Spiderlight

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

“Hooray,” the thief said in a small voice. “The Dark Lord is dead. That’s going to be our story, is it?” Dion looked up at them, red eyed. “More than the Dark Lord is dead.” “He . . . was lying. It was a trick of the Dark,” Harathes suggested improbably. Even he could not muster much conviction, and a moment later he put in, “Nobody must ever know. Nothing needs to change.” “What do you mean?” Dion demanded. “The church, nothing needs to change. We can just go on. We didn’t know Armes was still, ah, with us. Now he’s not. Things can be as they always were. You still have the Light?” Dion turned the disc of Armes over in her hand. It glimmered and flashed. “What changes Armes made to the world have not been undone,” she confirmed. “Then nothing needs to change. We can just go on,” Harathes insisted. “And the Dark? The Ghants? Him?” Cyrene challenged, with a look at Enth. “We need an enemy to fight. Or what would bring people to the Light,” Harathes said earnestly. “Yes, Armes turned out to be a monster, but some of what he said was—” “No more,” Dion stated. The words were quiet, but they shut Harathes up straight away. “It was a lie,” she added. “No . . .” “It was a lie,” she repeated. “But there is a truth there. There are good people in the church, even as there are bad ones. There are those who have sought wisdom and compassion and generosity. If the Light was a lie, then that makes those people all the better for living as they have. And the Dark . . . Being born to Lig...