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Chapter 1.

The tall masts of the ship were just visible over the horizon when Caro reached the dock, and as he watched, they began to disappear. On that boat were his family, his mother, his father, his little sister, and the entire world he had ever known. Even if he were to send a letter, it would take a fortnight or more for his father to send money for his passage on the next ship. Caro was in Eretria for the duration.

It had been his fault, of course. He had been in the market square, leaning outside a vegetable stand, trying hard not to be noticed by anyone except the pretty yellow-haired girl behind it. How long had he waited there? An hour? Two? He’d never seen such exotic hair before. The crowds thinned after the midday rush, and she had noticed him and greeted him — and he had mumbled a greeting in response, turned bright red, and quickly slunk away, disappearing into the thickest throng of people he could find.

They had told him not to linger. He knew they were heading home to Lydia today. He knew that the captain was a stickler for schedule. And even with that, Caro had somehow waited for hours outside the girl’s vegetable stand to barely mumble “good day” and run off when he knew he should have been here at the dock. He wondered what was wrong with himself.

He crossed the docks and prepared a letter with the dock foreman. Eleven silver pieces seemed an outrageous price to send a letter to Lydia — it was only a hundred miles, and ships went back and forth every day! — but the foreman wouldn’t give him a break no matter his situation, and Caro grudgingly parted with the precious silver. That left sixteen silver pieces and three bronze in his tiny coin pouch. Those might buy him food for several days, but it wasn’t enough for more than three nights at an inn, and he only had the one shirt and loincloth. This was going to be a long and unpleasant stay.

Maybe the pretty girl in the market. Maybe she’d be able to help. He sort-of knew her now, a little. Caro walked back north into town, and went to the vegetable stand — but it was closed, the cloth canopy folded down, the vegetables gone, and the pretty yellow-haired girl with them. Caro slumped down against the vegetable stand, the gravity of his predicament at last having sunk in, and he buried his head in his hands to ponder what he would do.

* * *

It was late afternoon when his mind cleared. The sun was low in the sky, and Caro wondered if perhaps he’d slept a little here. The market was empty now save for a few young children chasing a ball. He watched them play for a moment, and then blinked as a shaft of sunlight peeked through an alleyway.

In a sudden panic, he reached down to his belt! — but his coin pouch was still there. He breathed out. No pickpocket had claimed his money while he had been dozing or daydreaming or whatever the last few hours had been. He had to find food and a place to stay, but he wasn’t likely to find either here. The war between Lydia and Medea had not spilled over into these islands, which thankfully only knew Lydia through trade like that his father brought. His people were tolerated but not celebrated here, and they would not care that a young son of Lydia had lost his way. No, if he was to survive here, it would have to be on his own terms.

He walked north along the main street. This little town was a narrow slice of humanity nestled along the southern coastline, and the street ended in a dusty field ringed by a few prickly brown bushes. This had likely once borne wheat or rye, but that seemed to be years ago. Across the field, there was a thicket of short, overgrown olive trees that led up a hillside to the edge of a thick cyprus forest.

The olive trees were old and overgrown with weeds, but they were still alive. He almost leapt for joy when he saw a few small black olives. They weren’t quite ripe yet, but he was hungry enough that he didn’t care. The meal felt incomplete without bread or meat, but it was at least food, and it quieted his stomach.

He sat down against one of the trees to ponder. The sun had almost set in the distance, and the sky was bathed in orange. Somewhere to his left past the sea was Lydia. He wondered if his family was thinking of him, and he lay down to sleep in the bed of weeds beside an olive tree as the stars began to emerge in the sky.

* * *

There was a sound. Then a soft clicking against the dirt. A muffled grunt of a girl’s voice, and then the rush of a branch as it snapped back into place.

“They’re all gone,” she said. “What happened to this tree?”

Caro’s eyes slowly blinked open. He had rolled in the night. The beige weeds had wrapped around him like a coffin, leaving only one eye able to see out, and that only a little into the hazy dawn.

That clicking sound against the dirt again. It was like a gentle patter of rain, and seemed to come from all around him.

“Aw, and the flies got this one. Mother really wanted some black olives, too. I wonder if any of the others have anything.”

More clicking. The owner of the voice came into view now as she approached a distant tree, but there was something between, a large black ball or sack, carried behind her, and it blocked his view of her.

