Despite Ira insisting that their webbing was stronger than steel, Pyrik was a jittering wreck as she walked across the long, rope bridge made of spider silk and wood to the next tree in the canopy. It had a terrible habit of swaying, and each time she glanced down a grime reminder shivered up her spine at how far she was above the ground. A quiet prayer was muttered upon every plank she stepped on. The only thing that kept her knees from completely turning to jelly was that across the rope bridge, in the spherical web shelter, was the witch. Answers. It gave her much needed resolve to soldier on.

“Did I mention that I am in love with your coat?” Ira asked, bubbly beyond reason.

“Yes, you have,” Pyrik said. It was the third time that she did. In any other situation she would have been annoyed, however, it was a dearly welcomed distraction.

And at least Ira was kind enough to show Pyrik any hospitality. The rest of the arachne in her village, weaving webs, picking fruits, and hauling game up to the canopy, made it plain with their glares that she was not welcomed.

Discomfort aside though, for such a large village, there were few arachne around, roughly forty Pyrik reckoned, and that included the ones who went to rescue her. She wondered if the insectoids had a hand in their low population numbers, perhaps from night raids as well, except that didn’t feel like the case. No, it had to be something else.

“Eep! I know. I’m sorry but I can’t resist. It lends you so much mystique, I am over-the-canopy envious. And that collar!” She pointed to Pyrik’s brigandine vest. “How do you even eat with that thing on?! Does the fork have to come in at an angle or something?! And soup! How do you eat soup?!”

“It’s crazy, actually. Would you like to know how?”

“Absolutely!”

“Are you prepared? The answer may shock you.”

“I am utterly prepared to know.”

"..."

"..."

“It opens up.” Pyrik said flatly, then she unbuttoned the collar to show how it fanned out.

“That is… amazing! How did I not think of that?”

Perhaps her head is filled with cobwebs.

Finally across the rope bridge, Pyrik was relieved to stand on something solid. The whole canopy of the tree was ringed in a wooden platform, where spherical web shelters were clustered on top of one another like a pile of cotton balls.

Ira swept aside the entryway flap to a shelter and waved Pyrik in. “I’ll give you and Miss Aella some privacy. But once you two are done, I want to know about what winter is like, yes?”

“Yes, of course,” Pyrik said sarcastically, which she immediately regretted since the arachne girl was immune to all forms of sarcasm.

The shelter was earthy yet homely. Luminous fruits hanging from the vines, in addition to the stone fireplace, lit the shelter in a soft glow like the rise of morning. Shelves were stocked with diverse herbs and potions and other strange mercurial concoctions that swirled on its own accord. A bottle of Halwick cider sat on a table, uncorked, some of the golden cider already sparkling in a glass. A pale hand wrapped its delicate fingers around the neck and lifted the glass to her lips. The witch, Miss Aella according to Ira, was adorned in a black hooded long coat and a simple white cotton dress. There was something enchanting about the woman, particularly her blonde hair, it was like she had stolen a piece of the sun for herself. When Aella turned to face Pyrik on her chair, she had a knowing, expectant smile and gestured to the second glass on the table.

“Please, sit. Help yourself to some cider,” Aella said, her voice as rich as the alcohol itself.

Pyrik sat across from the witch, however, she pushed the cider away. “I came here for answers, not for cider.”

“So serious,” chidded Aella, “you really are Darius’ girl.”

Pyrik flared her nostrils with a huff and slammed her fists on the table. “He’s not my father, and I’m not her daughter!”

Aella smirked, satisfied with provoking the girl. “And his temper too. Or perhaps… could that be the beast inside you talking?”

That reigned Pryik from her furies. She took a sharp inhale and sat back down. “What do you know?”

“I know that it’s a part of you, that there’s a seductive violence in your heart seeking to wrestle control away from you. I know that when, and not if, when you give yourself to that beast is a day to fear, for all of creation will tremble in your wake.”

Pyrik swallowed. “Is there any way to get rid of it?”

Aella laughed into her glass, sputtering some cider. “You know, when Darius found out about your condition, he came to me years ago in hopes that I could treat you somehow. I’m sorry, darling, but this isn’t some rash you simply smooth over with ointment. There’s no getting rid of it. This beast is as much a part of you as your arms or your naive little head.”

“So I’m doomed then? To eventually give in to this beast.”

“Is a seedling doomed when it eventually flourishes into a flower? No, that’s absurd. You must embrace this transformation, no matter how frightening it appears. Like I said, it’s a part of you, and there’s no escaping that.”

