Vit pulled back the quilt of their tidily made cot in the basement of Herb and Apple and slipped under the covers. It was a nice enough B&B, even if it didn’t have enough windows and smelled a bit like lightly spoiled produce. But perhaps that was the distinction between a bed and breakfast and a hostel.
They’d seen the other members of the heist team off after an evening of planning—Brian and Saly, this time—and put away all the incriminating paperwork around the corner, as well as the king’s brick. Root moved him out of sight every night; they told him it was so he could keep looking over the plans and not disturb their sleep with his mutterings, but really Root said she just felt weird about the idea of him watching them sleep. Vit couldn’t argue.
Two days remained before the Evening of Generosity, before their plan started rolling. Tomorrow was the last day to make arrangements.
Vit wasn’t all that worried. They could do this—all of them, together. They’d assembled an excellent team. They had the king, an incredible asset, tucked in their pocket. Well, not literally—the brick was small, sure, but still a little big to fit in a pocket. Uncomfortable weight and pointy corners, besides.
And they had to succeed. They had to save the people of this city from the poison the church was feeding them. They had to… well, they had to get the periapt.
“I still don’t get it,” said Azriah as he let his hair out and lay down on his cot next to Vit’s.
“So, we’re going to steal the halo,” said Root, fluffing her pillow, “and we’re going to do it by—”
“Not that.” He rolled his eyes. “I mean the church’s stance. Or, I guess the stance of the Order of Seekers. Trying to get all the mote periapts for immortality.” He shook his head. “I mean, I know I’ve said it’s not for me, but I thought I might at least see what makes the appeal so great that it pulled in this many people. You know, from all the research we’ve been doing. Going to the service, reading through books in the archives, talking to followers—even just being here in Urk, immersed in the culture. I thought I’d see what angle made it so enticing to them. But still, after everything, I just don’t get it. It’s crazy, right?”
Beel jumped onto the foot of his cot and wriggled up through the blankets, emerging at the head. “What if you make a mess of your one-and-only death? No re-dos.”
“Would you re-do a death if it was unsatisfying?” asked Root.
“No. But some felt stupider than others.” He turned back to Azriah. “Dying forever doesn’t scare you? Honestly? I hate dying; dying is very scary. But at least I know I’ll come back.”
“It doesn’t,” said Azriah. Vit listened carefully to the tone of his voice. There was no sign of untruth—how? “It doesn’t,” he said again. “I don’t want to live forever. I mean, the idea of infinite time—doesn’t that sound more daunting? ‘Forever.’ That’s such a massive concept. Don’t you ever just, I don’t know, get… tired?”
“All the time.”
“To have to keep going and going forever… No, death is a rest. Not just metaphorically. You don’t have to keep going. There’s a comfort there, right? Eventually, all of this will be finished.” He looked around at their expressions. “I’m not saying I want to die or anything like that.”
Root cocked her head. “I don’t know, man, sometimes it kind of sounds like you do.”
Azriah laughed. Vit listened to the layers. At the surface, he laughed, and below the surface, he laughed as well, down deeper into his core. But below even that there was something else, far in the depths, a layer that didn’t take everything in stride so simply, a faint echo Vit could scarcely pick out. “Dying would not be the greatest misfortune of my life, only the final one.” He turned to Root. “You said you thought living forever sounded scary, too. So you have to understand.”
“Sure. I definitely don’t want to die. Not soon, I mean. But, yeah, I don’t think I’d want to live forever either.”
“Why not?” asked Vit in a voice that sounded small.
Root was quiet for a minute. “I don’t know,” she started slowly. “I guess… well, maybe I’d take some extra time if it was offered, you know? An extra hundred years. I don’t know, I think I’d have to see when I get closer to it; and definitely how my knees are doing and all that, right? But…” she stared at the ceiling. “I don’t want to live forever. I don’t want to die, but I definitely don’t want to live forever. It’s not that I don’t like the idea of immortality, but…” She breathed out a long, tense breath. “Maybe this is going to sound bad. But I guess… if I live forever, it means that this… this fucking ball of anger and sadness lives in me forever, too. But if I could pick which parts of me live forever and which parts die, then… am I really living forever? Is that me?”
“Exactly,” said Azriah.
“I think it’s better for everyone if I don’t live forever,” Root continued. She flopped back on her cot. “Sometimes I feel like I’m a rabid dog that just hasn’t bitten anyone yet.”
Vit considered everything the others had said. Eventually, they became aware that Azriah was looking at them.
“What about you, Vit?”
