, he lifted that hand.

The section of the doorframe he revealed was set apart from the rest by a thin black line, and it was now glowing the same green as the light over the door, though it was pulsing slowly. A glance along the corridor confirmed that each doorway had one of those little rectangles, but none of the others were lit up.

There was a long, soft hiss overhead. Ketahn’s eyes darted up in search of the source but he could see nothing on the solid, curved wall.

The door in front of Ketahn slid open with a sound not unlike that of the wind blowing through tall rock formations and disappeared within the wall. But the real wonder wasn’t a door moving by itself and vanishing—it was the chamber beyond.

The space was completely devoid of dirt and debris—not even a speck marred the gleaming floors and walls. Neither was there any plant or mushroom growth to be seen. The light was pure white, cast by large, glowing circles on the ceiling; it seemed even brighter, briefly, than the sun. The air that flowed from the chamber was clean, cool, and almost entirely scentless. He wasn’t sure how that was possible, but that lack of understanding applied to everything here.

For the first time since he’d entered this place, Ketahn knew its true colors. The floor was polished black with large square patterns etched into it. The walls were white as a peaceful cloud, with faint depressions in them at regular intervals, but their lower thirds were dark gray.

Several large, rectangular patches on the walls looked almost like paintings, but the images and symbols within them were crisper and more vibrant than anything painted by vrix hands, and these gave off their own light.

Some of them also happened to be moving.

The blend of uncertainty and curiosity within Ketahn resulted in a jagged, hot feeling in his torso as he approached the nearest painting. There were twenty images within it, lined up in two even rows. Each was a simple depiction of a being with two arms and two legs, like malformed vrix. Half of these were slightly different from the others—a little smaller, a little curvier in their shape.

Twelve were dark red, the color of spilled blood. Eight were bright green. The latter were the source of the movement in the images—meaningless symbols similar to the ones he’d seen outside were below all twenty images, but the symbols beneath the green images were changing every few moments.

“This magic must be of the Eight,” Ketahn said as he lifted a hand to touch a set of changing symbols.

The tip of his claw passed through the image as though it were formed of mist. Before he could react to that, the painting changed. A square containing countless symbols appeared, blocking out everything else.

Ketahn snapped his hand back and retreated from the painting, fine hairs bristling and hearts thumping. There was another image now—not a simple drawing, but something so real that he was sure, for a moment, that he’d summoned a bizarre creature from nothingness.

It was only the creature’s face. It had a pale, soft looking hide, dark hair atop its head—with more short hair along its jaw, around its mouth, and in a strip above each of its eyes. Those eyes, its nose holes, and mouth were arranged similarly to a vrix’s, but it only had two eyes, and there were no fangs or mandibles to be seen. Just two plump, pinkish bits of flesh comprising its mouthparts.

Was this what those dead creatures had looked like? They were ugly things.

Ketahn turned and swept his gaze around the chamber. The cocoons here were unsoiled, allowing him full view of their dull gray exteriors, precise planes, and smooth contours. The sections of see-through material were larger than he’d realized, stretching almost two-thirds of the way across the tops of the cocoons. Though the overhead light reflected heavily on those surfaces, Ketahn could make out the figures laid in each cocoon.

There were twenty in total—ten along one wall, ten on the opposite.

He looked back at the moving painting, which still displayed the creature’s face and all those symbols. Tentatively, he extended an arm, bringing it nearer and nearer to the painting. With a flick of his wrist, he raked his claws through the image and immediately withdrew his hand, which had touched nothing but empty air.

The symbol-filled square vanished, revealing the original image. Were the creatures in the painting somehow related to the cocoons?

Turning away from the painting, Ketahn strode to the far end of the chamber, glancing at the cocoons as he passed. Eight of them had small squares of light filled with more symbols on their fronts. The rest were blank—and each of the blank cocoons contained remains. Three held only bones. The other nine creatures seemed somewhat fresher and more intact, though their hides had a leathery look that reminded Ketahn of dried strips of meat.

Ketahn studied each of them as he walked toward the doorway, trying to hold back the many questions forming in his mind; he doubted any of them would be answered now, if ever.

The cocoons with lights on their fronts all seemed to contain creatures that were so recently dead they almost looked alive—but could anything living be so utterly motionless?

