Something was in the corner, moving in the shadows, beyond Salamin’s sight. It was amorphous and had not taken form. Not yet. The runes around the pit glowed a faint red as the spell materialized. There was no where to run, and Salamin could only stare at the emerging spell, as his mind raced. There were many things that could break him.

  “It isn’t too late,” Tanas called down, his voice sounding patient, even compassionate. “Tell me about the old man in the hut.”

  Salamin backed away from the shadows. A deadly presence waited for him, waiting and watching.

  “Last chance, before I release it. Tell me why you were in the hut, and all this,” he waved his hand with a flourish. “It all goes away.” He waited, head tilted for a response. “Remain silent and you will die.”

  The energy shifted and grew stronger inside the pit, as the circle and pentacle drawn in the dirt glowed and sparked. Salamin stood still, clinging to the side of the pit, the farthest spot from the shadow.

  “May Argor have mercy on your soul.”

  A searing light flashed, blinding Salamin, and when he cleared his eyes, he saw it.

  A rachnid towered over him, filling the pit with its bulk. Eight legs extended down to the dirt, ending with deadly sharp ends. Two fangs oozing with poison snapped at Salamin, as steely black eyes took him in, appraising.

  For a moment, Salamin saw himself reflected in those black eyes. In them, he saw a mere boy, a stranger moving to his own will. Stories of rachnids were used to scare children into behaving.

  A rachnid was not Salamin’s greatest fear.

  This fear was Sedwick’s.

  The pit pulsed with energy, and ancient magic. Runes glowed with a greenish hue.

  A familiar language hissed in the air. “Meat,” the creature said, its voice as low as a gong. A long leg reached out, its sharp point raising to strike Salamin clean through the chest.

  Up above, Salamin heard a gasp of anticipation. Tanas was watching, and it would not be long before he got what he wanted: a bloodbath.

  Salamin grasped the dagger on his belt and flipped in open. Rusty and dull, it would not do much damage. A prickle on Salamin’s shoulder made him jump. His eyes had been focused on the giant rachnid before him.

  A voice Salamin had not heard since he was a boy whispered low and gravelly in the forbidden shadowtongue. “Salamin, is that you?”

  The giant rachnid retracted its leg, inclining its head to the side, watching.

  Turning, Salamin saw a tiny rachnid on his shoulder, smaller than his thumb. Panic washed over him, and then he saw the familiar white star on its back. Disbelief quickly changed to anticipation as excitement filled him. Salamin extended his palm, and the rachnid moved down his shoulder, arm and rested on his palm.

  “Hex?” Salamin asked, replying in shadowtongue. “Is that you?”

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  Memories of his childhood flooded into his mind. At first he struggled against it. Emotions and the danger of familiars weakened the void. So many years training to get beyond it, and as he stared into the eyes of his familiar, he couldn’t resist the bond.

  Memories went far back. Salamin could smell the yellow parshas blooming around him as he ran through the back fields. He was a young Devold. Carefree, and far from the Order and war. Before he learned that the Devold heritage was something to be shunned and hidden. He’d reached the tenth level and had gained his first familiar. His rachnid. His best friend.

  “Hex” Salamin whispered and reached a finger to its small pincers.

  Small black eyes with a hint of white light behind them sized him up. “That is you, Salamin, but it is not your body.”

  Salamin shook his head. “No, no, it was a spell by the mage above. A transmigration spell. I woke up with this body.”

  “Interesting,” Hex replied, his voice low like the crumbling of stones. “This is the first time in 80 turns of the sun, I’d been able to sense your presence.”

  Regret filled Salamin. Regret for the past and the choices he’d made. He had no idea his oath to the Order would cause so much pain to himself and others.

  “It is a powerful spell, this pit?” Hex surveyed the bricks luminous with the effects of the spell and clicked at the looming creature beside them. The large rachnid bowed its legs and moved back several steps.

  Salamin never wanted this moment to end. He could spend the rest of his days with his companion and never look back. They could combine their strengths and escape. “Can you break it the spell, Hex?” Salamin asked.

  Hex regarded him, those two black eyes roving over his face. “Moonpath?” Hex said at last. “You are now a moonpath?”

  Salamin heard the gurgling chuckle from Hex. “And only tier 2? Not enough capacity to bring me back. You will have to advance.”

  “I need my powers back, Hex. I need the void. How do I get it back?”

  Hex was silent, one fine leg rubbing against Salamin’s palm. “You are bound by the oath and are now moonpath. You cannot access your old powers.”

  Salamin risked a glance upward when the mage above raised his staff. He was starting to suspect something was amiss.

  There had to be a way of regaining the void. Salamin wanted to scream in frustration and let his voice fill the pit with his despair. The path he had dedicated his life to master and had given up so much for was now gone.

  “Please don’t leave me Hex,” Salamin whispered. It had been so many years since he’d used the language of his people, the shadow tongue, and it was coming back.

  “You have to find a way to increase your power capacity. Tier 2 will not keep me here. Perhaps level 10, as was the Devold way.”

  “How? I have no idea. I know nothing of the moonpath.”

  The rachnid shook its head. “The moonpath is the oldest, and unpredictable. The goddess is dead, I hear.” Hex lowered his head. “I do not know the way.”

  “Hex,” Salamin said, even as the little creature began to fade.

  “I must return to the shadowlands,” Hex said, “I have instructed Growck to take care of you. You will be harmed but not killed. Prepare yourself.”

  Salamin shook his head. “Hex, please don’t leave me.”

  “The magic is waning. There isn’t time.”

  The small rachnid disappeared, leaving Salamin with an empty hand. He closed his eyes and willed him back. The large rachnid snapped its pincers, and Salamin screamed as a sharp point pierced his side.

  The poison burned, and he lost his vision first. He felt his body thud heavily to the ground and felt the rachnid climb on top of him with a scream of victory ricocheting off the walls.

  Perhaps Hex was wrong, Salamin thought, as the razor sharp legs pierced his lower stomach again. His only consolation was that the stars had allowed him to see Hex before his death. He thought of the little creature, his friend and familiar, and a wave of peace filled him. He was not alone in this cruel land or whatever awaited him in the next. Hex was the only one who never betrayed him.

  Salamin heard a scream and realized it was his own voice and lungs. And then there was nothing. The darkness took him, and he felt his body melt into the dirt below. It was finished. Salamin was sure he would soon be reunited with the void.

  He waited for death to take him, even as he could see nothing but darkness. One breath and then another strung together. Salamin’s heart still beat in his chest. The pain in his side throbbed. Salamin realized he was not dead. Not yet.