Vit’s stomach lurched. But this was okay; these were their friends. They’d been through so much with them, and they’d be traveling together for a long while to come.
“I…” they began. They took a deep breath. “Do… you guys know what happens to me? When I die?” They all shook their heads. “Well… I do live forever. Sort of. My human half will get old and die, just like anyone else. And when that happens, the spirit half, uh… becomes its own thing. Sort of me and sort of not. I don’t really know what it’s like, obviously, but I know… I know it’s just a spider. And still me. Sorry, that doesn’t really—”
“No, that makes sense,” said Azriah. “We followed.”
“Speak for your—” started Beel. Root made a gesture that shut him up immediately.
“I do want to live forever,” said Vit. They felt small. It felt like admitting something embarrassing—why? Like guilt, a feeling they shouldn’t have. Here they were, in the city of a religion devoted to immortality. But the way Azriah talked about it, the way everyone did—like a human living forever was something unnatural, something wrong. “If I live forever, I don’t have to end up like that, I guess. I can be me, forever. I want that. Maybe not just to avoid the half-spirit fate. I think… that I do just want to live forever. I’m afraid of dying.”
Root furrowed her brow. “And even though you do live forever… that’s not enough?” It was a sincere question.
Vit shook their head. “It’s different.”
Azriah nodded slowly. “Well, if you manage to get all of these mote periapts… Hey, don’t make me immortal, but I won’t tell you what you can and can’t do with them, you know? Get them all, make your wish, and then lock them away.”
Right. Just collect all of the mote periapts. Except…
Another string of words sat on Vit’s tongue. They’d never shared what Grim had said to them, the spirit who knew ‘nearly everything,’ who they’d visited back in the woods beyond Midden.
Join with Syrus—and the Order of Seekers—by his third offer. He’d extended the job application twice now. Turn it down a third time, Grim had said, and Vit’s quest for the periapts meant…
They opened their mouth to speak.
“I’m gonna get some rest,” said Azriah before they could say anything. “Long day. Longer day tomorrow. Night, guys.” He dimmed the lantern until darkness took the room.
“Goodnight,” said Root. Beel answered with a snore.
“Night,” said Vit quietly, alone there in the dark.
Vit stood frozen in fear.
Syrus’s pleading offer still hung in the air, echoing in Vit’s ears like a booming sentence meted out by a judge.
Blood pounded in their ears as they looked from side to side. On their right, in the clear, bright hues of the world seen through their human eye, was Syrus, one hand outstretched, head inclined, waiting for Vit’s answer. And on their left, in the greenish tint and bulged distortion of their four spider eyes, their friends ran, backs to Vit as they sprinted down the long hall.
Vit didn’t move.
Grim’s voice hissed in their mind again. “If you turn down Syrus’s offer for the third time, then your quest for the mote periapts will claim your human life.”
This was it. Syrus had asked. Vit had to answer.
They could accept. They could go with Syrus, join the Order of Seekers. They could share all they knew, hunt down the mote periapts. They could help the Children of Endkiu achieve immortality. And if they were successful, well, they’d get an equal cut of the spoils.
Or they could turn him down. Run, flee Urk with Azriah, Root, and Beel, flee with three—no, four periapts now.
And die.
If they left now, they were going to die.
Then they had to accept, right? They had to go with Syrus, had to join the Seekers.
And continue what the church was doing to the people of Urk—people all across the worlds? Striking fear into their hearts just to sell them locks and arms and fences? They were manipulating the masses in a way that turned Vit’s stomach, all in the name of a nice big paycheck.
Could they really, really contribute to that?
“Vit!” Azriah shouted from across the hall. All three had turned to look back, slowing as they approached the open archway, approached freedom.
Vit couldn’t form a response. They didn’t know what to say.
Azriah stopped, turned, then picked up speed again. He was running back. Running to Vit.
He’d made his decision, denied Syrus’s offer. But now he was running back into the belly of the beast. He’d risk retribution and imprisonment for them. He’d risk death for them.
These were Vit’s friends. They couldn’t just abandon them.
But leaving now meant—
Vit turned back to Syrus. They took a step towards him.
“No,” they said softly, the whisper of the final grains of sand slipping through the neck of an hourglass. It felt like a word spoken by someone else, somewhere else, detached from Vit as they watched in horror from the sidelines. “I… can’t. I can’t. What you’re doing here… it’s wrong.”
Syrus shook his head. He clicked his tongue. “Very well.”
He reached for the chain to sound the alarm.
Root came to a halt halfway down the hall, Beel at her side.
