Page 1 of The Weaver

CHAPTER 1

Goldflame Tunnel buzzedwith activity as Rekosh strode along it. Vrix both male and female, young, old, and everything in between talked, worked, and played. The goldworkers’ forges at the far end of the tunnel spread warmth even from this distance, bathing the rough-hewn stone in an orange glow that made the shadows deeper, darker, and colder, but those shadows held no menace. The clanging of tools and the hissing of flames and molten gold echoed off the walls, layering with the vrix voices to create a web of sound.

Certainly, there was no shortage of work to be done here. By decree of Queen Ahnset tes Ishuun’ani Ir’okari, all Takarahl would soon gleam with hints of gold, a display of its dwellers’ indomitable spirits. In accordance with that order, The Queen’s Fang—the female warriors serving as the city’s elite guards—had relinquished many of their heavy, impractical gold adornments, providing abundant material for the goldworkers to refashion.

Ahnset sought to elevate Takarahl as a whole. The practice of enriching only those closest to the city’s ruler had died along with the former queen, Zurvashi.

Under Ahnset’s leadership, Takarahl was almost unrecognizable. Rekosh knew the tunnels themselves were the same, but the light seemed brighter, the air fresher, and the stone more welcoming than ever.

The silk hanging over the entrances of the dens Rekosh passed rippled with Takarahl’s gentle airflow. Like the stone around them, the cloths were dingy and soot-stained, far removed from the vibrant colors they had once been. But at least they were whole.

That struck Rekosh as fitting. Bitter, yet fitting.

A group of females sat in an alcove ahead, painting clay pots. Such sights made Rekosh’s spirit swell with joy and pride. He and his friends had not left Takarahl with the intention of changing it forever, but it was undeniably different now.

“…not what I have heard,” a female was saying as Rekosh neared them.

“You cannot accept all that Jiras says as truth,” replied one of her companions, whose hair hung in a mass of thin braids.

“But he has been told thatherfollowers remain in Takarahl. They hide in the burial chambers, in chambers deep and long forgotten.”

“And how would anyone know, if the chambers are long forgotten?” demanded the female with the braids. “How would her followers have known to hide there at all?”

Despite his eagerness to finish what he’d come here to do, Rekosh slowed his pace, drawing the hide-wrapped bundle in his lower right hand closer to his body. Many such rumors whispered amongst Takarahl’s dwellers had only the most tenuous connection to the truth, but that made them no less valuable. Knowing what other vrix believed was often as important as knowing what was true.

“I do not know,” said the first female, “but Jiras said no living vrix has ventured so deep since Queen Takari herself walked the city.”

A third female huffed, setting down her pot. Yellow paint stained her big hands. “Only spiritstriders delve so deep, and we should beg the Eight to ensure that those pale things are never roused from the depths.”

“There are not truly spiritstriders beneath Takarahl, are there?” the second female asked. “Those were just stories our mothers and sires told to make us behave. Were they not?”

“I know nothing of spiritstriders or forgotten burial chambers,” said the last of the group, a larger female with a dark brown hide and pale green eyes, “but I know Urshar, whose broodsister Ulkari was one of Zurvashi’s Fangs. She claims her broodsister and the remnants of Zurvashi’s followers are out in the Tangle, awaiting a chance to avenge their fallen queen.”

Rekosh drew to a halt near the females, taking hold of the tattered end of a piece of silk hung on the tunnel wall. He lifted the frayed cloth as though examining the damage done to it.

But his attention remained on the females’ conversation. Such rumors were not new. They’d been whispered in both Takarahl and Kaldarak, and warriors from both cities had been vigilant in the moon cycles since Zurvashi’s fall. But Rekosh was far away from his tribe—from Ahmya—now. Even at his fastest, he’d be hard-pressed to reach Kaldarak in less than four days.

The distance between Rekosh and those he cared about while potential threats lingered in the jungle was, at best, distressing.

And he knew of the Fang who’d just been mentioned. Ulkari. He was sure he’d seen her in Zurvashi’s army at Kaldarak when the old queen was slain…but he could not recall her fate.

“Queen Ahnset has remained in Takarahl all this time, helping us. Why would her enemies await her in the jungle if they mean to strike?” the first female asked.

“They are too few to attack Takarahl,” replied the female with paint-stained hands.

“Is it not whispered that Ketahn crept into Zurvashi’s private chambers unseen? He was but one,” the female with braided hair said.

“But who else could have done so? None in her Claw could match Ketahn.”

Rekosh released the silk and turned to face the females. “It is because Queen Ahnset did not slay Zurvashi.”

Their eyes fell upon him, and he recognized the intrigued light in their gazes, the unmasked interest. The faint but enticing scent that wafted from them only added to it.

They desired him.

His human friends called such scentspheromones, which were meant to trigger reactions in other creatures. The pheromones exuded by female vrix could often stir arousal in males regardless of their true interest—even if the male despised the female.

And he already felt the first flickers of it even now, much to his irritation.

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