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[otherworldink]

“To Be Taught, If Fortunate” by Becky Chambers | Queer Sci-Fi & Fantasy Review

The first of what will hopefully be many queer lit reviews!

[otherworldink]

First Visit to the Invenomator

No one actually wanted to see the Invenomator, but everyone had to eventually. It was important, Satha’s father had explained, to keep people from getting sick or dying from accidental bites. The giant spiders they kept as pets and as mounts usually behaved themselves, but there was always a chance one would startle and bite on reflex.

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No one actually wanted to see the Invenomator, but everyone had to eventually. It was important, Satha’s father had explained, to keep people from getting sick or dying from accidental bites. The giant spiders they kept as pets and as mounts usually behaved themselves, but there was always a chance one would startle and bite on reflex.

Satha had tried to talk her way out of it. If she was very, very careful and never got bitten, she wouldn’t need the Invenomator, right? Her father had been unmoved. Wasn’t Satha always trying to pet every spider she saw? Sooner or later, she was bound to meet one with a bad temper. Did she want to spend her whole life afraid of being bitten, unable to keep a spider of her own?

…No.

And so, she found herself bustled off along the spidersilk walkways that wound above the soupy swamp floor. Her father had taken her down to play in the mud once. They’d left after only a few minutes because the thrashergators had gotten too close. That had been the only time Satha had set foot off the town’s wood-and-silk structures.

The Invenomator’s hut was at the center of town. It was, for the most part, a building like any other with a mossy wooden roof and wood-framed walls filled in with dense spider silk. What set it apart was the symbol painted on the wooden sign hanging out front and on the door itself. It resembled a pair of fangs curved toward each other, one pointing down, the other pointing up, both painted in stark white.

Satha knew it was an important symbol, but she did not find it a comforting one.

“Come on, now.”

Her father opened the door and led her inside. Although he spoke calmly as ever, the hand holding hers felt tense. This was not comforting either.

Satha was not the first of her friends to see the Invenomator. Most of them had been fine and even bragged about how they hadn’t cried, but one boy had gotten sick and stayed inside for days before he could play again. Satha did not want to get sick. But she did like the idea of being able to tell the others how brave she was. So, she let her father lead her inside without a struggle.

Unlike the outside of the hut, the inside was entirely strange. Shelves crowded the walls, each cluttered with jars and bottles, filled with unknown liquids and objects. Satha wanted to touch them, open them, play with them, but stopped at the sight of the strangest thing in the room: the Invenomator himself.

He wore dark, weighty robes and thick, black gloves that gave him an ominous appearance. Most arresting of all was the mask - chitinous and bone-white - obscuring his face. Satha could not recognize the one behind it as anything human.

Yet when he spoke, the voice was that of a gentle old man, like a grandfather or an elderly teacher.

“Is that Stott I see? And without a basket of spiderlings on your back? Ahh, and who do we have here?”

“This is Satha.” Her father, Stott, tugged her forward. “She’s here for her first inoculation. I left the spiderlings back at the stable.”

A sound emanated from the next room, like a voice, but wordless and creaking. It was not a happy sound.

“Busy with someone else?” Stott asked.

“Hmm? Oh, him. No, no. He’s fine, he’s fine. My assistant is seeing to him.”

“Is he sick?” Satha dared ask.

“No, not sick. He suffered a bite from a small armored centipede. Very unpleasant, very unpleasant.”

“It wasn’t in town, was it?” Stott asked, frowning.

“No, no. Out in the Margins. On a turnip farm, I believe.”

“Huh.” Stott’s frown didn’t abate. “That’s closer than usual.”

Satha did not like the idea of armored centipedes being close at all. But as long as they weren’t in town, it wasn’t too bad, right?

“Indeed, indeed. I’ve filed a report with the scouts to deal with it. Now then…”

The Invenomator crouched smoothly in front of her, like a dark cloud compacting itself down to the ground.

“How old are you?”

“Five,” Satha answered, uneasy in the face of that strange mask.

“Hmm, a good age. Let’s see then…”

Without warning, he lifted her in the air. Satha squirmed, but stopped when the gloved hands tossed her lightly upward.

“One muck melon,” the Invenomator counted as he caught her. He lofted her again.

“Two muck melons.”

Satha’s mouth twitched at the feeling of weightlessness, delighted in spite of herself.

“Three muck melons.”

She giggled.

“Four muck melons,” the Invenomator concluded with a final catch. “Yes, a good size, a good size.”

He swayed her back and forth, drawing out an extra giggle before setting her down. Slightly giddy, Satha watched as the Invenomator turned to a small fireplace. A pot sat beside it, and the Invenomator ladled some of its contents into a little wooden cup before returning.

“Are there any peculiarities in her health?” he asked her father.

“No, none,” Stott answered. “She had that fever that was going around last year, the one with the rash. But she bounced back after a couple weeks and hasn’t had anything serious since.”

“Good, good.” The Invenomator handed Satha the cup. “I do hope you like honey. My assistant drowned this batch, and I couldn’t possibly drink it all myself.”

Satha did like honey. But when she sniffed the drink in her hands, it had an odd undercurrent to its scent that wrinkled her nose.

“It’s medicine,” her father explained. “It’ll help you handle the inoculation.”

Medicine, in Satha’s experience, usually tasted bad, but the strong honey smell overpowered everything else. The first sip was sweet with an odd, astringent aftertaste. But the oddness of it couldn’t compare to the sweetness, and she drank the rest down eagerly.

“All done, then? Good, good. Have your father set you on that table there.”

The Invenomator fetched a small tray carrying a single, sharp, curved stinger with a small pouch attached at the back.

Satha’s anxiety, which had waned after being tossed in the air and given sweets, returned in full force.

“It might be easier not to look,” her father suggested.

Satha squeezed her eyes shut and pulled her limbs in rigidly.

“Did you know there’s a spider in this room?” the Invenomator asked conversationally.

…Satha did not know there was a spider in this room.

“What kind?”

“Oh, I doubt she’s any kind you’ve seen before. Do you think you can spot her? She likes to hide in dark places, very dark places.”

Satha opened her eyes and looked around the cluttered room. When she’d first arrived, she’d been distracted by all the curious objects on the shelves, but now that she knew to look, she quickly spotted a spider even bigger than herself tucked beneath a low table in the corner.

