Page 183 of Mud

And me?

I was too shocked and too panicked and too afraid to move away (which is basically code forI didn’t want to).But, hey, I was about to turn to spider food really soon, so who gave a shit?

“Sounds like a plan.”

Other players were constantly trying to get close to the spider, and another two died right in front of our eyes.

Damn it, she was fast, but we had a route in mind. We only watched for a while, and we determined where there were fewer threads to cut, and I made a plan of movement with my daggers in hand, while Taland began to chant his third-degree illusion spell. It was going to take a lot out of him, and I feared his anchor might be wasted completely, but he said he could handle it. I believed him because we didn’t really have any other choice. We were both going to have to give our best to get to bottom of this—or rather, the middle.

Too fast. It was all happening too fast.

From Ben to Taland to the hailstorm and the dragon, all that magic going through me that I hadn’t even had the chance to recover from—foreign magic.

And now a clone of Taland was basically creating itself out of magic right in front of my eyes, copying every little shape of the real Taland, every line and curve and color, until it was a ghost version of him. A see-through Taland next to the real one.

“Fuck.”

The word slipped from me—it wasthatgood.

Taland looked a bit tired as he wiped sweat off his forehead, and the circles under his eyes were darker, and his eyes didn’t sparkle as much as before, but he’d made it. A third-degree spell, perfectly executed.

“Ready, sweetness?” he asked me.

I wasn’t. “Born ready.”

Ghost Taland moved first, controlled by the magic that coated Real Taland’s fingers as he continued to whisper under his breath. It jumped on the threads and it moved with ease from one to the other, with such precision I was really tempted to think he was a ghost. And when he was far enough that the light from the tree blisters didn’t reach him, he looked like he had an actual body. He looked perfectly real.

I was mesmerized.

And lucky for us, Madame Weaver thought so, too.

“Now,”Taland said, stepping aside to let me jump off the branch and onto the threads. “I’ll bring her to you. Be ready.”

“I will,” I promised. I’d do my damned best because it washislife on the line, too, this time.

And strangelythatthought made the whole thing easier for me. Made my hands stop shaking, my heart stop beating like it wanted to break out of me.

I wasn’t doing this for me—I was doing it for Taland. And I was perfectly okay with going against giant spiders to make sure he survived.

It all happened fast and slow at the same time, like it usually did in stressful situations like this one. I climbed a level lower than the one we’d been on and moved closer to the center of the web, trying to figure out the best way to move faster without those threads sticking to me. They slowed me down, but I couldn’t cut through too many ofthem because I would fall in the water myself, and that wasnotgoing to happen—unless I wanted to die.

Meanwhile Ghost Taland was already being chased by Madame Weaver when I made it to the spot I’d chosen from the distance, where there were the least number of threads to cut. Judging by the size of the spider, she would be falling through if I cut only a handful as soon as she was running over me. Right over my head.

Iris help me, I am really doing this.

My daggers were in my hands. I positioned my knees on a thicker thread. Ghost Taland ran over me, in the exact place where I needed the spider. I didn’t look at Real Taland at all, my focus unwavering, the sound of those fucking legs as the spider moved filling my ears.

Then she was over my head for real.

I began to cut through threads as fast as my body allowed.

Move, move, move!my mind urged me, and it helped that none of this felt real right now.

Madame Weaver was falling exactly as she did in my imagination. Details were lost on me, partly because I didn’t want to remember. My brain wanted to protect me from images of a falling spider that was trying to crawl and grab her threads and try to hold on before she toppled over—while I moved, faster than her, lower and lower on the threads, my blades cutting without stop.Surreal.

The water was right there. Goddess, I could taste it, and at that point I was a hundred percent sure that I was going to make it.

Wewere going to make it because by now Taland had gotten his key, no doubt, and all I had to do was climb back up there to get mine while Madame Weaver went for a swim.

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