Though not all of them had pale hides and dark hair like the one that had appeared on the painting, they all looked small, soft, and delicate, like they wouldn’t survive a day out in the Tangle.

Ketahn halted as his gaze fell upon one of the creatures. He noticed first its long hair, which was gathered around its head in shimmery strands that were like gold spun into thread. Vrix had smooth, silken hair on their heads, but this creature’s hair seemed softer and fuller, and it wasn’t straight—waves ran through the strands like ripples on the surface of a pond.

He crept closer, leaning forward to study the creature. It was one of the smaller, slighter ones, pale of hide and lithe of limb. Like the others, it was clad in some sort of cloth that covered its torso, upper arms, and the upper portions of its legs—two separate pieces of fabric, as far as he could tell. He knew just by the look of the material that it wasn’t silk.

The pink flesh around the creature’s mouth was full and plump, like a pair of juicy larvae laid together, and rounded mounds pressed up from its chest, pulling that white fabric taut. The creature’s eyes were closed, and lush, dark hairs—from its eyelids—rested upon its cheeks, in bold contrast to the pale hide. There were also two thin strips of dark hair above its eyes.

These creatures were bizarre, even repulsive in some ways, but there was something about them that intrigued Ketahn.

That wasn’t right. There was something about this one that fascinated him. Some sort of beauty that could not be placed, unlike anything any vrix had encountered, something that…that didn’t belong in this world.

Were these creatures from the shadowy world of spirits? Was it possible for spirits to take flesh forms and walk as living beings?

Ketahn shifted his gaze to the creature’s limbs. They, like everything else about the creature, were small. Its fingers were slender, the claws at their ends were short and blunt, and it had an extra finger on each hand—but somehow, those five-fingered hands didn’t seem odd and unbalanced. There were vinelike things sprouting from its wrists, legs, and neck, some of which were thin enough for Ketahn to see the fluids flowing through them—some dark as blood, one dull amber, the rest colorless.

His time out in the Tangle had taught him better, but he longed to touch this creature. He longed to know if it felt how it looked, if its hide was smooth and yielding, if its hair was softer than fluffed silk. Succumbing to such urges out in the jungle only invited danger. Anything that appeared so harmless, so inexplicably alluring, could only bring pain and doom. Nothing good could come of it.

Still, he braced his arms on the exterior of the cocoon to lean even closer—not immediately realizing that his lower left hand had settled directly atop the patch of light on the cocoon’s front.

A light flared to life in the cocoon, illuminating the creature inside fully and making its hide seem so thin and pale that Ketahn glimpsed disturbingly blue veins running just under its surface.

From everywhere and nowhere came a soft, smooth voice unlike that of any vrix, speaking garbled, meaningless words.

“Kahlohnist Ayvee Foztor, numburr too wun oh. Normul vytalz. Kunfurm eemur jensee uh waykening see kwens.”

Kethan pushed himself away from the cocoon, inadvertently pressing the square of light on its front again. An unfamiliar tone sounded, as gentle as the one he’d heard at the door but twice as startling. Raising his forelegs, he searched for the source of that voice, for the new, sudden threat.

“Eemur jensee uh waykening ee nih shiated,” the voice continued. Something thrummed under the floor, sending gentle pulses up along Ketahn’s legs. The vines connected to the creature emptied abruptly and withdrew from the creature just before the inside of the cocoon filled with mist, obscuring his view.

“Suhb jekt beeng uh waykened wih thout rehk omended uh justmant peer eeyod. Maye suhferr tempor eree lethargee, nawzhuh, dih zeeness, disoree entashun, fuh teeg, end difi kultee konsen trayting. Pleeze kon sult uh mehdikal tek nishun too ree port eh nee ish yoos.”

By the Eight, what was this spirit saying? Had Ketahn provoked its wrath? He was reminded again of his empty hands, of his barbed spear caught in the plant web, and he growled.

Even if a spirit could not be harmed by such a weapon, Ketahn would not succumb without resisting.

