She was looking into a glade, with dappled sunlight falling in beams through a thin canopy. On the ground was a dead elk, flies buzzing, its belly opened, entrails glistening.
And in the boughs above it was a black-feathered bird, huge as a horse. It was struggling and squawking, strands of frost-web stuck to its wings and body, wrapping around it. The more it struggled, the more enmeshed it became in the web, dragging on branches, bending them close to snapping, pine needles cascading like rain, black feathers fluttering down like autumn leaves.
Frost-spiders lurked in the trees, many of them, each one as big as a boar, eyes sparkling, venom glinting on icicle-like fangs. They waited, none brave enough to risk the thrashing talons and beak of the raven, yet.
And then one of them moved, a fat bodied, hoar-crusted creature with long spindle-legs, bright, glittering eyes and dripping fangs. It scuttled along a single strand of web that was curled around one of the raven’s talons.
“HELP!” the ensnared raven croaked, loud enough to make branches tremble and Orka’s chest vibrate.
Another sound: branches cracking, a shower of pine needles, and then a black shadow was crashing through the canopy. Another raven, huge as Trúr. It was squawking as it beat its wings and flew at the frost-spider on the thread. One claw reached out and it was snatching up the spider, talons puncturing and shredding the bloated abdomen. White, mucus-like fluid exploded and rained out over the forest floor.
The raven dropped the eviscerated strands of spider-flesh and set to pecking and clawing at the web that ensnared its mate, who flapped and shrieked.
“STOP FLAPPING, YOU FOOL,” the new raven rasped at the trapped one.
“BUT I’M STUCK, I’M STUCK, I’M STUCK,” the bird in the web yelled.
“I KNOW, I KNOW, I KNOW,” the newcomer yelled back.
Spiders moved in the boughs, as if the trees had come to life. One ran across a branch above the free raven, who was beating its wings, half airborne, half clinging to branches with one taloned claw as it tore and ripped at the web around its partner. The spider dropped towards the bird from the branch on a strand of ice-web.
Orka’s muscles twitched with the urge to move, to help.
This is Vigrie, she thought, a world of tooth and claw, where life is battle. Let nature take its course.
A memory slipped into her thought-cage, her last night with Breca, when she had seen him saving the moth from the spider. She had said something similar to him.
“But that is not a good death, Mama,” he had said in answer to her, as the spider had scurried towards the moth. He had looked at her with pleading eyes.
Without thinking Orka stepped forwards, set her feet and hurled her spear. It flew straight and hard, punched into the spider’s head and burst out the other side. There was a spray of fluids and the spider dropped like a stone, legs curling.
The spiders in the trees all stopped moving, many glistening eyes snapping to focus on Orka.
Mord stepped out of the shadows and stood at her shoulder, his spear raised. Lif strode out and set himself at Orka’s right side.
Even the new raven paused in its web-ripping to look at them with one shiny, too-intelligent eye.
The spiders hissed. Then they began to move, a seething mass of shadowed, many-jointed limbs.
“What have you got us into?” Mord said, fear a tremor in his voice. “I thought we were waiting to ambush the Grimholt warriors?”
“All plans go wrong,” Orka grunted. “Do this quick, and we can still hunt the Grimholters.” She looked at the frost-spiders. “Just don’t let one of them bite you,” she added.
“That’s unnecessary advice,” Mord said.
“What will happen if they do?” Lif gulped.
“Your blood will chill and slow in your veins,” Orka said, “until you cannot move, and then they will puncture you and suck it from you, as if your body were a horn full of crushed ice and mead.”
Lif shivered.
“So, their venom will not kill us?” Mord hissed.
“Not usually,” Orka said, her eyes fixed on the closest spider. “Unless they pump too much of it into you. I saw a man’s hand snap off at the wrist, once, because the blood in his veins had turned to ice.”
“This is not encouraging,” Mord breathed.
“Use your spears to keep them from closing,” Orka muttered. “Don’t be an idiot and throw yours away.”
Like I did mine.
She drew a seax and axe, set her feet.
A hissing from above and she looked up to see a spider speeding at her, dropping on a single thread from its spinneret.