Page 181 of Eldritch
“How did you find me here?” the creature man asked, slowly rising to its full height. His voice held a familiarity that left Zevander frowning.
“Alastor?”
He snarled and lurched forward, unveiling the upper half of the carcass on the ground, a body skinned to nothing but glistening tissue and fat.
“What is this?” Zevander asked, confused by his appearance.
“How did you find your way into my head?” His voice held a tremble of consternation. “How did you find me here?”
“I didn’t intentionally seek you out.”
“You’ve not come when summoned. Years, I’ve attempted to call you to Caligorya, and you disregard me,” he spat, as if Zevander had done so defiantly.
“I was not aware that you’d summoned me. I no longer felt the pull to return.”
His monstrous face crumpled to a frown. “Then, what brought you here?”
“My family. It’s imperative that I see them.”
“Why?”
“Mercenaries arrived to …” The words caught at the back of his throat like a viscous poison he could neither spit, nor swallow. “I need to see them.”
Alastor stared at him for a moment through frightening, silvery eyes, and the scene around them shifted in a blur. The surrounding trees faded, replaced by the Eidolon foyer. Dark and cold, absent of life.
Zevander darted toward the staircase ahead.
“Wait,” Alastor warned from behind. “No matter what you see, you must not let it destroy you.”
Zevander didn’t spare him another second, but took two stairs at a time, until he reached the top of the staircase where a wall of webs hindered his passage. He clawed throughsticky strands, entangling himself in the thick weaves. The silky threads clung greedily to his body, while the stench of decay burned in his nose.
Clumps of dense fibers resisted his tearing and scratching, and Zevander felt like a trapped fly, desperate for freedom. He could feel thousands of eyes upon him, starving and watchful, waiting.
When he finally came upon his mother’s chamber door, he pushed through to find the webs weren’t as thick on the other side. Within, only a few strung about the room, glistening in the small bit of light filtering in through the drapes.
He plucked the remnants of webbing from his body and froze as his eyes swept over the pools of blood around pieces of golden armor and clumps of yellow that reminded him of animal fat. Bones lay piled in a heap, the remnants of pink flesh telling him they’d been freshly stripped. On his mother’s bed lay a mound of blankets, swaddled like a cocoon around a body. The silvery hair spilling out of it, tinged in matted tendrils of gray, all but confirmed it to be his mother.
Zevander rounded the bed, where an obscure shape at the edge of his vision snapped his attention toward where Rykaia lay curled into herself. Nuzzled against her was Branimir, his face buried in her hair.
Tears blurred Zevander’s eyes as he stepped closer, gaze desperately searching for any sign of injury. While he found bruises and cuts, unmistakable signs of violence inflicted upon her, she breathed.
“She lives,” he murmured, and sank to his knees.
Branimir lifted his head, eyes searching the room, and Zevander could feel his spiders stirring somewhere in the shadows.
“He senses you here,” Alastor said from the doorway. “You’ve seen what you needed to see. Now, let us return. Quickly.”
Through a blur of tears, Zevander stared at his siblings. How much they’d changed since he’d seen them last. He wondered if he’d ever see them again. If he’d ever feel Rykaia’s arms wrapped around him, would ever see the sweet smile she’d worn for him. “Is it real?”
“It’s a possibility.”
“Is it real!” he bellowed, jumping to his feet.
“You have somehow found your way into my thoughts,” Alastor said tonelessly. “I suspect it’s real, as I’m not privy to what happened here.”
“How is it possible? Me invading your thoughts?”
Alastor stared back at him and tipped his horned head. “We are connected, you and I.”