The spider was a dull grey color, staring out with eight dark, forward-facing eyes. Her legs stretched out in front of her as she held herself low and still, observing, but making no attempt to interact with the humans in the room.

“Is that her?” Satha pointed at the spider as the Invenomator swabbed her shoulder with some sharp-smelling liquid. “Can I pet her?”

All of the big spiders Satha had met had been domesticated, and most of them were friendly enough for petting, at least under supervision. This one looked different from the others, which just made Satha want to pet her more.

“I’m afraid she’s not very friendly,” the Invenomator said. “Do you know what kind of spider she is?”

Satha felt a sharp prick in her shoulder and squirmed. Her father held her hand, both a comfort and a reminder not to retreat.

“No,” Satha said, her voice only a little shaky. “What kind is she?” Even if she couldn’t pet the new spider, maybe she’d be allowed to get closer if she was good.

“She is a Giant Woodtrap Spider. They like to hide, to hide in hollowed-out trees and pounce on prey as it wanders by. As you can see, she doesn’t move very much.”

“Woodtrap Spiders are wild,” her father added. “They’ve never been domesticated, so I wouldn’t expect one to be friendly.”

“Why’s she in your house if she’s not dum-sticated?”

The Invenomator chuckled.

“Scouts need inoculations against the venoms of wild spiders as well as ‘dum-sticated’ ones. Catching wild spiders for their venom is, as you can imagine, rather unpleasant for all involved. Since a Giant Woodtrap Spider is happy in any dark corner, I may as well keep one in a dark corner of my office.”

“Daddy, can I have a Giant Woodsap Spider?”

“Woodtrap Spider. And I don’t think your first inoculation covers those. Besides, don’t you want a spider you can pet?”

Satha did want a spider she could pet.

“Are there any dum-sticated Woodsap… Wood… Woodtrap Spiders?”

“Hmm… I don’t believe there are,” the Invenomator mused, setting the empty stinger back on the tray. He produced a small roll of gauze from a pocket in his robes.

“There wouldn’t be much point,” her father explained. “They don’t make much silk, and even when they get big enough to ride, they don’t like to go anywhere. They’re not very sociable either, so they wouldn’t make good house pets. What would you do with a spider that just hid in a corner all day and night?”

Satha thought for a moment.

“Guard spider? She could live under the porch and eat any bad guys that tried to come in.”

The Invenomator chuckled as he finished wrapping her shoulder.

“’Bad guys’, you say?”

“We had a talk about strangers last week,” Stott explained.

“Well, there are people - just some people - who live out in the swamp and keep Giant Woodtrap Spiders under their houses,” the Invenomator mused. “But that’s so they’ll eat any armored centipedes that come by. I wouldn’t say those spiders are dum-sticated, though, just… repurposed.”

“Woodsap Spiders eat centipedes?” Satha asked in awe. Even her father had said he wouldn’t want to meet an armored centipede. They were one of the reasons why people who went out into the swamp didn’t always come back.

“Yes,” the Invenomator said. “Little ones, mostly little ones. A fully grown armored centipede would still pose a challenge. And, ah, speaking of ‘challenges’, you are all done with your first inoculation. You and your father should wait a bit to make sure your health doesn’t turn, then you’ll be free to go home.”

“It’s really all done?” Satha looked at the bandage on her arm.

“Indeed.”

A small crash, like a dish breaking, came from the next room.

“Hmm, that may require my attention. I’ll be a moment, just a moment. Do shout if you need assistance.”

“How’re you feeling, kiddo?” her father asked, leaning against the table next to her.

“I’m fine.” She glanced at the doorway where the Invenomator had disappeared. “The turnip man should have got a Woodsap Spider.”

“Turnip farmer. And he may well do that now.”

“Is the turnip farmer man gonna be alright?”

“He’ll be fine,” Stott said. “The Invenomator wouldn’t have seen us if he’d had someone dying in the back room. Armored centipede venom just hurts a lot.”

“Is there a ‘noc-lation for that one?”

“Yeah, but it’s a lot less pleasant than the common inoculations and harder to get the ingredients besides. People don’t usually get that one unless they expect to spend a lot of time out in the wilds, like the scouts.”

“Did Mom have that one?” Mom had been a scout, Satha knew.

Stott was quiet for a moment.

“She did.”

“But the centipede got her anyway.”

“…Yeah.”

Satha knew her mother mostly as a hazy shape - a memory, an impression, and an absence. Her father rarely talked about her.

“Did her ‘noc-lation not work?”

“It worked,” Stott said. “But the venom’s not the only thing that’ll get you.”

He paused and looked off into the distance, expression tight.

“The swamp eats people,” he said slowly. “The Invenomator can’t keep it from getting everyone, but he makes sure it doesn’t get quite so many. Inoculations give our scouts a better chance against the things out there. It just… isn’t always enough.”

He cleared his throat.

“But as for you, that first dose should be enough for most spiders you’ll find in town. In a couple weeks, once it’s fully kicked in, how about we go look at that egg sack Ms. Fenna’s House Jumper made in her living room? It should be hatching by then. I bet she’ll be up to her knees in spiderlings and happy to hand one off to you.”

Satha knew she was being distracted, but spiderlings were very distracting.

“I can have one for sure?”

“For sure. What do you think? You want one that’s bouncing off the walls, or one that’ll sit nicely in your lap and let you pet it?”

Successfully diverted, Satha spent the next few minutes detailing what she wanted her first House Jumper to be like. Obviously, it should be bouncy enough to be fun to play with, but still let her pet it sometimes. Ms. Fenna’s spider did a funny thing where it raised its forelegs in the air and waved at you to say ‘hi’, so Satha wanted hers to do that, too.

“You’ll have to train it for that,” her father said, “but that’s an easy trick to teach.”

Part-way through his explanation on basic spider training, the Invenomator returned.

“How’s he doing?” Stott asked.

“Oh fine, fine. Just knocked a cup off the bedside table. Spasms are normal with centipede venom. He should be past the point of danger, but one must make sure. No trouble with our Satha, is there?”

Satha shook her head. She felt about the same as ever, save for a slight soreness in her arm.

“Good, good. I think it’s safe for you to have a small treat at this point.”

Satha perked up as the Invenomator’s darkly-gloved hand offered her a piece of golden honey candy twisted around the end of a stick. She immediately took it and shoved it in her mouth.

