“Are you?”

I make an exasperated noise. “You realize this is the most annoying game ever?”

He laughs, the sound hollow and rusty, as if he doesn’t do it often.

“You said you wanted to talk to me. To give me answers. Here I am.” I spread my arms wide. “Waiting for answers still.”

The Spidae tilts his head. “You are not asking the questions. You are waiting for me to pose them myself.”

“I thought it was pretty obvious.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Let’s say Aron wins and wipes out the other two Arons. That leaves just him as the big winner, right?” When he inclines his head, I continue. “So, then he’s still in this web, yes?”

“Yes.” His eyes begin to gleam again.

“So he’s stuck on the mortal plane until…the High Father snaps his fingers and calls him back?”

The Spidae simply arches an eyebrow at me.

Yeah, I’m guessing that doesn’t happen. I turn and stare at the threads again. Okay, something has to happen for Aron’s thread to be severed—

Oh my god. I whirl around. “Aron has to die?”

He inclines his head again in an elegant nod. “Now you understand.”

“But I thought the point of this was for Aron to learn a lesson? To beat the other Arons out of existence so he can return the big damn winner?”

“That is what he has been told, yes. He will learn no lesson if he has nothing to strive for.”

I stare at the Spidae, feeling hollow. It’s like a punch in the gut. Aron’s doomed. None of this matters…because we’re all going toward the same end anyhow. “So the Aron I know will cease to exist?”

“No.” He crosses his arms over his chest and glides toward the web. “The strand that survives the longest becomes the dominant thread. His memories will remain, but all the ills—lies, hedonism arrogance and apathy—will be purged from him. He will return to the Aether to take up his mantle and continue on, serving as he should…until we repeat the cycle all over again.”

“All over again?” I echo, the words a sick whisper in my throat. “This isn’t the first time it’s happened, then?”

“All gods become corrupted eventually,” he agrees, reaching a long-fingered hand out and running his fingertips lightly through the web, as if petting it. “Too much power warps the one that holds it. An immortal loses the sense of who he is without a mortal anchor to tie him to reality. It happens to the best of gods, no matter the intentions. Even the kindest will turn their faces inward, dazzled by their own reflections.” He pulls one gleaming string, fingers it thoughtfully, then returns it to its spot. “Which is why the High Father purges them every millennium.”

I blow out a breath.

There’s no saving Aron.

Maybe you are my heart, Faith.

I’m too shocked to even hurt. This is all just a big game to someone up above, so Aron and the others can learn lessons and be better gods or something. It’s awful. “So…Aron has to die. Does he know this?”

“Do you think he would be fighting so hard if he did? He thinks winning will save you.”

And that makes the ache spread. Oh god. “But there’s no winning, is there? I have to die in order for him to win.”

The Spidae nods again.

“So you’re asking me to pick between my life and his. If I go home, I’m okay. If I stay here, I die. It’s just a question of when.”

“Is that what I’m asking from you?” He studies me intently.

I fling my hands in the air and stalk away, frustrated. As I do, my nightgown sweeps the floor and I notice little bits of what look like fuzz or dust cling to my hem and stick to my feet. I lift one foot…and pluck a short string from it. Horrified, I look over at the Spidae. “What is this?”

He tilts his head in that weird way of his. “The god of family is not in the heavens. He is in the mortal realm.”

I throw the string away from me as if burned. “That’s a fucking baby?”

“Is it?”

“Oh my god, I hate you.” I press my fists to my forehead, because it’s throbbing again. “It’s a dead person, then?”

“The god of the dead is also split and wandering this realm.”

My temper explodes. “Well who the fuck thought this was a good idea?”

“It is not a good idea,” the Spidae admits, and for the first time, his voice is sad. “But those that become corrupted must remember who they serve. What better way to remind a god of what a mortal endures than to make him walk in their footsteps? Sleep in their beds? Eat their food?”

Except Aron doesn’t sleep, and he doesn’t eat. I do it all for him. I’m about to point this out when the Spidae reaches into the web, plucks out a strand, and flicks it to the floor.

“Why did you do that?” I ask.

He just blinks at me.

All right, I’m not entirely sure he’s sane. I pace back and forth in the room, trying to digest all of this.

Aron has to die, but he can only die after the other two Arons die.

I have to die, period.

I feel like collapsing. I want to put my hands to my head as if I can squeeze out the things I just learned. I want to go back to being ignorant, because it hurt so much less. A sob rises in my throat but never makes it past the knot that feels lodged there.

If I go home, I live, but Aron’s zapped out of existence. He won’t learn his lessons. He won’t be the Aron that goes “home” to the Aether. He’ll be part of the god that was “purged” and either Hedonism or Apathy will remain.

I feel dead inside. Defeated.

Resigned.

Even though I’m terrified, I won’t abandon Aron. I can’t. He’s kept me safe all this time—

He thinks winning will save you.

The knot in my throat grows harder. He’s not doing this entirely for himself, then? He’s doing it for me, too? Oh, Aron, you big arrogant lug. If you were here right now, I’d kiss the shit out of you.

I look over at the Spidae, who stares at the web in front of him, obviously seeing things that I don’t. His eyes have that strange, unfocused look, and every so often, he reaches up as if to adjust something, only to stop himself again.

Wait, he’s a god, isn’t he? If so, where’s his anchor? Maybe he’s crazier than I thought. Didn’t Aron say an anchor was the only way for the gods to learn? To relate to mortals?

Maybe the Spidae is wrong—maybe we do survive if we win and he’s just fucking with me.

I look over at him again with a narrowed gaze.

The Spidae’s watching me out of the corner of his eyes. Mmmhmm. That fucker thinks he’s smarter than me.

Even though he’s thrown a few bombshells, I still think there’s more to learn.

OceanofPDF.com

62

I cross my arms over my chest and saunter toward him. “So buddy, where’s your anchor?”

The question clearly takes him by surprise. I can practically see a “malfunction” sign flashing in that creepy mind of his. “My anchor?”

“Doesn’t everyone have an anchor? You said yourself that was one of the rules.”

“Yes. An anchor.” His gaze grows distant as he studies the web. “I suppose an anchor is necessary to make one connect with the mortal realm. I fully admit I am not entirely in charge of my own faculties. The web can become…distracting.” He caresses the strands again, like a lover. “An anchor must be offered freely, anyhow, and who would come here?”

He’s got a point. Even so…something doesn’t add up. “If you don’t have an anchor, how do you stay on the mortal plane?”

The Spidae looks over at me, a cunning smile on his face. “How do you know that is where we are?”

“Because I’m standing right here? Pretty mortal, last time I checked.”

His smile widens, and he glides toward the second web, the Earth web. “As I have said before, the veil between worlds is thin in places. I can exist here without an anchor, but I cannot leave this tower, ever.”