Shadowland. Spider World 06 by Colin Wilson

Niall asked whether the city had many fires. Vasco looked somber.

“Too many.”

“Due to lightning?”

Vasco shook his head.

“Too many for that.”

Niall was surprised. “But why?”

The fire chief made an expressive gesture that meant: “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Gerek interrupted by offering Niall a plate with a meat sandwich, and a glass of wine balanced on it. Lieutenant Vasco bowed slightly and took his departure, and for a few minutes, Niall was left to eat and drink undisturbed. He was, in fact, very hungry, and his fellow guests, although obviously anxious to engage him in conversation — several women smiled at him with wide, inviting eyes — obviously felt he should be given time to eat.

As he ate, he watched the fire chief, who was gazing into a woman’s wide violet eyes, and wondered what he meant about too many fires. Was he hinting that they were started deliberately? And if so, why, and by whom?

Looking at the mayoress, he also found himself wondering about her embarrassment when he had assumed her to be married to the mayor. She had seemed genuinely upset. Yet she admitted without shame that they had been lovers. Was it possible that she had been somehow conditioned to regard marriage as shameful, or at least, rather discreditable?

In that case, why?

The shadow of an explanation crossed his mind. The impulse to marry is based on the biological instinct to have children. In a land where women had become sterile, such an impulse could only lead to deep frustration.

Conditioning people to regard marriage as shameful would certainly be an effective way of defusing it. . .

But how could it be done? Of course, the spiders had conditioned human beings to regard themselves as slaves. But that took generations of selective breeding.

As Niall looked around at this scene of almost feverish gaiety, he began to formulate some disturbing insights. It was obvious that Shadowland was full of a seething and undirected energy. Men were subjected to endless military discipline, and fought duels and carried themselves with an air of masculinity. And women exuded an intense femininity — presumably to keep the men preoccupied.

All this seemed to suggest that one of the major problems of Shadowland was a rising tide of boredom.

Is that why the Magician wanted a peace treaty with the spider city — to stave off the collapse of his own empire?

At this point Niall experienced a vague intuition, a feeling that someone was staring at the back of his head. He turned round to find Typhon standing there holding a bottle.

“More wine?”

“Not now, thanks. I still have plenty.”

Typhon smiled and moved on, pausing to offer Gerek a drink. A moment later, Gerek came over to Niall.

“Enjoying it?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“In a few minutes it’s the big moment.”

Niall felt oddly apprehensive. “Big moment?”

“The karvasid will present the awards.”

Niall realized why he was feeling apprehensive. He was recalling what Typhon had said about failing to meet production targets.

Gerek leaned forward and said quietly: “By the way, please don’t mention the peace treaty to anyone.”

Niall felt a twinge of guilt.

“Is it supposed to be a secret?”

“Oh, no. But Typhon intends to announce it at the end of the evening. We don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

On the far side of the room, Herlint was talking animatedly to the mayoress and another woman, and all three were looking toward him. He had a feeling that he had already spoiled Typhon’s surprise.

At that moment, the music stopped. The sound of conversation died away, and the room fell silent. The band played a solemn chord, and everyone turned to face the far end of the hall. The whole wall began to slide across like some huge door, until it had vanished into the wall. Behind it, in the center of a raised platform, was a throne of green stone, on either side of which were two half-naked moogs. Around the back of the stage was a row of the Magician’s guards, all standing rigidly to attention; the sallow faces and blue chins indicated that they were descendants of cliff dwellers.

Niall’s heart began to pound as he recognized the figure on the throne; his cheeks were burning, and he experienced a buzzing noise in his ears. He felt as if he was about to suffocate.

The Magician looked exactly as Niall had seen him in his vision in the white tower, dressed in a long black garment like a monk’s robe. But he was smaller than Niall expected. Since the light came from above, his face was only a dim blur inside the cowl, but Niall felt that the eyes were fixed on him.

He was startled when the pounding of his heart subsided and was replaced by a glow of happiness and warmth. It took a moment or so before he understood: he had become caught up in the enthusiasm that surrounded him. The whole audience regarded the Magician with something like adulation. This feeling was such a relief after the acute feeling of apprehension that he allowed himself to relax into it.

Instantly, it became far stronger, and he found himself gazing at the figure in the black robe with a curious sense of awe and sympathy. Surely a man who loved his people, and was in turn loved by them, could not be such a monster?

On either side of the stage, two large gray screens emerged from the floor; each was about six feet high. Then, to Niall’s surprise, the audience began to clap and applaud — Niall was aware how much the Magician hated noise — and this rose to a deafening clamor as the Magician reached up with long white hands and pushed back the hood, revealing his face, which was skull-like. He had a small forked beard, but no mustache. His ears were covered with black muffs, obviously noise-excluders, held in place by a metal band that passed over the massive dome of his head, and because Niall was in deep sympathy with the audience, he knew instantly that these were intended to cut out all sound. But as the Magician raised his hands to his ears, the applause died, and by the time he had removed the bands, the room was completely silent. At that same moment, the face of the Magician appeared on the screens, filling them both.

It was, Niall felt, the most impressive face he had ever seen. Its most striking feature was the pair of black and penetrating eyes, which stared from either side of a thin, curved nose. The high forehead reminded him of the chameleon men, except that it was smooth, marked with only a few faint parallel lines. The head was completely bald.

The black eyes seemed to be gazing straight into his own — in fact, into his soul. But Niall was aware that everyone in the room felt the same.

A moment later, the Magician began to speak telepathically, and Niall understood the reason for the screens. Because the lips were not moving, the eyes had to do the work of communication. Without the magnification, this would not have been possible.

“My people.” The tone was very clear and sharp; this was in no sense an old man’s voice. “I welcome you to this two hundred and twelfth celebration of productivity.”

This, Niall realized, meant that these gatherings had been going on for a hundred and six years. The thought that the Magician himself was several centuries old was awe-inspiring. He was aware that this feeling was shared by everyone in the audience as they gazed at that remarkable face with its hypnotic eyes.

“We also have present tonight two envoys from the city of Korsh, where I was born, and from the spiders who now rule that city.” Everyone looked at Niall and the captain. But Niall was puzzled by the last phrase. Surely the Magician must be aware that he was not a mere envoy, but the ruler of the spider city?

“You all know that it is four hundred and thirty-two years since I led my followers into Shadowland, and set up our first camp by the lake.” Niall felt the audience relax, like children listening to a story; this must be a familiar part of the Magician’s speech. “At this time the land was occupied only by ghosts and troglas, who hated our intrusion.” Niall felt the shiver that went through the audience at the thought of this sinister menace, for the Magician’s words were accompanied by the projection of visual images.

From this point on, the karvasid began to use images as much as words — Niall now thought of him as the karvasid, since “Magician” seemed somehow disrespectful, suggesting a trickster. His words evoked a bleak and unwelcoming land, whose skies seemed much darker than today’s. Even the surface of the lake seemed menacing.