“But if I give in, and it takes over…”

“Whether a fire burns high or low depends on the person tending to it.” Aella settled down her glass and held out her palms. “Give me your hands.” When Pyrik hesitated, she added, “Have I lied to you so far?”

Pyrik blinked, somewhat taken aback. The smarm, that snarky facade, had pulled away to something that passed as earnestnes.

Perhaps a trick, except… she hasn’t lied to me so far. Snide, maybe. But she is honest.

Pyrik placed her hands in Aella’s.

“There is no fleeing from yourself, darling. It follows, like a beast, always nipping at your heels. You may think that the only way to avoid its jaws is to run away, however, there will come a day where you find that you cannot run, cannot hide, cannot do anything other than stand and face your beast. You may be afraid of what you see, but don’t get fooled, darling. This beast is simply a shadow of you. It’s you who casts the shadow. So remember, the beast is simply a part of you, not the whole of you.” Aella gave Pyrik’s hands a firm squeeze, then let them go.

Pyrik did not response, she did not know how.

“You can thank me after you leave this forest,” Aella said as she reached for her cider. “My crows saw what happened at the forest line. Truly, quite a messy show.”

And it’ll get messier unless I find a way to solve this Hospitaller conundrum. I can’t believe that I ever trusted Haldane. Cutter is far more sane compared to…

“How long until night comes?” Pyrik asked Aella.

The witch tapped her chin with a finger, thinking. “In an hour, I reckon. Why so curious?”

“Somebody important needs to read a certain journal.”

***

Pyrik practically burst out of the shelter. Ira was dangling upside down, blowing at rough strands of hair, giggling each time.

“I need your help,” Pyrik said to Ira.

The arachne girl righted herself. “Okay.”

“... Don’t you want to know what I need help with?”

“I trust Miss Aella, and she trusts you. So I trust you too! But of course, it would be nice if you told me what winter is like,” Ira said, making her want as obvious as a shot to the chest.

“Fair enough.”

Ira danced excitedly in a circle. “Fantastic! Where would you like to go?”

“To the settlement.”

And that got Ira to stop dancing.

***

Haldane considered drawing his pistol.

He had expected Cutter to be furious, beyond livid at the disastrous experiment. He went to the red forest with sixteen comrades, and returned with only eight, all of whom wounded badly except for Menov. There was no way that they could waltz into the settlement riddled with arrows and not have Cutter notice. Truly, Haldane had prepared for scolding, yet he did not expect Cutter to lose his composure. And he could do nothing but take the verbal pummeling while the company physician plucked arrows from his back like feathers from a hen.

Cutter’s voice carried like a storm, and everyone within earshot was caught in the whirlwind.

“Please, Cutter. I’m closer than ever to finding immunity. If you simply let me examine these crows, and give me access to one or two of the settlers—”

Cutter jabbed a thumb into Haldane’s shoulder wound. It dug around as though searching for a metal slug, and Haldane clamped his teeth to near cracking. “Stop, or I swear upon the throne that I will execute you without hesitation. This is not the Arklay, Haldane. I will not frivolously throw lives into the grinder, not again, not while options remain on the table. All I know is that many have died to its creatures, and I am sick of writing letters of condolence to the homes of our fallen comrades. Don’t you understand that because of you, I have to do the same for Potash? Once the sun rises, I will burn the red forest to a smoldering floor of ash. Am I understood?”

When Haldane did not respond immediately, Cutter jammed his thumb in deeper. “Am I understood?” He repeated.

Through gritted teeth, Haldane spat out, “Understood.”

Cutter yanked his thumb out and addressed the rest of his men. As the captain relayed his plan to incinerate the red forest, Haldane started reaching for his pistol. He was not going to risk letting Cutter burn down the forest, and let some unknown variable jeopardize the rest of the Hospitallers at the settlement. Slowly, the pistol came out of the holster, the hammer cocked.

His heart was pounding in his ears, in his throat, in his skull. His sweaty hand made the grip of the pistol slick. Yet as he looked around, at all of the heads nodding along to the plan, amnesiac to the horrors they faced while stuck on the Arklay, Haldane shoved the pistol back into its holster.

It’s pointless. They would sooner turn on me than follow my orders.

A hand was laid on his shoulder. It was Menov. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “We may still have a chance.”

“How so?” Haldane asked.

Menov smirked. “Cutter’s plan hinges on the barrels of kerosene in the Common House. You’re too injured to fight, so while the night raid is underway, you can slip into the basement and smash up all the barrels. That way, Cutter will be forced to follow your plans.”

Haldane smirked as well, giddy that he might still have his way.