“Well, here are some, at least. I hope it’s enough.”

Caro began to unravel the weeds around him, and the girl heard the noise. She whirled around. More clicking, and he could hear her backing away. “Who’s there?” she said.

He continued unwrapping himself, focusing on the tangle of weeds that seemed to have enveloped him. “I — I’m Caro,” he said. “I’m just resting here, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t think anyone owned this grove.”

“I’m just getting olives,” said the girl.

“I won’t hurt you, I’ll be on my way in just a moment,” said Caro, still struggling to free himself from the weeds and vines. “Just a short — just a moment — I’ve got this,” he said.

The girl stood still a moment, watching, and then approached him. With a single swift stroke like a knife of wind, she sliced the weeds, and they fell harmlessly from him to the ground.

He looked up. “Tha — nk.”

His words halted in their tracks. The girl — well, she was definitely a girl. Long, arrow-straight red hair descended around her face and shoulders to just above a pale, curved chest that could only belong to a girl, covered in a white half-blouse. And her sky-blue eyes, deep as the oceans themselves, peered out from behind her bangs through long black lashes, watching him intensely, more like the eyes of a deer watching a fox than those of a fox watching a deer.

And yet — she was also definitely not a girl. At her waist, her skin darkened from a pale peach unmarred by the sun to a pure black that rivaled that of the olives. It seemed harder there, too, the hard nail to a finger’s soft touch, and the black continued behind her, far behind her, over a bulbous rear end that was easily larger than the human parts of her. And between the great black bulb and the human girl, eight long, multi-jointed slender legs ended in sharp pincers that nervously clicked against the dirt.

“Spi — der,” he said, the words dribbling out of his mouth.

“I’m only half spider, thank you,” she said indignantly, stopping her retreat.

“I see — that,” he said. The half-blouse did little to hide that her upper half was not that of a spider.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Giant spider,” he said, starting to back away.

“My name is Adria,” she said. “Not ‘spider.’”

“Giant spider monster!” he said, pointing at her.

“I’m not a spider! I’m only half a spider, if you please. I inherited more human than Mother did.”

“You’re part — human? But that’s — you too?” he said.

“These are my legs, yes, if that’s what you mean,” she said, lifting each one in turn.

He leaned back against the nearest tree lest he fall over. She was a spider — or was she a girl? She was both. Spiders had spread into Lydia for the first time fifty years ago, and the creepy little monsters had multiplied a thousandfold since. He knew the King’s orders to kill them on sight: But they were a lot smaller, and a lot less dangerous, and a lot less made of pretty girl than this one.

“Are you — a monster?” he said.

“Well, yes, but don’t be rude,” she said. “I’m not that kind of monster.”

“What — what kind of monster are you?”

She turned away to look at the trees around them. “I’m the kind who likes olives,” she said.

He shrank farther into his tree’s gnarled, curving trunk. “I didn’t mean to take your olives,” he whispered.

“You ate them?” she said, frowning.

“Please don’t hurt me! I promise to whichever god created you that I’ll get you more olives!”

“The gods didn’t create me. Now, Great-Grandmother, yes, there’s a thing that happened. But I’m just an ordinary spider-girl.”

“I’ve never seen a spider-girl before,” he said. “There aren’t spider-girls in Lydia. Just spiders. You seem — very un-ordinary to me.”

She
reared up, her legs stretched so she was easily eight feet tall. “And there aren’t many in Hellenia, either!” she yelled down at him. “But just because there aren’t very many of us doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be ordinary!”

“All right, all right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She lowered herself. “No, I’m sorry. Porica says I have to work on my temper. She says that’s why I don’t have more — friends. Please — I’ll start over like she told me to. Hello. I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Adria. What’s yours?”

“C — Caro,” he said. “My name is Caro. I’m from Lydia.”

She curtsied politely, her middle legs lifting up like a dress. “I’m pleased to meet you, Caro, and I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble. I haven’t met very many humans. Porica says I should stay away from them.” She bit her lip.

“That’s all right,” said Caro. “I promise I won’t harm you.”

She nodded, and turned around. “This grove used to have a lot more olives back when the farmer was still alive,” she said. “I used to sneak down here when I was little. He was always kind to me, seemed to be sad for me. I don’t know why. But he grew really good olives, and he would give me some.”