“Satha, what do you say?” her father prompted.

“Fank ooh!” she said, unwilling to take the sweet out of her mouth for even a moment.

“Now, I know you’ve had this inoculation yourself,” the Invenomator said, addressing Stott, “but the side-effects are worth repeating. Redness and swelling at the injection site is normal, but you should bring her back if she develops a rash. A headache, tiredness, and a little digestive upset are common, nothing worrisome. If she starts to have tremors, becomes confused, or can’t catch her breath, you should bring her back right away.”

The Invenomator noticed Satha staring and added, “Of course, these more unpleasant reactions are rare, very rare.”

The words, though concerning, were spoken in the same calm, steady voice that the Invenomator always used, so Satha wasn’t too worried.

“I know some kids get a kind of false fever afterward. Should I give her something for that?”

“The usual herbs for fever are fine just to make her comfortable. I’ll give you something mild for her. You know the proper dosing for children, yes?”

Satha’s attention trailed off as the adults got into the specifics of remedies for various discomforts, none of which she felt at the moment. The inoculation hadn’t been too bad after all, so she probably wouldn’t get sick.

Her gaze drifted and naturally settled again on the Giant Woodtrap Spider. It stared out from beneath the table, still motionless. Would it stay motionless long enough for petting?

Her father had said it wasn’t a good petting spider, but if it just stayed like that all the time and never moved, it should be fine, right?

Glancing at the two distracted adults, she carefully slid off the table and edged toward the spider. It was smaller than the riding spiders she’d met, but bigger than the lap spiders. Its eyes, wild and empty, were unlike either of them. There was something alien about them she found intriguing.

“Nope!”

Before she could take another step, Stott grabbed the back of her shirt and hauled her away, almost making her drop her honey candy.

“Satha, what have I said about petting spiders you don’t know?”

He sounded more upset than she thought was necessary.

“But she’s not moving at all!” Satha protested. “It’s fine if she just holds still, right?”

The Invenomator moved forward, so smoothly he flowed more than walked, and placed himself between her and the spider.

“Giant Woodtrap Spiders hold very still… until they don’t. It’s how they hunt, still as a stone until they leap out faster than you can see. This one’s fed often enough she may not be hungry, but then, you are rather close to prey size.”

“…Oh.”

She’d forgotten that wild spiders would eat people. She’d heard it somewhere, but it had seemed too odd to be true when all the spiders she knew were so friendly.

Her father sighed.

“Can’t take my eyes off you for a minute.”

“It should be fine for you to go home now,” the Invenomator said. “She’s lively enough that I’m not worried. Of course, if that changes, you can bring her right back. Day or night, someone will be here.”

“Thanks,” Stott said, relieved. “Alright, Satha, say goodbye.”

“Bye, Mister Venomator,” she said, offering her best attempt at his title. “Bye, Miss Woodsap Spider.”

She peered around the Invenomator’s form to get a last look, and the spider stared back at her with the same empty focus as before. Satha didn’t know if the spider would have tried to eat her, but she liked spiders well enough to give this one the benefit of the doubt.

Then she remembered there was someone else she’d missed.

“Bye, Mister Turnip Farmer Man!” she shouted. “Feel better soon!”

She was pretty sure she heard a muffled “bye” croaked through the door.

The Invenomator chuckled.

“Goodbye. I will see you for your next inoculation and, with luck, no sooner.”

[otherworldink]

Intro to "Woodworking"

Where do you go when you live in a tiny medieval fantasy village and need some basic sex ed? The woodshop apparently. Results may vary. Includes frank, if humorous, discussions of sexuality.

Read it below the cut, or continue reading on: Wattpad or Otherworld.Ink

Bren had never liked sharing personal information. He believed in the twin virtues of privacy and minding your own damn business, and he acted accordingly. Unfortunately, he'd come up against a problem that required advice. Expert advice.

And there was only one place in his backwater village he could get it.

The carpenter's workshop was a pleasantly open building with large windows that let in the light and broad double doors that could allow the passage of a finished table or bed frame. The scent of fresh-cut pine and the subtler scents of hardwoods permeated the air. In every corner there stood half-completed projects, from the disassembled pieces of little boxes to uncut slabs with measurements drawn in charcoal. Bren could even see a small spoked wheel, half-sanded—a spare for the wheeled chair Kole's father used.

Mercifully, the only people inside were the shop's two owners. The most conspicuous of the pair was Dorin, whose height and breadth led some to suspect he had a touch of giant blood somewhere in his ancestry. He sat hunched over a pair of carved wooden fawns, adding the last fine details with a small chisel.

Hale looked slight compared to his husband, but this was just an optical illusion. A point that was reinforced as the man casually lifted a slab of wood that must have weighed as much as Bren did. It was impressive, but not why Bren was here.

"Hi, Bren!" Hale greeted, looking up from examining the marks on the wood slab. "Did your mother change her mind on the dimensions for that shelf? I was just about to make the first cut."

"No, no. It's not about that. I just... I need some advice."

"Oh? Thinking of taking up woodworking?" Hale asked, half joking.

In his nervousness, Bren replied with a poor joke of his own.

"Different kind of 'wood' to be working with."

There was a pause as Hale processed. Then he grinned like someone had handed him a new chisel.

"I knew it! It's Kole, isn't it? That nice half-elf boy?"

Bren's ears burned, and his eyes glued themselves to the floor.

"It is!" Hale dropped the wood slab in his eagerness, shaking the ground on impact. He didn't seem to notice. "Tell me everything! What do you need to know?"

The excitement was not mutual. Bren had resolved to ask for help with the same enthusiasm one used to ask the blacksmith to pull a bad tooth. Mercifully, Dorin only looked mildly interested, sparing just a glance before continuing his carving.

"Look, I'm not here to share details. I just need to know how some things work, and I figure you two..." Bren glanced back and forth between the pair then cleared his throat. "Yeah."

"Right, right." Hale nodded with exaggerated understanding. "No need to overshare. ...Unless you want to, of course."

Hale wasn't the worst gossip Bren knew—that title went to Mrs. Fields who owned the mill—but Bren still thought he took a bit too much pleasure in having his nose in everyone's business.

"I just need to know how some things work."

"Like what?" Hale tapped his chin. "Don't tell me you need to know what goes where? I should have some blank paper around here if you need me to draw diagrams. I can think of a few positions that would be good for beginners."

