They went through, and the portal closed, showering them in gold sparks.
It was then that Maria noticed the body at the other side of the clearing. She knew who it was instantly and wasn’t surprised. She was, after all, why Gramps and Salem had come in the first place—and after the fighting that had taken place, she doubted anyone would’ve laid her back in her resting place.
But Maria was surprised at how much sadness there wasn’t. She felt fine, normal.
Frieda was talking to her, saying something about where the Widow’s lair was in the Dark Forest, but Maria hardly heard. She was already walking toward the body wrapped in a dirty canvas sheet.
Dimly, she heard Frieda call after her, and then Gelbus say, “No, let her. She needs this.”
It was true. Maria did.
She came upon the body. It was not as covered as she had originally thought; the face was visible, but it wasn’t much of a face at all. The skin that was still pasted to the skeleton was ashy and dry. Cheeks sunken in. Eyeballs gone. The jawbone jutted out from the old flesh, opened in an eternal scream of despair. It was an image straight out of a horror movie, but Maria wasn’t scared.
She knelt down and put her hand on her mother’s cheek. Freezing cold. Ice. Maria blinked, and tears fell down her face, landing in the nearby dirt, which drank it greedily.
“Mom, I’m sorry we never got to know each other.”
As she touched her mother’s corpse, she realized it had been nearly two Earth decades since she’d felt her mother. It hit Maria that she didn’t remember her mother alive. She only recalled feelings; feelings of love and warmth and family.
Maria lifted the bundle off the ground. Her mother’s corpse weighed next to nothing—she was, after all, just bone. Still, as Maria looked down, she could see the beauty evident in Zimmy’s features, even in death.
She laid the bundle in the ground. She then kissed her fingertips and laid them on her mother’s forehead. With fresh tears in her eyes, she used the shovel to bury her mother. Time went by quickly, and before she knew it, the hole was covered, and the earth patted down.
Maria looked at the bald patch and whispered, “I’ll not let you down, Mom. I’m going to get Gramps back, and I’m going to get the villagers out of the world in between. I’m going to pick up right where you left off.”
She turned around, tears still coursing down her dirty cheeks. Gelbus and Frieda ran to her, and hugged her tight. Sherlock nudged her hand and licked her fingers.
As they parted, the happiness of family overtook Maria.
“Now let’s go kick some Arachnid ass.”
Chapter Nine
“You do not have the Jewel of Deception,” the Widow said. It wasn’t a question, and her tone was oddly calm as the ground shook with her voice.
Jinxton stood in front of her. He wasn’t scared. At least, not as scared as he should’ve been. Yes, he’d lost the Jewel of Deception, but that was the cost of doing business with a scavenger. The only problem was the Widow might blame Jinxton for the loss, when the truth was that it was all of their faults.
Never trust a scavenger.
But Jinxton had a beautiful consolation prize.
He hadn’t brought the wizard into the Widow’s lair yet, afraid Ignatius Mangood might somehow escape his binds and kill the Widow and his captor. No, he left him back in the shadows, ready to grab on a moment’s notice. He knew he’d need to grab him, too, because the Widow would no doubt threaten him with death, like she had done so many times before.
“No, my Queen. Harry betrayed us. Knocked me unconscious—”
She scurried down the web, jumping the last ten feet to land on the dais. The lair shook so much that Jinxton thought the roof was going to cave in. Beside him, bones clattered with the vibrations. The Blood Tree’s leaves rustled—
Leaves? He saw the leaves earlier, but how did it have leaves? A tree like that wasn’t supposed to have any. Jinxton wondered. It was another thing to add to his growing list of what-the-fuck. Among that list was how did the Widow move so quickly, as if he she were centuries younger? Or as if the dark magic she gained from the Orcs’ sacrifices had allowed the Blood Tree to give her more power. As if the Widow needed more power.
“You allowed yourself to be bested by a mutt?” the Widow asked. ‘Mutt’ was her way of describing a half-breed. In Harry’s case, half-wizard and half-Elf; two of the worst races on Oriceran, in the eyes of the Widow.
“I…” Jinxton began.
He didn’t know what he was going to say. The truth was, yes, he had allowed himself to be bested by a mutt, and he should’ve been prepared for that. He had never liked Harry, never trusted him.
Instead of explaining his side of the story—there was not much to explain—he decided to pull out the big guns, hoping it would get the Widow’s sickly green eyes off of him. He could feel them boring into his soul—or what he had left of it.
Turning toward the entrance, he yelled, “Bring him in!”
“Bring who in?” the Widow yelled.
Two Arachnid guards dragged the unconscious wizard by the arms, answering her question. Those eyes—all eight of them—opened wide in surprise.
“Why, Jinxton, you shouldn’t have,” she said in such a sweet and high voice, Jinxton found he wanted nothing more than to cover his ears.
“I did, my Queen,” he answered. “All is not lost. The scavenger is traceable, and now you have Ignatius Mangood in your possession to do with as you please.”
“Imagine the power the Blood Tree will give me once its roots drink Ignatius Mangood’s blood!” the Widow cried. “How sweet. How delicious. Perhaps I will drink his blood myself.”
“As you wish,
