I felt like I’d been hit too many times in the head. I didn’t have any plans, any goals. All I could manage was to keep breathing, survive one hour at a time. The numbness hadn’t gone away, which might be for the best. I didn’t know if I could handle the weight of everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours.
I tried to think of something to do and came up blank. I didn’t want to talk to Luna, or to Vari. A part of me wanted to go to Anne, but a larger part shrank from the idea, and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. What did I want to do?
Die?
I shivered at that. Not at the question, but at realising that I didn’t know the answer.
I stared at the ceiling. Outside, birds sang in the Hollow, oblivious to my misery.
At last I pulled myself up on one elbow. I didn’t have a plan, but I knew I needed to do something. I wished uselessly for Arachne. In the past, whenever I’d been at my lowest point, I’d gone to her. But Arachne was gone and I didn’t know where.
If your situation is truly dire . . .
I sat bolt upright. The package.
I struggled to my feet and pulled open my desk drawer, fumbling until my fingers closed on something rectangular. I pulled it out and tore off the paper one-handed to reveal the contents.
It was a lacquered wooden box, hinged with no lock. I opened it to see . . .
. . . a plain white envelope.
I stared down at it. I don’t know what I’d been expecting—a magic item probably. Apparently nearly all the parcel’s weight had been the box. The envelope was sealed and I held it down with my elbow to tear it open.
Folded inside were two sheets of paper, covered in neat flowing handwriting. I started reading, quickly at first, then slowing as I took in the contents.
My dear Alex,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. I write these words to give you what guidance I can in what must seem a truly desperate hour. I wish with all my heart that I could do more, but this is all I have to offer. I only hope it will make some small difference.
I know what has happened between you and Anne, and have known that it will happen for some time. You may wonder how; to that I can only say that it is an aspect of my heritage. My insight into the future differs from your divination, an awareness of certain key moments and events, but from your point of view the most important matter is that I knew how and why your relationship with Anne would end. You may well ask why I did not warn you. The short and unhappy answer is that some version of these events was inevitable. I chose not to share this knowledge, preferring to let you both experience what happiness you could in the brief time available. If you are angry, I can only apologise. I hope you can forgive me.
For some time now, I have known that a day would come when you would approach me asking to meet with the dragon in the tunnels below. Once you did, a clock would begin ticking, and within a short time—two years at the very most—events would be set in motion which would lead to the end of my time under Hampstead Heath, and to Anne’s enslavement at Richard’s hands. From there, the possibilities split into two paths. If you are reading this letter, then events have unfolded as I have hoped. You may be hurt terribly, you may feel as though all is lost, but you and Anne are alive.
The other path was much worse. It had many variations, but in all of them, Anne killed you, with her own death following shortly after. Unfortunately, my knowledge stretches no further than this, which is why I have arranged for this letter to pass into your hands. I have no special insight as to what lies ahead. But I can still advise, and so I have written this to counsel you one last time.
First and most important is the question of responsibility. As you read these words, I am sure you blame yourself for what has happened. Do not do this. Believe me when I say (for I do not say it lightly) that Anne’s fall is not your fault. Your old master set his sights upon her a long time ago, and once he did, this result was inevitable. Though I have no way to prove it, I believe that your efforts hampered and delayed his success, by giving her hope where she would otherwise have fallen into despair. But ultimately, your resources were too limited, his too great. Trust me when I say that in your dealings with Anne, you have no reason to be ashamed. You have done your best to help her, as you have helped Luna in the past, and Variam, and (not least) myself.
Now you must decide what to do, and on this matter I think I can guess the questions that will be weighing on your mind. First, an option that you may not have considered: you would at this point be fully entitled to walk away. Any debt you have towards Anne, you have long since paid. Hiding from Richard and from the Council will be difficult, but you have done harder things. If you choose to end your story at this point, passing quietly into retirement and disappearing from history, no one will blame you.
But I suspect you will choose otherwise. If this is the case, then the first course of action you have probably already considered is to enter Anne’s mind through Elsewhere. If you do so, you will certainly fail. You were barely able to succeed last time with the element of surprise; the same trick will not work twice. Instead you will have to follow the plan you have considered so long. You know the risks it entails, and you are as prepared as you will ever be.
I warned you a long time ago that by attempting to remain independent from both Richard and the Council, you were choosing the most difficult path, and I am afraid this is still true. Failure will mean your death. Success may mean the same. Even if you survive, you will be very different from the man you once were. In the past you have preferred to wait and react to events; that is no longer possible. Remember the lessons you learned from Richard, but never forget that there are other ways.
I have grown close to many humans over the long centuries of my life, watched them grow and learn with the turning of the seasons, and in time, sadly but inevitably, watched them pass away. Now, for the first time, I find myself separated from one whose life still lies ahead of him. It is a strange feeling but a hopeful one. Other creatures have laughed at me for my relationships, comparing them to how humans keep pets. But I have come to see you as far more, and now, thinking of what may befall you, I feel much as a mother must when her child sets out into the world.
I would like to believe that we will meet again, but I fear we will not. Some barriers are not easily crossed. But perhaps in some other place and time, we may see one another once more, and I will hear the end of your story. Until then, know that you have my love, and my blessing. My hopes and thoughts go with you.
Farewell,
Arachne
I lowered the paper, my thoughts whirling. She knew. So many things made sense now. She’d known what was coming, and had been prepared for it for a long time.
A part of me wanted to be angry at Arachne for keeping this a secret, but when I looked inside, the feeling wasn’t there. Maybe I could understand the decision; maybe there had just been so many catastrophes now that it didn’t seem to matter. In any case, I couldn’t feel resentment. I just wished she wasn’t gone.
I looked back at the letter’s second page. Walk away. It hadn’t even occurred to me. Would it even matter? I’d only managed to survive this long because both the Council and Richard had wanted me alive. Now both had turned against me, and I’d been brutally reminded of just how helpless I was against their full power. Whether I ran away or tried to fight might not even make a difference.