"No! No, I already know about that stuff." Kind of. A bit. In any case, Bren didn't think his dignity could survive diagrams. "I just need to know about... logistics. Like how you figure out who, you know... tops."

It was hard to get the words out, and he regretted it as soon as he had. It felt like such a stupid question, like it was something he should already know instinctively. People certainly had their own ideas about how these things worked, but Bren and Kole were about the same age, height, and build so it was hard to say that any of the usual "guidelines" applied.

To his surprise, Dorin answered first.

"I wouldn't worry too much about that," he said without looking up. "Just see what feels right when you get to that point. You can take turns trying or, hells, even flip a coin for it. There's more to sex than putting your dick in a hole. Focus on making each other feel good, and the rest will sort itself out."

That... actually sounded sensible. Reassuring, even. Maybe Bren had been making a big deal out of nothing.

"No, no, no! Hold on a minute, babe." Hale quickly covered Dorin's ears. "Listen to me, Bren: you are at a crossroads right now. This is where you set the tone for your entire relationship. You have a unique chance to secure the best position all for yourself. You have to be the bottom!"

Dorin snorted, but made no move to remove the hands from his head. Hale ignored him and continued.

"Topping is a fool's game! If you want to feel something around your dick, you can have your own hand any time. But when you want to get fucked, what are you supposed to do? Oh, you can try certain vegetables, and I've certainly carved a few things in the right shape, but then you've still got to do all the work yourself, and-"

Dorin cleared his throat, interrupting the deluge of far-too-personal information. A mercy, given that Bren was on the verge of bursting into awkward flames and disintegrating into the floor.

"Hush!" Hale scolded his husband. "I'm passing on my wisdom. And you can't hear right now!"

He returned his earnest attention to Bren. "What I'm saying is, no matter what anyone tells you, it is surprisingly hard to 'go fuck yourself'. If you ever get the opportunity to have someone else do it, do not pass it up!"

"He's only saying that because he's lazy in bed," Dorin said, apparently giving up on withholding personal information. Hale made an offended noise.

"You! You can't hear, remember!"

Bren wished he couldn't hear anything.

"Is there anything useful you can tell me, or should I just leave?"

"Always use oil," Dorin said, finally brushing Hale's hands away from his ears. "More than you think you need. It makes everything more pleasant."

"Except for oral!" Hale added.

"Yeah. Except that."

"Okay, that's... good to know," Bren said. "So, like, the oil you use on tools, or...?"

"NO!" The objection came from both of them simultaneously.

Dorin cleared his throat.

"Ah, no. Different oil."

Hale grimaced.

"Otherwise you're in for an awkward trip to the healer."

Bren could tell there was a story there. A story he absolutely never needed to hear.

"Then... what kind are you supposed to use?" And where could he get it? Ideally without anyone guessing what he intended to use it for.

"We'll send you off with something," Dorin said. "It's better than you getting desperate and using whatever's on hand."

"Trust us on that," Hale added.

On this matter, Bren would.

In short order, the two set him up with a small jar of oil and instructions on where to discretely buy more. He also found himself holding the two fawns.

"You can pay us back by delivering them," Dorin explained. "They're for Leda on the other side of town."

"They're actually for her daughter," Hale added. "Leda hopes that if the kid has some nice toy fawns, she'll stop trying to bring home the real ones she finds out in the fields."

The palm-sized fawns were impressively lifelike: one curled flat and low like it was hiding in the grass, the other half-sprawled, pushing itself up on delicate forelimbs with its ears pricked alertly. Bren wasn't sure they'd be enough to persuade a determined child to give up the real thing, but they might come close.

Dorin offered some parting words.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about. Just take it slow, listen to each other, and have fun."

"And for fuck's sake, let him top!" Hale added, unable to help himself.

Bren mumbled something approaching a polite goodbye and hurriedly retreated with the fawns, the oil, the advice, and what remained of his dignity.

His initial plan had been to make the delivery and retreat home to bury his face in his pillow until the embarrassment receded, but fate was not so accommodating. Less than halfway across town, he spotted Kole at the blacksmith's shop, saying his goodbyes. Bren paused on reflex, and when Kole turned away from the workshop, he spotted him.

Kole smiled—partly bashful, entirely charming—and Bren's stomach flipped.

Kole had moved into town a few months back with his parents: an elven mother and a human father who had recently survived an unpleasant encounter with a wyvern. Years ago, Hale had made a wheeled chair for his elderly aunt, and since then, anyone within a week's travel who needed one would order from him.

The family had made the journey to have the chair properly fitted and had ended up staying. Something about wanting to live "somewhere quiet" and enjoying the "lovely pastoral scenery". Which all sounded like nice euphemisms for "boring", but Bren supposed boring might be what you wanted after getting mauled by a wyvern.

"They're cute," Kole said, nodding at the carved fawns in Bren's hands.

"They're not mine!" Bren said hastily. "I'm just delivering them."

"Right." Kole's gaze lowered. "What's that?"

Bren realized, with some alarm, that he was looking at the bottle of oil sticking out of his trouser pocket. He hadn't thought it would be a problem since there was nothing suggestive about it's appearance, but he hadn't prepared for anyone to ask about it!

"Nothing!" His voice came out slightly more panicked than intended.

Amusement flickered on Kole's face, as if he could tell Bren was hiding something but was nice enough not to call him out on it.

"Who are you delivering them to?" Kole asked, mercifully turning the conversation back to the wooden fawns.

This was why Kole was the actual best. He had the decency to let things lie. (Or, at least, to let Bren lie to save some face.)

"Leda. They're for her daughter."

"Oh yeah. The little 'fawn-napper'." Kole chuckled. "Do you need help delivering those?"

"No, they're not heavy or anything." It was only after he'd said this that he realized Kole was making an excuse to join him. "Uh... I mean, you could..."

"I could carry one? In case you need a free hand."

"Yeah. That'd be good."

Kole accepted one of the fawns and fell in step next to Bren.

The two of them had been intimate before, but always alone. Bren was too much a private person to allow anything else. But when Kole casually laid a hand on Bren's lower back, Bren really couldn't bring himself to object. It felt... nice. And it's not like anyone was paying special attention to them.

Did he mention it felt nice?