“How long has he been gone?” asked Caro.

“Five — years, I think,” she said.

She reached up into one of the trees. “This one has olives still. Would you — help me collect them?”

Caro nodded. “Um, all right,” he said.

She reared up on her four hindmost legs, doubling her height, and grabbed one of the larger branches. With a sharp tug, she brought it down to where he could reach it, and they began stripping the olives from it and putting them into a small cloth bag she carried. His hand brushed hers at one point, and it was as warm and soft as that of any other girl he’d touched — not that he’d touched many.

Adria looked over at him as he pulled another olive from the tree. “I — have to say that you’re not at all what I expected,” she said.

“What did you expect?” he said.

“Porica says that humans are more dangerous than anything else in the world, even more than the gods and monsters. But you — don’t seem dangerous.”

“I’m just nineteen,” he said. “And I don’t know how to use a sword. So — I’m not as dangerous as many.”

“I’m only eighteen, and I can already cut and slice like a bandit!” she said. “Ha!” She swung a foreleg through the air faster than he could see, and it whistled. A branch fell to the ground, cleaved in two.

Was she — made of knives? Her claw had sliced through that tree branch like a spoon through hummus; he shuddered to think what she could do to his arms and legs. She might be speaking like a human, but the claw left no doubt: She was a monster, a dangerous, dangerous monster that could kill him any moment. His wits got the better of him, and he started to back away.

“Where are you going?” she said.

“A — away,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You just think I’m one of the cruel, heartless monsters, don’t you! Like Karkinos and the sea serpents! I’m not, you know! I’m nice and I care about things!”

“I — ”

She whirled around, and glared at him over her shoulder. “Fine then! I think humans aren’t the dangers Grandmother and Mother and Porica say! I think you’re just weaklings — mean ugly weaklings who don’t know how to be nice! Good day to you, and may the gods not stomp you on the head!”

“I — I’m sorry!”

But she was gone. With a stretch and a leap, she had hopped onto the nearest olive tree and then beyond, and with the sound of her clicking claws disappearing into the distance, the impossible spider-girl had once again left him to his own fate.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Chapter 1.

The tall masts of the ship were just visible over the horizon when Caro reached the dock, and as he watched, they began to disappear. On that boat were his family, his mother, his father, his little sister, and the entire world he had ever known. Even if he were to send a letter, it would take a fortnight or more for his father to send money for his passage on the next ship. Caro was in Eretria for the duration.

It had been his fault, of course. He had been in the market square, leaning outside a vegetable stand, trying hard not to be noticed by anyone except the pretty yellow-haired girl behind it. How long had he waited there? An hour? Two? He’d never seen such exotic hair before. The crowds thinned after the midday rush, and she had noticed him and greeted him — and he had mumbled a greeting in response, turned bright red, and quickly slunk away, disappearing into the thickest throng of people he could find.

They had told him not to linger. He knew they were heading home to Lydia today. He knew that the captain was a stickler for schedule. And even with that, Caro had somehow waited for hours outside the girl’s vegetable stand to barely mumble “good day” and run off when he knew he should have been here at the dock. He wondered what was wrong with himself.

He crossed the docks and prepared a letter with the dock foreman. Eleven silver pieces seemed an outrageous price to send a letter to Lydia — it was only a hundred miles, and ships went back and forth every day! — but the foreman wouldn’t give him a break no matter his situation, and Caro grudgingly parted with the precious silver. That left sixteen silver pieces and three bronze in his tiny coin pouch. Those might buy him food for several days, but it wasn’t enough for more than three nights at an inn, and he only had the one shirt and loincloth. This was going to be a long and unpleasant stay.

Maybe the pretty girl in the market. Maybe she’d be able to help. He sort-of knew her now, a little. Caro walked back north into town, and went to the vegetable stand — but it was closed, the cloth canopy folded down, the vegetables gone, and the pretty yellow-haired girl with them. Caro slumped down against the vegetable stand, the gravity of his predicament at last having sunk in, and he buried his head in his hands to ponder what he would do.

* * *

It was late afternoon when his mind cleared. The sun was low in the sky, and Caro wondered if perhaps he’d slept a little here. The market was empty now save for a few young children chasing a ball. He watched them play for a moment, and then blinked as a shaft of sunlight peeked through an alleyway.

