Page 34 of The Spider Queen
Anita paused and then moved away. I held my breath and focused on the spider. “What is it you’re wrapped around?”
A black stone.
“Not an egg?”
No, not an egg.
Somehow, I’d felt that the spider’s tone was full of gentle amusement. How could I sense that?
Oh God, I’m unraveling.
“You’re mocking me.”
Wasn’t my intent.
“What’s your name?” I asked again.
Try asking that question with your mind.
“Um…yeah, because this isn’t weird enough.”
Just try.
I formed the question but didn’t voice it aloud. The spider didn’t reply.
“Didn’t hear me, did you?”
No.
“Well, how are you speaking to me? Why can I hear you, but you can’t hear me?”
Picture a spider web. Place your question on a silk thread in your mind. Gently push it toward me.
“That makes no sense.”
You have no imagination.
“I beg to differ,” I snapped. “Aside from insanity, imagination is the only explanation. I wonder if I’m tripping.”
You do drugs?
“No.”
Then it couldn’t possibly be a drug-induced hallucination, could it?
“I’m sick. I have a tumor that makes me hallucinate.”
What is it about human minds? They have no explanation for something, and they immediately leap to a conclusion where they doubt their own perception of reality. You are not insane, you are not sick. Try again—picture the web. Close your eyes if it helps.
I took his suggestion. Shutting my eyes, I envisioned a spider web. White, ethereal. I took the words of my question, wrapped them in silk, and gave them a mental push.
An unseen force tugged on the silken swaddled question, pulling it away from me. And then my question disappeared into a black void.
Thane. My name is Thane.
My eyes snapped open and I said aloud, “It worked?”
It worked.