Given where Bren had just come from, it was impossible not to reflect on the recent conversation. He tried to keep his thoughts decent, out of respect for the carved fawn in his hands. It was far too innocent for anyone to be having those kinds of thoughts around it.

Still, though...

Maybe Hale had a point.

[otherworldink]

Tourist Trap

“I wanted to go for a ride by the river, but no! You said the swamp would be romantic!”

Continue reading below the cut, or continue reading on: Wattpad or Otherworld.Ink

“I wanted to go for a ride by the river, but no! You said the swamp would be romantic!”

Nessa leaned forward in her saddle, propping her elbows up on her Wolf Spider’s head to get a better view of the unfolding drama. Below, a young pair of drylanders bickered on a tiny spit of solid ground while their poor horse struggled knee-deep in the dark, sucking mud. They’d been easy to spot. Dressed in bright yellows, blues, and greens, they practically glowed against the damp, muted colors of the swamp.

Nessa’s burly riding spider perched on the edge of a sheetweb path that ran along the underside of the swamp’s canopy, like a silken aerial road. The perfect vantage point. With a screen of hanging moss obscuring her position, the drylanders were unlikely to spot her, even if they bothered to look up.

“Let’s just go back to the farm,” the boy suggested. “We’ll get someone to bring an ox to pull it out!”

“And what’s going to happen to the horse while we’re gone? Even if he can wait that long, do you really think we can get an ox in here?”

The drylander boy groaned.

“My dad’s going to kill me.”

Nessa wished she’d brought a snack. Maybe something salty.

“Nessa?” a voice beside her interrupted. “Are we going to help them, or…”

She glanced over. It was just her luck to have the two newbies in tow. Estith on his barely-grown Red Star and Kesk on her twitchy Ghost Step. Estith was watching the proceedings with more concern than Nessa thought they warranted. Kesk, meanwhile, had pulled some sticky silk from her Ghost Step’s spinnerets to play a variation on cat’s cradle, uninterested in the drama below.

Nessa had been tasked with taking these two out for a standard road inspection near Blackswamp’s border. Looking for areas in disrepair, making note of hazards, dealing with noxious beasts—that sort of thing. While not strictly mentioned, “assisting lost drylanders” probably fell under that directive somewhere. Still, that didn’t mean they had to hurry about it.

But her displeased side-eye went right over Estith’s head. He kept staring at her, painfully earnest. Ugh.

“We’ll move them out eventually,” Nessa conceded. “Wouldn’t want them bringing even more drylanders in here.” She snorted. "They’d probably just get stuck in the mud, too."

“Right,” Estith agreed. He paused expectantly. “So… what are we waiting for?”

“Nothing wrong with letting them squirm a little. The more panicked they are today, the less reckless they’ll be tomorrow.”

The mud was too thick and shallow for any self-respecting thrashergator, and Nessa hadn’t seen any centipede tracks. With no real threats nearby, why not let the drama unfold a little more?

“I can’t believe I went along with this!” the drylander girl ranted. “My mother said you had all the brains of a head of lettuce, and do you know what I said? I said she was wrong! I said you were wise in your own way. Well, you sure showed me different!”

They didn’t get a lot of drylanders in Blackswamp. Sometimes a few adventurous types would come “exploring”. Merchants usually hired a guide and stuck to established roads and towns. And then you had these two: just a couple of dumb kids looking for a new makeout spot.

“Uh, Nessa?” Estith prompted again. “The horse is still sinking, should we…?”

Nessa sighed.

So much for the entertainment.

“Fine, fine. We’ll cut this short.” She cast a disappointed glance down at the wayward pair and grumbled, “She’s just crying over that dumb, long-faced thing now anyway.”

Nessa sat up in her saddle and automatically checked the clips on her belt and boots.

“Alright you two, let’s go greet the tourists. And remember to check those clips! If you slip out of the saddle, I’m not lying to your family and saying you died well.”

Nessa shifted her weight and dug in her heels, prompting her Wolf Spider to scuttle down to the underside of their perch. The familiar tension of her saddle bindings kept her in place despite gravity’s efforts, but the head-rush was still unpleasant. She reached back to tap her spider’s abdomen, signaling it to descend.

As they slid down on a growing thread of silk, she snuck a glance back at her newbies. It wouldn’t do to have them actually fall out of the trees. There were no obvious problems, though Kesk had apparently freed her hands of the sticky silk by smearing it across her shirt. Well, it wasn’t like Nessa was the one who’d be washing it later.

As soon as they noticed motion overhead, the tourists scurried aside. They didn’t flee entirely, pausing at a distance to cast worried glances at their horse. Still, they were smart enough to give space to the three giant spiders now standing between them and the trapped animal.

Estith was average in height but solid, and his shiny black-and-red spider looked fiercer than it was. Kesk gave an unsettling impression, all sharp angles and twitchy movements, riding a spider that looked like it was made from opaque glass. As for Nessa, while she didn’t cut a particularly imposing figure, she’d been reliably informed that her attitude was intimidating enough. Paired with the largest and most aggressive breed of domesticated riding spider, she felt confident she was making a healthy contribution to the fear on the drylanders’ faces.

Estith greeted the tourists with a wave and a smile; Kesk just snickered.

“We’re, uh…” the drylander boy stammered. “We’re not looking for any trouble.”

“Uh-huh,” Nessa said, waving her two newbies towards the struggling horse. “You just thought you’d ride a horse somewhere horses have no business being and plant yourselves in the mud. You’re not the first idiots we’ve hauled out of the swamp.”

Her newbies approached the horse on spiderback, circling cautiously around its sides. The spiders’ forelegs tapped the ground, feeling out the border where solid ground ended and sinking mud began. With numerous legs to spread out their weight and extra limbs to probe ahead for hazards, they had a natural advantage over four-legged mounts on such uncertain terrain.

The horse, however, had no appreciation for these traits. At their approach, it screamed and thrashed, trying to rear and buck away.

Estith’s Red Star backed up a few wary paces, but Kesk’s Ghost Step bolted. Kesk yelped. The Ghost Step made it halfway up a tree before she brought it to an inelegant stop, dangling off the back of the saddle like a loose strap.

“Not dead!” she declared cheerfully.

Estith gave her a thumbs-up.

Nessa made a few additions to her mental list of drills to run them through.

“Well,” she said, amending her previous statement, “you’re not the first idiots I’ve hauled out of the mud.”

