THE FIGURES SEEMED to rise out of the earth like wraiths, their insubstantial forms composed of shadows and secrets, their movements quick and furtive. They did not approach in upright fashion, but in a crouched, crab-like scuttle. It was dark enough by now that he couldn’t make out their features, hazy enough that it was like peering through smoke. He was not using the AV’s headlights, and there was little natural light to provide any other form of illumination. As the figures drew nearer he could tell that they were human in shape, but lean and corded and crooked-limbed. They wore ragged clothing and clutched staffs and clubs rather than automatic weapons. They seemed curious rather than threatening, so he sat quietly and waited for them to reach the AV.
As the first of them did so, tentatively running slender hands over the smooth metal of the hood, the light from the sunset revealed a face and arms covered with patches of dark hair, suggestive of a creature more simian than human.
Spiders, Logan realized.
He hadn’t seen any since Chicago, but he knew of them. One or several kinds of mutants, Spiders were humans infected by poisons or chemicals or radiation—depending on whom you believed—and physically altered as a consequence. Some claimed their minds had been altered, as well, but he had never seen any proof of this. Then again, Spiders were shy and reclusive, so it was difficult to know for sure. In Logan’s twenty-eight years, he had encountered them no more than a handful of times. He had never spoken to one, or even seen one this close up.
The face peered in at him, features still clearly human within patches of black facial hair that coated everything from forehead to chin. Blue eyes regarded him with a mix of curiosity and hidden intent. Although the face had a feral, animalistic look to it, the eyes revealed intelligence.
He took a chance and lowered the window. He didn’t say anything; he just nodded his greeting.
A dozen faces pressed close, and hands reached out to touch his. He did not try to draw away. He let their gnarled, hairy fingers brush against his skin and clothing. He let them peer past him inside the AV. He let them look at everything, giving them time and space.
At last, the one standing closest asked, “Who are you? Why are you here?”
The words were intelligible, the speaker’s voice clear. “My name is Logan,” he replied. “I am looking for a way over the mountains.”
There was a murmuring among the Spiders that he couldn’t follow.
The speaker pointed back in the direction from which he had come. “The way over the mountains is behind you.”
“I couldn’t go that way. The pass I intended to take is blocked by a slide and I cannot get around it. I was hoping to find another. Do you know of one? Is there another north of here?”
The murmuring resumed, then faded. The speaker leaned in and whispered.
“No one can go into the mountains north. That is sacred ground.”
It was a simple statement of fact, but it was a warning, as well.
Why is it sacred?” he pressed.
The Spider leaned close. “The spirits live in the mountains. Some are as the wind. Some are flesh and blood. They speak with us when We chant their names. They tell us of their will. We give them offerings and make sacrifices so that they will protect us.”
The others, standing close behind the speaker, nodded in agreement.
Logan could tell that this was serious business for them, that these people regarded their relationship with the spirits of the mountains—whatever they might be—as they would a religion.
“Will they let no one pass to the other side?” he asked.
The speaker shook his head, hands making a warding gesture. “You must turn back.”
Logan sighed. He didn’t know what to do next. He didn’t think reasoning was going to work here. He would have to take a different approach.
Or maybe he should just turn around and try to find another way, one that would allow him to avoid this blockade.
“Do you have an offering so that we may permit you to go?” the speaker continued.
Oh, so now it’s blackmail, he thought in disgust. He shook his head. He didn’t have time for this. But he wasn’t going to get into a fight if he could avoid it. “Let me get out and see,” he said.
He opened the door and stepped out of the AV, bringing the black staff with him. As soon as the Spiders got a look at the staff, its carvings clearly visible against the polished surface, there was a collective moan. The entire body moved back from him as if it had been scorched by fire, a scattered few dropping to their knees, one or two actually covering their eyes. Logan froze instantly, not sure what was happening.
The speaker hunched forward a step, bowing deeply. “You are a magic wielder!” he hissed. “Forgive us, please. We did not know.”
Sorry, sorry, sorry, whispered the cringing forms. Logan looked from face to face in disbelief.
“Do you require our lives as payment for our foolishness?” the speaker asked softly.
“No,” Logan said quickly. “No, I don’t require anything. It’s all right.”
His mind raced. “I just need you to tell me how to find my way through the mountains.”
The speaker, head bowed until now, risked a quick glance up. “You would visit with your own kind? I should have realized what you wanted. Of course, of course. We can help you. We can show you where they are. Come this way.”