“Vit, come on!” shouted Azriah, now running back towards Vit and Syrus. What were they doing? This was the part of the heist where you ran. Perhaps they should’ve all rehearsed this bit with a couple laps around the block.
Vit said something. Syrus shook his head. He reached for the chain. Shit.
Vit fired a web. It wrapped around the chain, binding it to the wall. Then they turned and ran.
It took Syrus only a second to free the chain. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t nothing. He yanked hard. Grinding shrieks of long-dormant mechanisms creaked and groaned. For half a second, Root thought maybe the old thing was broken.
Ri-ri-ri-ri-ri-ri-ri-ri-ri! An ear-splitting trill shattered the room’s calm, worn silence. The ground underfoot rumbled and shook. The light started to wane as huge stone slabs descended over the windows. At the exit, two slid from the wall, one on either side, slowly narrowing the archway ahead, their route to freedom.
“Run!” called Root, wasting breath on the obvious.
Azriah had turned back now. He was ahead of Vit, but he kept a metered pace as he waved them along, waiting for them to catch up. Syrus still stood in the guard house, and no other reinforcements had arrived, but Root guessed they had a matter of seconds.
She turned to the door and ran, pumping her legs as fast as they’d carry her. Thank fuck she wasn’t in heels.
Root reached the door and cleared the closing panels. Beel followed a second later.
Azriah and Vit were still running. Root put her hands on one moving slab and pushed back. Her efforts, though admirable, did not slow the closing door in the slightest.
“Come on!” she yelled, again doing all she could think to do, which was effectively nothing.
Vit raised both arms and threw out two lines of spider web, one to each side of the door frame. They curled their hands around, jumped, and yanked themself forward.
They flew through the air, clearing the distance at great speed. They landed just inside the closing door, and another bound put them on the other side, safe.
The slabs were closing in quick. The door was open only the width of a narrow hall now. Azriah kept running.
“Come on, come on, come on,” said Vit, reaching out an arm. Azriah was nearly there.
He took one last desperate bound, a leap towards the rapidly closing sliver.
He turned sideways just as he reached it. Vit clasped his arm, pulling him forward. Arm, head, chest, leg…
The door ground to a halt. Azriah cried out. His bag—too stuffed to fit—had him wedged there in the tiny opening, his other arm still pinned between his body and the slab.
“Ah!” His expression turned wild, like a pained animal in a trap.
“Azriah!” Vit, still with one hand on his arm, grabbed him by the front of his gambeson, and with all their strength, they yanked.
There was a tearing sound. Azriah fell to the ground as the two slabs closed the last shred of distance in one heavy slam.
“Are you hurt?” asked Vit, reaching for his arm.
“Agh! My bag!”
“Your arm, are you okay?”
“It’s fine!”
Root looked around. They were in a small garden or a park just outside the hall. A straight shot out onto the street. The alarm was audible from out here, but faint enough with the windows and doors closed. No guards or soldiers were massing, but they still had to leave the district before any orders shut down traffic. “We’ve gotta go, now!” she said.
“Yeah,” said Vit as they hoisted Azriah to his feet. He turned back to the door as Vit tried to pull him away.
“My bag is still—”
“We can get new stuff,” said Root hurriedly. “Right now we need to—”
“The flute is in my bag.”
“Fuck.” Root looked back at the huge stone door, closed tight. The very end of one torn backpack strap stuck out through the crevice. “Fuck!”
“The gauntlets,” said Vit hurriedly. “We can use the gauntlets. Pry open the doors.”
Azriah shoved impotently against the door. He pried at the crevice, but it was pointless. “The gauntlets are also in my bag!”
Vit put their hands on their head, looking all around. Root scanned the street again.
“Windows?” she asked.
“They closed too,” said Vit. “We could go back in? Take the tunnels.”
“And die?” said Beel.
“That hall’s going to be swarming with guards any second,” said Root. “And so is this street.” Up above, commotion echoed down from the palace proper. They had less time than she’d thought. And there were going to be eyes scanning from above any minute—if there weren’t already.
There was nothing they could do.
“We have to go,” said Root. “We don’t have any choice.”
“But the flute—” started Vit.
“If we wait here, we’re all caught. They’ll take the other three, too.”
They weighed the words. Then they nodded. “You’re right.”
Azriah kicked the door. “Damn it!”
“Come on,” said Root, for somewhere around the tenth time, but this time it meant something. “We have to go.”
Azriah set his jaw, but he nodded.
The four of them turned away from the door, from the frayed threads of Azriah’s backpack strap peeking out at them, and ran off down the street.