The horse, meanwhile, continued thrashing and screaming in the muck. If it continued like that, they’d have predators all over the place, and Nessa was trying to keep her spider on a diet.

“Hey, loverboy!” Nessa barked, making the drylander boy jump. “It’s your animal, isn’t it? Get over there and calm it down.”

“R-right.”

He hurried over, skirting warily around Estith’s Red Star. He caught the horse’s reins, trying to get control of its head. By this time, Kesk had convinced her Ghost Step to get back on the ground and return to work. But a Ghost Step wasn’t called a Ghost Step for nothing. When it appeared soundlessly in the corner of the drylander boy’s vision, he jumped and almost planted himself in the mud next to his horse.

“Don’t get stuck in there with it, or we’ll be webbing you up, too,” Nessa warned.

It was always funny how drylanders squirmed at just the threat of some cobwebs. He did manage to get the horse to stop fighting, though.

“Alright you two!” she called to her newbies. “Back your spiders up to that horse and web up its thorax. Don’t get kicked.”

Kesk yelped.

“Don’t get bitten either.”

“Why aren’t you helping?” the drylander girl asked. She’d edged closer for a better view of the proceedings until she stood alongside Nessa, though still out of reach.

“I’m supervising,” Nessa said. “Besides, if I let Keekee get near that horse, she’ll think it’s mealtime.”

“Your spider’s name is Keekee?” the drylander girl asked, trying to be sociable. “That’s a cute name. Is she friendly?”

As she asked, she reached for one of the spider’s fuzzy legs.

“Nope,” Nessa said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis.

Keekee chittered and shuffled her feet. The drylander girl jerked her hand away.

With the drylander boy holding the horse steady, the newbies managed to web up a harness for it. The beast didn’t make it easy for them, struggling and biting whenever the opportunity presented itself, but they managed. It’s not like horses were venomous, the useless things.

“That’ll do,” Nessa declared. “Now pull! Make sure your spiders don’t keep letting out silk! … Yeah, like that. Don’t do that.”

Estith’s mistake this time. That Red Star of his was a little too generous with the silk.

“So, they’re, uhh… new?” the drylander girl asked, trying again to make conversation.

“Fresh out of scout training,” Nessa confirmed.

“Do they cover this sort of thing in scout training?”

“They cover using your spider to web up and move large, stubborn objects, so close enough.”

The two spiders struggled to drag the horse forward out of the mud while it dug in its heels and strained backwards—more afraid of two large predators than of the sucking mud. It took a messy, ungainly effort, but between the lot of them they managed to haul the horse up onto solid ground. Once freed, the horse stood stock still, wide-eyed and trembling visibly.

“Good enough for an amateur job,” Nessa praised. Both of her newbies were smeared with mud and sported various horse-related bruises. Estith straightened up at her words while Kesk grinned through a mask of mud. How she’d gotten that much mud on her while sitting on her spider’s back, Nessa couldn’t fathom.

“Thank you so much for stopping to help us,” the drylander girl said. Her words were polite, though she kept a careful distance.

Avoidance was a good policy for outsiders. Estith’s Red Star loved everyone and Kesk’s Ghost Step was as afraid of any human as they were of it, but without venom inoculations, one accidental nip could lay a person out flat.

“Technically, it’s fine for you to be here if you don’t cause trouble,” Nessa said, mentally putting on her Blackswamp Representative hat. “There hasn’t been anything more than a couple fistfights between our people for more than a generation, and the official treaties only restrict travel for political and military bigwigs. But if you keep getting yourselves stuck in our mud, I might decide to count that as trouble. Understood?”

“Understood!” the drylander girl said, then elbowed her boyfriend until he offered a “yes ma’am” of his own.

With a bit of guidance, the drylanders walked their horse to the swamp’s edge and continued onto the hard-packed dirt road that led to the nearest farming village. On foot, it would be dark before they got back, but that horse wasn’t in any state to bear a rider, never mind two.

“If she doesn’t break up with him over this stunt, they’ll be married one day,” Nessa mused to no one in particular. “And then we’ll have all their dumb babies wandering into the mud along with them.”

Nessa looked over her well-worn charges and considered the low angle of the sun.

“Alright, check your clips and get your spiders back in the trees. We’re calling it for the day.”

Kesk whooped and Estith slouched in relief.

And people said she wasn’t nice.

[otherworldink]

Should You Get A Jumper?

Out of the four major breeds of riding spider, the Jumper is the least popular. This has nothing to do with its temperament or its usefulness as a mount. Rather, this reflects the intense training required of both rider and spider in order for the pair to work together.

As its name suggests, a Jumper prefers to travel by launching itself through the air. Its durable body readily absorbs the impact of these harsh starts and stops, but the same cannot be said of their riders. The forces are immense and potentially fatal. Thus, all riders need special equipment and training to prevent whiplash and other injuries.

The Jumper itself needs to be trained not to overtax its joints while burdened. An untrained Jumper may land too heavily with a rider, or misjudge the distance it can jump while burdened. This can cause permanent damage to its joints and limbs.

Because of these risks, a Jumper and its rider will spend more time training together than any other spider-rider pair.

Yet many riders believe the risks are worth it. Jumpers can cross gaps that baffle other species and cover long distances with stunning speed. To the right person, the thrill of casting oneself into the air and the calculated risk of the landing are addicting.

People say it takes a special kind of person to ride a Jumper, and it’s hard to tell if this is a compliment or an insult. Certainly, one cannot be risk-averse. Broken bones and strained muscles are a common part of the training process. But those who master this challenging style of riding will tell you there’s no other spider they’d rather partner with.

See Also: Should You Get A Wolf Spider? Should You Get A Red Star? Should You Get A Ghost Step?

[otherworldink]

Should You Get A Ghost Step?

Do you want a riding spider? Do you want a silking spider? Why not get one that does both? The Ghost Step is the only breed of riding spider that also produces high-quality silk on demand.

The Ghost Step is an ideal pet for the silking enthusiast who also needs a serviceable mount. With a little training, the average Ghost Step can make hammocks, ladders, and decorative orb webs. With a little more training, they can help repair walkways and other important structures. This makes them useful for travel in the wilds, as well as for domestic construction.