The cocoon hissed, long and loud. Ketahn retreated by another segment before the cocoon broke open. The clear top—just a lid, he suddenly realized—lifted until it was standing straight up. The mist swirled and dissipated as the inner portion of the cocoon, rumbling faintly, rose and tipped forward so the creature inside lay at a slant.

But the creature itself hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Kahlonist too wun oh, welkum too”—the disembodied voice changed suddenly, becoming stiffer, deeper, less…alive—“nah vee gayshun daytuh kor uptid. Kurrint lo kayshun un noen. Eemur jensee signull inoprativ.”

The spirit fell silent, leaving Ketahn to stare at the creature.

A new scent teased him, something clean, exotic, alluring. Something sweet and, somehow…feminine.

Ketahn shifted nearer to the cocoon, lifted a foreleg, and carefully brushed it against the creature’s arm. An appreciative trill sounded in his chest. That intriguing scent absolutely belonged to this pale little thing, and it was only stronger and sweeter now that he was closer.

He extended an arm next, watching both it and the creature’s face as he brushed his fingers over that long, golden hair. It was even softer than he’d imagined. His hand followed the strands of hair down until his palm settled on the creature’s shoulder.

The creature made the faintest of movements—its chest swelled, and the white fabric stretched over those chest mounds, which now hung a little lower, as though they possessed more weight and flexibility than he could’ve guessed.

Ketahn stilled but did not pull away. The creature’s chest relaxed, and he felt a faint flow of warm air against his hide. Breathing. The strange being was alive. And its hide was smooth. Yielding. Warm. Better than silk beneath his palm, and somehow thrilling.

Sliding his hand down its arm, Ketahn nearly shuddered at the rasp of his rough hide against the creature’s—against hers.

Because this thing was a female, he knew it instinctually—the scent was merely further confirmation. There were many creatures in the Tangle that were not like the vrix in that respect, many creatures for which the females were smaller and weaker.

And this unique creature was his female. She belonged to him. Many vrix had tamed wild creatures as pets; why should he not have one of his own?

Another of his hands rose, and he cupped the underside of one of those mounds. It certainly had some weight, and it was even more yielding than her flesh elsewhere. He squeezed, testing its give; it had some measure of firmness. He’d never felt anything like it. Vrix were thick of hide and didn’t carry excess flesh; they were as hard as stone compared to his little creature.

Curious, he lowered his hand, meaning to take hold of that white fabric and peel it away so he could see what those mounds looked like uncovered.

“Og zillaree powurr nyntee fyv pursent dee pleeted. Tohtul siztum faylyur in uh proximet lee too yeerz, nyntee sehvin dayz, end twellv owrs,” the spirit announced, back to its prior calm tone. “Pleez ehvak yuate eemeedi etly.”

Though Ketahn still had no idea what the spirit was saying, he stilled his hand and forced his mandibles down. Perhaps this place wasn’t as dangerous or evil as many of his kind believed, but he could no longer argue against the truth—it was haunted, infested by powerful spirits. It was even possible this creature and her kin had somehow been trapped here by the spirits, and Ketahn was granting her freedom she might otherwise not have had.

Regardless, this wasn’t the place to study his new pet.

He needed to replace a safe route out of the pit, which promised to be a challenge even for a seasoned vrix climber—especially while carrying another living creature.

Carefully, he reached around the creature’s body with all four hands and lifted her off the cocoon upon which she’d been laid. She was limp; she tipped against him, her slight weight barely noticeable against his hide. But he could not ignore the feel of her—warm, soft, tiny.

Ketahn hooked an arm under her legs, which bent over it. Her unsegmented limbs were unsettling to him; every part of this female was connected beneath her hide, the joints all but hidden.

He stopped himself from studying her further. This was still not the place to do so, especially with the spirit roused.

Gathering her securely to his chest, he turned for the exit. “Whether with the aid of the Eight or not, I will unravel the tangled threads of this mystery.”

The last thing he noticed before leaving the chamber was the painting. One of the green creatures drawn upon it had turned gray—the eighth. Another sign? Had he been meant to fall into this pit and replace her, just as Queen Takari had been meant to fall into the Den of Spirits and discover the crystals ages ago?

He looked back down at the female and brushed the strands of hair from her face.

“Perhaps you shall be called Eight,” he offered thoughtfully.

Eight made no reply.