“You don’t understand,” Maria said. “There’s a village of people trapped in the world in between and they’ve been in there for God knows how long. I can’t let them waste away any longer. I have to save them.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Gramps giving her that proud look he always gave her when she said or did the right thing.
“This is not a surefire way to get them out,” Gelbus said. Hesitantly, he picked the box up, wincing as he did so. “This should be locked away in the vault where no one can get to it; it would be much safer there.”
“Well, it’s not, you know,” Claire said, “so, like, tell us what to do.”
Maria was glad Claire wasn’t afraid to be blunt at times. They needed bluntness, especially now.
“Okay, I shall tell you what I know only because I’m not bound by secrecy for this particular artifact.”
“Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to tell us,” Tabby said.
“Right,” Gelbus said. “The Gods have made us Gnomes that way, I suppose.”
Man, I wish that were the case whenever I drank, Sherlock said.
Maria could only shake her head. She knew for a fact Sherlock didn’t drink—then again, at one point, she didn’t think he talked or had a weird obsession with cats, either…
“So the story goes,” Gelbus began, eyeing the music box with wariness, “long ago, perhaps even before the Rogue Dragons wreaked havoc in the corners of Oriceran, the Arachnid King was assassinated by one of his own kind—”
“That’d be the Widow, right?” Claire asked. “You know, because like Black Widows here kill their mates or whatever.”
“Quiet,” Agnes hissed, “let him tell his story.”
“Sorry,” Claire said, putting her hands up in defense.
“No, the details are sparse about his assassination, but it is believed it was by a group of disgruntled soldiers sick of his tyrannical rule. I cannot say for sure, and if we had a time spell, perhaps we could go back and see for ourselves. Alas, we do not. However, that detail is not as important as it seems to you wanderers. All you must know is that the Arachnid King passed on, but he did not pass on to the afterlife as we know it.”
“The world in between,” Maria whispered. It all made sense to her now. Not only was she trying to get people out from that purgatorial place, but the Widow was also.
“Yes.” Gelbus nodded.
Throughout the whole conversation, Gramps studied the Gnome with thoughtful eyes. Ignatius had drawn his pipe and held it clamped between his teeth. In his hand, he held Frieda’s. They were huddled quite close together, and Maria thought they would’ve been anyway, had the table not been as small as it was.
“In the world in between, the king stayed. His best soldiers had been executed as well. There was a total uprising, and many of the king’s allies were purged. And as the Widow truly became a widow, the Arachnid kingdom changed. They thought her too weak to do anything, so she left the kingdom for many years as the new rulers took her seat on the throne. It was later that she returned with an unfathomable dark magic. Her red eyes had been transformed to the glowing green of radioactive ghouls, and she had grown nearly triple in size. With this power she took her kingdom back and devoured the ones who’d shown fealty to the new rulers. The rest, who’d thought they’d once known tyranny, quickly found out what true tyranny was. The Arachnids became a spiteful bunch, shunning alliances with all the free people of Oriceran. Quickly, they were transformed to villains. Centuries later, a disease took the kingdom, and with no allies to help, much of the population was wiped out. The Widow survived, but it has been said that she grew more insane.”
“Than before?” Claire asked. “That’s not a good sign.”
Gelbus smiled weakly. “It was during this bout of insanity that the Widow was said to have used the dark knowledge she had gained during her travels to construct a dark artifact with the sole purpose of communicating with the world in between. She also had given birth to more Arachnids, though they were tainted by the darkness.”
Gramps nodded.
“Many more were sacrificed for this artifact,” Gelbus said. He visibly shook now. “Of course, then it was nothing but a block of wood from a Blood Tree.”
“Blood Tree?” Maria asked.
“A tree full of darkness that is now all but extinct in Oriceran,” Gelbus answered.
“Good riddance,” Agnes said. She shivered. “I heard too many of those legends when I was but a young witch. My brothers would tease me with those ghastly stories.”
“Well, not quite extinct,” Gelbus amended. “At least not according to rumor. Nothing is known for sure, but it is said the Widow harbors one in her personal chambers. She prays to it and offers it blood, but the dark magic has gone from it. What little there was to begin with is in here.” He motioned to the music box—the ornately carved block of wood that was so evil a Willen wouldn’t even touch it, and a regenerating Rogue Dragon had sensed its presence.
It seemed a case of the shudders was traveling through the wanderers. Maria shivered next, and she was so close to Tabby and Claire that she could feel their shivers, too.
“Then, as I’m sure you know,” Gelbus said, “a band of thieves penetrated the Widow’s lair. From the lair, they stole much of the treasure she had amassed; all the gold, jewels, diamonds, and so on. But they also stole this.” He cocked his head at Ignatius. “How did you come by it?”
“It was my daughter’s. She could call upon its dark magic. It was she who hid the village in the world in between when the Arachnids marched on us. But she passed before she could pull them out.”
Gelbus sighed, a sadness in his eyes. “Such