Just don’t ask a Ghost Step to play guard-spider! They are notoriously flighty in the face of danger. A Ghost Step will not protect you at the cost of its life. When faced with a dangerous beast, this spider will flee to safety rather than meet them head-on. Of course, as long as you're firmly seated on your Ghost Step's back, you may appreciate this instinct!

A Ghost Step’s venom is not especially potent. Often, human victims will survive even without inoculation. But since you can prevent a bad weekend of fever, pain, and stiff limbs with a simple series of injections, why not do it? Ghost Steps are prone to fear biting, so make sure yours is well-trained and socialized to reduce the risk.

The Ghost Step is a spider of many virtues with a somewhat skittish temperament. While stereotyped as a mount for old ladies, you don’t need to be a weaving addict to appreciate their charms. If you want a companionable spider that will carry you on your travels and spin you a hammock to sleep in at night, you can’t do better than a Ghost Step.

See Also: Should You Get A Wolf Spider? Should You Get A Red Star? Should You Get A Jumper?

[otherworldink]

Should You Get A Red Star?

With its shiny black body and bright red markings, you’ll never mistake the Red Star for anything else!  This riding spider is best known for its show-stopping appearance and its heart-stopping venom. But don’t let this bad-boy façade fool you. The Red Star is a laid-back spider that would rather relax in a cobweb than make trouble.

Some people balk at getting a Red Star for fear of its venom. This potent neurotoxin paralyzes victims, even stopping the heart and lungs. Red Stars rarely bite, but it's understandable that the mere possibility would raise concerns. Lucky for us spider-lovers, modern inoculations are highly effective. These preventative treatments make Red Star venom a mere nuisance rather than a mortal threat. Just remember to get your annual booster!

The Red Star's striking appearance draws a lot of attention, and clever breeders have developed varieties with even more eye-catching patterns. If you’re considering such a spider, make sure that the breeders select their stock for temperament as well as coloration. If you can, take the time to meet both parents of your prospective spiderling. The last thing you want is a venomous, full-size riding spider with an attitude problem!

Neither as aggressive as a Wolf Spider nor as flighty as a Ghost Step, the Red Star makes a fantastic mount. While you'll need to take care around the un-inoculated, a well-bred Red Star will rarely give you trouble. For those who want an even-tempered riding spider with a striking appearance, it doesn’t get better than the Red Star!

See Also: Should You Get A Wolf Spider? Should You Get A Ghost Step? Should You Get A Jumper?

[otherworldink]

Should You Get A Wolf Spider?

The Wolf Spider is a large breed of riding spider with a fearsome reputation. Powerful enough to face even the dreaded Armored Centipede in combat, it can defend its handler against any foe. When properly bonded, it will do so even without commands. No wonder the Wolf Spider is so popular!

But before you rush out to buy that cute spiderling, there are a few drawbacks to consider.

First of all: training. This is no common lap spider! The Wolf Spider is a powerful working animal with a strong prey drive and abundant energy. If you can’t dedicate an hour every day—or better yet, twice a day—to exercise and training, this is not the spider for you. The bond between spider and handler takes time to build and is essential for your safety when interacting with this powerful animal.

You’ll also need to get special inoculations against the Wolf Spider’s paralytic venom. While this venom is rarely lethal, Wolf Spiders are known for eating their immobilized prey alive. A well-trained spider should never view their handler as food, but accidents can happen, especially if the handler is inexperienced or uses improper training techniques. This is why we only recommend Wolf Spiders to experienced spider handlers.

But don’t get the wrong idea! With proper care, a Wolf Spider makes a loyal and helpful companion. They are a favorite of scouts and homesteaders who must contend with the dangers of the swamp on a daily basis. They are even kept successfully by some devoted enthusiasts.

All in all, a Wolf Spider is a serious commitment and not for the idle fancier. But if you're willing to put in the time and effort, a Wolf Spider could be the stalwart companion you’re looking for!

See Also: Should You Get A Red Star? Should You Get A Ghost Step? Should You Get A Jumper?

[otherworldink]

Shout out to the Hemingway Editor for making it painfully obvious to me how over-reliant I am on commas. XD

[otherworldink]

A New Rider

Estith hesitated in front of the broad stable doors, staring up at the looming building. It looked like an upside-down basket several stories tall, woven from vines as thick as a man’s leg. It also seemed more intimidating than usual. After years of training, he’d finally qualified for a mount of his own—not a training mount shared by all the apprentice scouts, but one that was actually his—and today he was going to meet it.

Continue reading below the cut, or continue reading on: Wattpad or Otherworld.Ink

Estith hesitated in front of the broad stable doors, staring up at the looming building. It looked like an upside-down basket several stories tall, woven from vines as thick as a man’s leg. It also seemed more intimidating than usual. After years of training, he’d finally qualified for a mount of his own—not a training mount shared by all the apprentice scouts, but one that was actually his—and today he was going to meet it.

He shifted his feet, still breaking in his thrashergator-leather riding boots. Metal snaps lined their inner sides, spaced precisely for clipping into a saddle. He wasn’t sure he’d need them today, but it felt right to wear them. A scout of Blackswamp should always be prepared, after all.

Prepared, yet still unable to reach for the doors.

Although he’d gotten along well with the training mounts, they were chosen for their easygoing natures. The one the Stablemaster gave him wouldn’t be so docile. What if he couldn’t bond with it? What if he couldn’t get it to listen?

Well, as he’d learned in training, the only true antidote to nerves was action.

Estith reached for the doors only for them to open outward, almost hitting him. The stablehand gave him an odd look on his way out, and Estith realized he’d probably seen him standing there like a bump on a log for who-knows-how-many minutes. Cheeks and ears burning, he hurried through the open doors.

In fact, there were two sets of doors with a small room between to prevent anything from slipping out on accident. Estith diligently observed proper protocol—looking at the walls, the floor, and the ceiling—before opening the second set of doors. It was hatching season, after all, and those little guys had a tendency to get into places they shouldn’t.

Inside the stable, the gaps in the woven walls were large enough to let in air and light but small enough to prevent curious mounts from escaping. Enough natural light shone through to clearly illuminate the pale, silken nests and webs in which the riding spiders rested, as well as the walkways of vines and spider silk that twisted and branched throughout the structure. A network of pulleys raised and lowered food and feces and cleaning supplies between levels.

