Page 64

Carla

T he SUV rumbles to a stop in front of the patrol cabin.

Amari puts the vehicle in park and cuts the engine, leaving only the sound of my ragged breathing.

My head spins like I’m caught in a whirlpool, dragging me deeper with each passing moment.

The tarp in the trailer behind us contains what remains of Verde and Petra, and the knowledge sits like a stone in my gut.

Amari turns to me, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay to do this now?”

“Yes,” I croak, my voice sore and raspy from crying. “If we don’t do it now, the children will flip.”

He nods in understanding, then gets out of the SUV and rounds to my side. When he opens the door, I nearly fall into his arms, my legs shaky beneath me. His hands steady my hips as he guides me toward the trailer.

I freeze when I spot one of their legs dangling out from under the tarp—a grim reminder of what we’re about to do. It’s like feeling their deaths all over again, that same ripping sensation inside. I place my hand over my heart, trying to calm myself from having a full breakdown.

The forest around us seems to hold its breath. Wind rustles through the trees, stirring the branches gently. What we’re about to do presses in from all sides, making each step feel like wading through mud.

Amari carefully pushes the leg back under the tarp, and I look away as he lifts it down, making sure it doesn’t hit the ground too hard. Even the gentle sound it makes as it settles seems louder than it should be.

“Are you sure?” he asks, searching my face.

I nod, unable to form words, and start leading the way into the forest. Behind me, I hear the soft scrape of the tarp as Amari drags it carefully over the uneven ground. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, following a path I’ve walked countless times before.

The smell of damp earth and decomposing leaves fills my nostrils as we venture deeper. Pine needles brush against my bare feet. I normally find comfort in these familiar sensations, but today they only remind me that I’m leading a funeral procession for my own children.

The trees grow denser as we move deeper into the forest. Branches crowd overhead, blocking out much of the sky. My children slip through gaps between trees, climbing down from the canopy. They walk ahead, leading us to a small clearing.

Some of the smaller ones, no bigger than dinner plates, scuttle ahead to clear the path of debris. Others hang from silken threads overhead, their many eyes watching our progress. I can feel their grief; it settles in the spaces between the trees.

Amari drags the tarp to the center of the clearing and carefully opens it.

The sight knocks the air from my lungs. Verde and Petra lie side by side, their bodies cut open, examined, violated.

Pieces of their bodies have been removed, several of their legs cut off, and each of their fangs extracted.

They’ve been mutilated beyond recognition, reduced to specimens rather than my beloved children.

Verde’s emerald body, once bright and vibrant, now lies dull and lifeless. The intricate patterns across his abdomen are barely visible through the cuts and incisions. Petra’s deep purple exoskeleton, once full of color, is now cracked and faded. They don’t even look like themselves anymore.

I fall to my knees beside them, running my hand over Verde’s once-beautiful emerald body. “They mutilated them,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

My fingers trace the edges of the cuts, feeling the places where pieces have been removed—samples taken for study, for experiments.

The violation of it makes bile rise in my throat.

These weren’t just specimens to be dissected; they were my children, living beings with thoughts, feelings, and identities.

Amari bows his head, and Tofi and the others begin to circle around us, their legs tapping a mournful rhythm against the earth. The sound builds slowly, starting as a gentle patter and growing into something like a heartbeat—steady, rhythmic, alive even in the presence of death.

I sob as I lean down to kiss each of their bodies, the pain so raw it feels like my heart is being torn apart all over again. My tears fall onto their broken forms, mingling with the dew already settling on their exoskeletons.

“My babies,” I choke out. “My sweet, brave babies. I loved you from the moment you hatched.” I stroke what remains of Verde’s head, remembering how he used to nudge against my hand, seeking affection.

“I remember how you would always bring me the prettiest leaves you could find, Verde. How you would sit with me during storms when the thunder scared the smaller ones.”

I turn to Petra, whose body is even more damaged than Verde’s.

“And you, Petra, always so fierce, so protective. You never let anything frighten you.” A sob escapes me as I recall how she would position herself between me and any perceived threat, no matter how large.