In a sudden panic, he reached down to his belt! — but his coin pouch was still there. He breathed out. No pickpocket had claimed his money while he had been dozing or daydreaming or whatever the last few hours had been. He had to find food and a place to stay, but he wasn’t likely to find either here. The war between Lydia and Medea had not spilled over into these islands, which thankfully only knew Lydia through trade like that his father brought. His people were tolerated but not celebrated here, and they would not care that a young son of Lydia had lost his way. No, if he was to survive here, it would have to be on his own terms.

He walked north along the main street. This little town was a narrow slice of humanity nestled along the southern coastline, and the street ended in a dusty field ringed by a few prickly brown bushes. This had likely once borne wheat or rye, but that seemed to be years ago. Across the field, there was a thicket of short, overgrown olive trees that led up a hillside to the edge of a thick cyprus forest.

The olive trees were old and overgrown with weeds, but they were still alive. He almost leapt for joy when he saw a few small black olives. They weren’t quite ripe yet, but he was hungry enough that he didn’t care. The meal felt incomplete without bread or meat, but it was at least food, and it quieted his stomach.

He sat down against one of the trees to ponder. The sun had almost set in the distance, and the sky was bathed in orange. Somewhere to his left past the sea was Lydia. He wondered if his family was thinking of him, and he lay down to sleep in the bed of weeds beside an olive tree as the stars began to emerge in the sky.

* * *

There was a sound. Then a soft clicking against the dirt. A muffled grunt of a girl’s voice, and then the rush of a branch as it snapped back into place.

“They’re all gone,” she said. “What happened to this tree?”

Caro’s eyes slowly blinked open. He had rolled in the night. The beige weeds had wrapped around him like a coffin, leaving only one eye able to see out, and that only a little into the hazy dawn.

That clicking sound against the dirt again. It was like a gentle patter of rain, and seemed to come from all around him.

“Aw, and the flies got this one. Mother really wanted some black olives, too. I wonder if any of the others have anything.”

More clicking. The owner of the voice came into view now as she approached a distant tree, but there was something between, a large black ball or sack, carried behind her, and it blocked his view of her.

“Well, here are some, at least. I hope it’s enough.”

Caro began to unravel the weeds around him, and the girl heard the noise. She whirled around. More clicking, and he could hear her backing away. “Who’s there?” she said.

He continued unwrapping himself, focusing on the tangle of weeds that seemed to have enveloped him. “I — I’m Caro,” he said. “I’m just resting here, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t think anyone owned this grove.”

“I’m just getting olives,” said the girl.

“I won’t hurt you, I’ll be on my way in just a moment,” said Caro, still struggling to free himself from the weeds and vines. “Just a short — just a moment — I’ve got this,” he said.

The girl stood still a moment, watching, and then approached him. With a single swift stroke like a knife of wind, she sliced the weeds, and they fell harmlessly from him to the ground.

He looked up. “Tha — nk.”

His words halted in their tracks. The girl — well, she was definitely a girl. Long, arrow-straight red hair descended around her face and shoulders to just above a pale, curved chest that could only belong to a girl, covered in a white half-blouse. And her sky-blue eyes, deep as the oceans themselves, peered out from behind her bangs through long black lashes, watching him intensely, more like the eyes of a deer watching a fox than those of a fox watching a deer.

And yet — she was also definitely not a girl. At her waist, her skin darkened from a pale peach unmarred by the sun to a pure black that rivaled that of the olives. It seemed harder there, too, the hard nail to a finger’s soft touch, and the black continued behind her, far behind her, over a bulbous rear end that was easily larger than the human parts of her. And between the great black bulb and the human girl, eight long, multi-jointed slender legs ended in sharp pincers that nervously clicked against the dirt.

“Spi — der,” he said, the words dribbling out of his mouth.

“I’m only half spider, thank you,” she said indignantly, stopping her retreat.

“I see — that,” he said. The half-blouse did little to hide that her upper half was not that of a spider.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Giant spider,” he said, starting to back away.

“My name is Adria,” she said. “Not ‘spider.’”

“Giant spider monster!” he said, pointing at her.

“I’m not a spider! I’m only half a spider, if you please. I inherited more human than Mother did.”