The giant riding spiders themselves were everywhere—resting calmly in their nests, scuttling idly along the walls, or being groomed and saddled on the ground floor. All of the most common species were represented. Huge, brown Wolf Spiders darted about on walls or the undersides of walkways. White, fine-limbed Ghost Steps busied themselves with elaborate orb webs, while the shiny, black-and-red Red Stars crafted tangled cobwebs to hide in. Occasionally, a fuzzy, grey Jumper would rocket across the room, startling anyone who happened to be in their landing zone.

A few of the spiders looked especially familiar—being either training mounts or the mounts of Estith’s instructors—and he was thinking of saying ‘hi’ to a few when someone called him.

“Hey! Newbie!”

Estith’s spine straightened as he forced his attention away from the spiders and toward the Stablemaster. She was a tall, lanky woman with short-cropped hair and bags like bruises under her eyes. From what he’d seen, they were a permanent feature.

“That’s me! I’m here!”

Estith cringed internally. Of course she knew who he was! He’d been here almost every day for training.

Mercifully, the Stablemaster didn’t seem to care about his fumbling answer and breezed by him without slowing down, obviously expecting him to follow.

“Here to meet your spider, right?”

“That’s right!” Estith fell in step behind her. “What kind is it? A Ghost Step? A Wolf Spider?”

“Hah! A Wolf Spider?

Estith rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Just a possibility.”

Wolf Spiders were the largest and most aggressive of the domesticated riding spiders. While prized for their strength and fearlessness in battle, they could be hard to manage. They were almost never given as first-time mounts, but Estith’s spider-handling abilities had been the best in his class. In spite of his nerves, he still took pride in that.

“A ‘possibility’?” the Stablemaster echoed, then turned to a nearby stablehand. “Stott! What do you get when you put new riders on Wolves?”

“Fat spiders, ma’am,” the man replied without hesitating or looking up from his work, which seemed to involve carrying a large, woven nursery basket on his back and—disconcertingly—looking frantically around for something.

Well, that was hatching season for you.

“Fat spiders!” the Stablemaster repeated emphatically.

Estith wasn’t sure what to say to that. Fortunately, the Stablemaster kept talking.

“You had good handling scores, so I don’t mind putting you on something with a bit of bite, but until I’ve seen you with a spider of your own, I’m not giving you anything that aggressive.”

She led him to the wooden pillar in the center of the stable. Aside from propping up the roof, it served as a central point for calling spiders down from their webs high up on the walls. A single silk thread ran from each web to the base of the pillar. There were scores of them, all seemingly identical. Estith couldn’t imagine how the Stablemaster kept track of them all.

She twanged one of the threads. Estith tried to follow the vibration, but his eyes got lost among the walkways. However, he soon spotted the summoned spider, shiny black and scuttling along the underside of a walkway before descending toward them on a string of silk.

“What I’ve got for you is a nice male Red Star. He’s got a solid temperament—not too shy, but not aggressive either. He’ll take you where you need to go and not make too much fuss about it. Go on and introduce yourself.”

Moment of truth.

Estith held out his hand the way he always had for the training spiders and let the Red Star poke and prod his fingers with the short, arm-like pedipalps on either side of its mouth.

“He seems a bit… small,” Estith ventured. The little guy’s body barely came up to his waist. Even if Estith wasn’t the heaviest rider, he still worried he’d overburden such a small mount.

“He’s still got another molt before he’s big enough to ride,” the Stablemaster explained. “We’ll feed him up over the next couple weeks, and once he pops out of his skin he’ll be ready to go. He’s already broke to saddle, and we’ve been training him to carry weights on a lead-line. By the time you start your patrols next month, he’ll be ready for you.”

The Red Star mouthed Estith’s hand with its chelicerae, those curious sideways jaws toying with his fingers and the cuff of his sleeve, probably looking for treats. Estith laughed. With the fangs retracted, the mouth parts only tickled his wrist.

Still, he was privately glad he’d finished all his visits to the Master Invenomator. Red Star venom was a powerful neurotoxin. One bite could make every muscle in the body seize up, including the ones responsible for breathing. Anyone planning to work around riding spiders had to undergo a series of decidedly unpleasant procedures to develop immunity. Not that Estith was too worried given this spider’s friendly disposition, but as they say, better safe than suffocated.

“Once you’ve named him, just let me know,” the Stablemaster said, voice a bit kinder now. “We’ll put it on a plate next to his-”

She froze mid-sentence.

Estith felt the back of his neck prickle at her change of expression, but before he could ask what was wrong, something else made his neck prickle. He glanced slowly to the side where a mess of thin white legs was clambering up over his shoulder.

They’d found Stott’s missing spiderling.

He glanced warily at his Red Star. Adult spiders generally saw each other as too dangerous to make a tempting meal, especially when they were well-fed, but this little Ghost Step was an easy snack, especially for an active, growing spider of a different species.

Sure enough, the Red Star spotted Estith’s little “passenger” and started climbing up his body to reach for the spiderling. Its hooked feet caught on Estith’s belt and spider-silk shirt, and he braced himself against the extra weight, catching a leg that threatened to knock the spiderling forward into the Red Star’s mouth.

“Whoa there!”

With his free hand, he slipped his thumb and fingers beneath the spider’s jaws to press against the sensitive gaps between the base of its pedipalps and the hard underside of its mouth—a tricky move now that the Red Star’s fangs had come out to feed. His fingers weren’t strong enough to hurt it, but the firm pressure against a vulnerable part of its body forced the spider instinctively back.

The Stablemaster whipped around behind him, far faster than her perpetually sleep-deprived looks would suggest, and neatly unhooked the vulnerable spiderling’s eight feet from his clothes. With a shout to get Stott’s attention, she tossed the spiderling in a high, gentle arc that landed it safely in his waiting hands.

The spiderling disappeared into the nursery basket with its siblings, and Estith gave his disappointed Red Star some scritches near the base of its legs in apology.

The Stablemaster let out a breath.

“Not bad, newbie.”

She passed him a web-wrapped hunk of rat meat from a pouch at her hip, and Estith handed it off to his Red Star, gratified to watch its pedipalps press the treat eagerly to its mouth to inject its digestive fluids. With a snack in hand, it forgot all about the escaped spiderling. Estith petted the leg closest to him—keeping his hands sensibly away from the feeding spider’s mouth parts—and the leg tapped him back companionably.

Not bad at all.