“Thank you for your sacrifice, for your protection, for your love.”

My words dissolve into incoherent sobs as my hands move between them, trying to commit every detail to memory. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry I failed you.”

The children around us move closer, their legs touching mine in quiet support. Some of the smaller ones climb onto my shoulders, nestling into my hair, their tiny bodies vibrating with shared grief.

Tofi and Noki slowly approach, their movements steady and solemn. They begin to pull their siblings’ bodies away from me, preparing for the burial. Amari comes to my side, gently pulling me to my feet and holding me against him as we watch the funeral begin.

My children work together in a way that speaks of ancient ritual. The smaller ones spin silk, creating delicate threads with an opalescent quality. The strands reflect subtle hues of blue, purple, and pink as they shift and move.

Tofi directs them, her legs moving in patterns I’ve never seen before, orchestrating the creation of two beautiful cocoons.

She taps instructions to the others, who respond with immediate understanding.

Some gather moisture from nearby plants, mixing it with the silk to create a stronger, more resilient material.

Others weave intricate patterns into the growing shrouds, symbols I don’t recognize but somehow know are meant to offer guidance and peace in the journey beyond.

The silk wraps around Verde and Petra, layer after layer, until their broken bodies are completely encased in soft white shrouds.

As the cocoons form, I notice something happening— a faint pink glow emanates from within the silk, reminiscent of the magic Tabatha used to bring me back from death.

The magic that made me a doorway between worlds.

The pink glow intensifies, pulsing like a heartbeat. Small motes of light rise from the cocoons, floating upward before dissolving into the night air. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking all at once.

The larger children begin digging into the soft earth, creating two perfect graves side by side.

Their powerful front legs carve through soil and roots with ease, displacing stones and creating smooth-walled chambers for their siblings’ final rest. Once the holes are deep enough, Tofi and Noki gently push the cocoons into their final resting places.

The smaller children come forward, carrying bits of earth in their mandibles, beginning the process of covering the graves.

They work methodically, each one adding their contribution to the growing mounds.

Some bring small stones to mark the sites, while others weave delicate webs between nearby plants, creating natural monuments that move softly with the breeze.

I notice movement from the edge of the clearing.

Moria and Kemnebi crawl toward us, then move past to join their siblings in completing the burial.

Moria, who has spent centuries nestled against my heart, and Kemnebi, who found a home with Amari—they work together, binding our families as they help lay their siblings to rest.

Moria carries a small flower, placing it atop Verde’s grave. Kemnebi does the same for Petra. The gesture is so tender, so human in its sentiment, that it breaks something inside me.

A moan escapes my lips, building into a wail. Birds startle from their roosts, taking flight into the sky. My cry holds centuries of loss, not just for Verde and Petra, but for all the suffering we’ve endured, all the hardships we’ve faced.

Amari holds me tighter, one hand stroking my back while the other tangles in my curls. He doesn’t try to quiet me or rush my grief. He simply holds me, letting me cry for as long as I need. His strength supports me when my legs want to give out, his body absorbing the shudders that rack my frame.

When the two gravesites are completely covered, Tofi approaches Amari.

Her movements are slower than usual, weighted with grief.

She leans against his leg, seeking comfort from him as she mourns her siblings.

Amari pulls back from me slightly and leans down to pet her burgundy body, his fingers gentle against her exoskeleton.

“I love you,” he tells her, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry for the loss of your brother and sister.”

Tofi’s multiple eyes look up at him, glowing softly like tiny stars in the darkness.

“This will never happen again,” Amari promises, his voice steady and full of resolve. “Daddy is here now, and I will always make sure you are loved and protected.”

The intensity of his vow settles over us, a quiet force—a shield, a promise, a covenant.

Kemnebi suddenly starts tapping his legs against the forest floor, the sound urgent and insistent. He hisses, drawing Tofi’s attention. She turns to face him, and all the other spider children go silent, as if holding their breath.