The Glasswrights' Journeyman by Mindy L. Klasky

Author:Mindy L. Klasky [Klasky, Mindy L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780451458841
Publisher: Roc
Published: 2002-06-04T05:00:00+00:00

For the first time since she had settled her brood in Liantine, it was necessary to move one of the spiders. To Mareka's surprise and shame, one of the brooding females had died. Perhaps it had not received enough markin meat. Perhaps it had become too chilled in the darkened room. Perhaps it had fallen prey to one of the nameless diseases that the guild guarded against in its herds. Whatever the cause, Mareka had discovered the beast's curled body that morning.

She had wept, furious with herself for failing her charge.

When she lifted the corpse from the cage, she was surprised to feel how light it had already become. She had shuddered as she consigned the body to the fire that burned in her grate.

And now, she needed to transfer the dead spider's egg sac to an octolaris that could care for it.

This was a difficult operation. Some spiders gorged on their sisters' eggs. Others refused to tend new sacs, refused to rotate the precious bags, to patch them when their silk became torn.

Still other octolaris abandoned their own unhatched young, favoring a new sac at the cost of the old.

Mareka could not know how her spiders would react, but she could not let the hundreds of bound hatchlings die without trying to save them. She needed to introduce the orphaned egg sac into a living spider's box. And to do that, she needed to handle a living spider. Thus, she had consumed the octolaris nectar, consumed the strongest tincture that she dared.

It was time.

One, bind your sleeves, gathering up the extra silk that might frighten the spiders. Mareka caught her tongue between her teeth and pulled her silk gown closer. As she wrapped ribbons around her forearms, closing in her loose garment, nectar-induced tremors skipped across her muscles like sparks that danced from flames.

Two, cover your wrists with spidersilk strips, wrapping the bands to protect against bites from leaping octolaris. It was awkward to set the strips alone, but she managed. She lost her concentration twice, losing her awareness in the drumbeat of her pulse, in the frantic, charging flow of her blood from her chest to her fingertips and back again.

Three, block the direct sunlight, approaching the box without glare and with full view of the spider's every movement. There was no sunlight in the chamber, and the dull rain-fed light from the windows was not enough to distract Mareka, even with her nectar-enhanced vision.

Four, sing the hymn, the soothing song that lulled most octolaris into complacence. The tune vibrated up from Mareka's lungs, thrumming across her throat. It hovered on her lips, more subtle than speech, more exciting than any words. Twice she recited the entire hymn, letting the familiar words carry her

deeper into the nectar, into the poison, into the octolaris' secret lives.

Five, bow four times, giving the spider a chance to recognize you. The first time, her spidersilk gown caressed her. The second time, it pressed itself against all her flesh at once, melding with her body.

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