Spiderlight

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

Against his will, Nth was forced to consider another difference between the way humans spoke, and the purer communication of his true people. Humans were deceptive. They were born with a lie on their lips. They told untruths to each other every moment, and they lied to themselves just as often. But in the close-knit families of spiders there was less use for deceit, and it was practiced by actions, not words. Their language was a tool for transferring information: warnings, battle plans, commands from Mother. Then let them come in, the spiders had told him, and he could sense the quivering subtext through the lines. He was left with nothing but to return to the others. To return to the humans. They were waiting for him expectantly, each of them deaf and blind to all that had passed. Nth had no doubt that the spiders within intended defiance. They were pretending at acquiescence, but he could imagine himself standing in their place, leg for leg and foot for foot. He and his kin would never have willingly permitted any human to enter their domain and live. And yet he tried to find hope. Hope was not a solely human thing; even a spider can dream of tomorrow. What was building a web but a gustatory expression of hope? He hoped that his words to them would bounce and dance about the strings of their nest, vibrant with the desperate sincerity of his message. He hoped that with the sight and feel of the humans—Penthos whose power made all Nth’s hairs stand on end, Dion who reeked...