“You’re part — human? But that’s — you too?” he said.

“These are my legs, yes, if that’s what you mean,” she said, lifting each one in turn.

He leaned back against the nearest tree lest he fall over. She was a spider — or was she a girl? She was both. Spiders had spread into Lydia for the first time fifty years ago, and the creepy little monsters had multiplied a thousandfold since. He knew the King’s orders to kill them on sight: But they were a lot smaller, and a lot less dangerous, and a lot less made of pretty girl than this one.

“Are you — a monster?” he said.

“Well, yes, but don’t be rude,” she said. “I’m not that kind of monster.”

“What — what kind of monster are you?”

She turned away to look at the trees around them. “I’m the kind who likes olives,” she said.

He shrank farther into his tree’s gnarled, curving trunk. “I didn’t mean to take your olives,” he whispered.

“You ate them?” she said, frowning.

“Please don’t hurt me! I promise to whichever god created you that I’ll get you more olives!”

“The gods didn’t create me. Now, Great-Grandmother, yes, there’s a thing that happened. But I’m just an ordinary spider-girl.”

“I’ve never seen a spider-girl before,” he said. “There aren’t spider-girls in Lydia. Just spiders. You seem — very un-ordinary to me.”

She
reared up, her legs stretched so she was easily eight feet tall. “And there aren’t many in Hellenia, either!” she yelled down at him. “But just because there aren’t very many of us doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to be ordinary!”

“All right, all right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She lowered herself. “No, I’m sorry. Porica says I have to work on my temper. She says that’s why I don’t have more — friends. Please — I’ll start over like she told me to. Hello. I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Adria. What’s yours?”

“C — Caro,” he said. “My name is Caro. I’m from Lydia.”

She curtsied politely, her middle legs lifting up like a dress. “I’m pleased to meet you, Caro, and I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble. I haven’t met very many humans. Porica says I should stay away from them.” She bit her lip.

“That’s all right,” said Caro. “I promise I won’t harm you.”

She nodded, and turned around. “This grove used to have a lot more olives back when the farmer was still alive,” she said. “I used to sneak down here when I was little. He was always kind to me, seemed to be sad for me. I don’t know why. But he grew really good olives, and he would give me some.”

“How long has he been gone?” asked Caro.

“Five — years, I think,” she said.

She reached up into one of the trees. “This one has olives still. Would you — help me collect them?”

Caro nodded. “Um, all right,” he said.

She reared up on her four hindmost legs, doubling her height, and grabbed one of the larger branches. With a sharp tug, she brought it down to where he could reach it, and they began stripping the olives from it and putting them into a small cloth bag she carried. His hand brushed hers at one point, and it was as warm and soft as that of any other girl he’d touched — not that he’d touched many.

Adria looked over at him as he pulled another olive from the tree. “I — have to say that you’re not at all what I expected,” she said.

“What did you expect?” he said.

“Porica says that humans are more dangerous than anything else in the world, even more than the gods and monsters. But you — don’t seem dangerous.”

“I’m just nineteen,” he said. “And I don’t know how to use a sword. So — I’m not as dangerous as many.”

“I’m only eighteen, and I can already cut and slice like a bandit!” she said. “Ha!” She swung a foreleg through the air faster than he could see, and it whistled. A branch fell to the ground, cleaved in two.

Was she — made of knives? Her claw had sliced through that tree branch like a spoon through hummus; he shuddered to think what she could do to his arms and legs. She might be speaking like a human, but the claw left no doubt: She was a monster, a dangerous, dangerous monster that could kill him any moment. His wits got the better of him, and he started to back away.

“Where are you going?” she said.

“A — away,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You just think I’m one of the cruel, heartless monsters, don’t you! Like Karkinos and the sea serpents! I’m not, you know! I’m nice and I care about things!”

“I — ”

She whirled around, and glared at him over her shoulder. “Fine then! I think humans aren’t the dangers Grandmother and Mother and Porica say! I think you’re just weaklings — mean ugly weaklings who don’t know how to be nice! Good day to you, and may the gods not stomp you on the head!”

“I — I’m sorry!”

But she was gone. With a stretch and a leap, she had hopped onto the nearest olive tree and then beyond, and with the sound of her clicking claws disappearing into the distance, the impossible spider-girl had once again left him to his own fate.