"Spider Prophecy Prologue" by A. Setliffe

         My name is Kaiyo, and I am little more than a voice in the dark. I am here to attempt the impossible; to put in record of simple words the span and history of a life. There was a time where I would have thought that a simple act. Can you believe my naiveté? And yet, even knowing that I will fail, I find that I must try, for if I do not then the life of which I speak may be forgotten, and that must not be. I fail even here to express why it must not be forgotten, why he must not be forgotten, and that does not bode well for what I am about to attempt.
          Years ago, so long now that I have stopped keeping track, I crossed his path. It was near the end of his life, though there was no way that anyone could have known. I remember most his eyes, like pieces of a storm-cloud sky, and his smile, so strangely innocent, so contrary to who and what he was. He caught me, then, as surely as I had been a bird in a net, though I do not think he realized it. I wanted to know of him, from where he had come, who or what had spawned him, and most of all, why he had taken a path no other had before, but which so many would follow.
          He spoke to me, answered many of my questions. He gave me copies and translations of writings for which the originals had turned to dust ages past. From what he gave me, I tracked him backwards, the thread of his life seeming to crumble even as I followed it. I filled in what holes I could with the accounts of others, though the farther back I went the rarer these became. Ultimately, the oldest histories I have of him come from things he himself kept and safe-guarded.
          And so here I will attempt to make sense of this web of a life. Below you will find first and second-hand accounts, most of which are translations of the originals, you will find writings of the subject himself, and you will also find sections I have penned to fill in gaps as best I can where no other account could be found. I will indicate the origin of each section as it comes. The first is my own.

          ~He was born Aiden, third son of Eagan, who was chieftain or ‘king’ over a small number of lesser lords, ruling from a primitive fortress called the Crescent Hall. His elder brothers were Keagan, seven years his senior, and Neal, three years older than Aiden. Their folk called themselves the Naviresh, in their tongue “The Cavalry,” though it was a name more appropriate for an earlier age. When Aiden was born, they were an agrarian people, more sedentary and tame.
          It was tradition in Aiden’s family that every new child who survived their first winter was taken to Aislin, an immortal seer who had sworn fealty to their line many generations back. She lived a day’s march from the Crescent Hall in a grove of trees, her home sheltered from the sun by a great boulder.  Unlike Aiden’s family, Aislin was trained to read and write the ancient letters, and so the first account I have to offer is hers. From what I have been told, she kept records of her visions, written in different scrolls according to their importance and subject. ~

          Fifth entry in the red scroll:
          Today my liege, Eagan son of Owen, brought his third child to see me. The boy is small, still an infant, his hair fiery like that of Elonde, his skittish little dam, and eyes gray like his father’s. Both of his brothers came with them. Keagan has grown dark and strong, the image of his sire. I have hopes that he will be a fine chieftain, powerful, like a bear, but easily led. Neal could be made into something, perhaps, but there is a timidness in him that I do not like. Still, he is small, perhaps he will grow to be more.
          But Aiden must not be allowed to live. Today, the dreams and visions I have recorded here fell into place. The tunnel-weaving spider with the double-rings on its back, the red bones scattered across a frozen wasteland, the form wreathed in shadows with a burning sword through my heart, and the monster crouching at Death’s right hand. All these were sent to me, warnings from the Fates about this child of Eagan’s.
          The ceremony was the same as ever. I felt nothing unusual from the infant as I took him from his mother. He laughed and smiled as I cut a lock from his hair, and tried to touch my hand. I threw my mixture upon the fire with the lock and knelt down, wafting the smoke over my face, and letting the void carry me wherever it would.
          It took me and set me down in starry hallways, and I walked along these until they faded as mists or dreams about me. I seemed to drift with only the half-seen images of trees or stones, or moving things around me, until I saw something solid, a cradle wherein the infant Aiden lay. I had nearly reached it when I saw that what I had taken for a draped blanket, was a woman bending over the child.
          My heart and body seized and I could do nothing but stare in horror at her, white hair flowing down and eyes burning like stars in her skull-like face. I have seen Death before in dreams and visions, but only once have I ever been close enough to reach out and touch her. I tried to speak, but even in the language of my mind I could not utter a word. My soul seemed to shiver as she straightened and looked me in the face with her horrible, empty, blazing eyes.
          Hello, Aislin, she said. I could hear her restrained hatred for me crackling in her voice and her clawed hands twitched as if she would take hold of me.
          “Death!” I cried, recovering my voice and steeling myself for the meeting. “Why do you hover over this child? Are you going to take him so soon?”
          I thought for a moment that tears would well in her flame-lit eyes, as if such a thing as her could feel sorrow, but I think they were merely reflecting back someone else’s pain.
          Take him? You understand so little. But then what is to be expected from one who runs away? She beckoned to me, the smile on her bony face turning malicious. My heart seemed to freeze slowly from its core outwards, but I reminded myself that Death could not touch me, and so stepped forward.
          Come, look into his eyes. See your doom and speak.

          At her words I hesitated, but despite the dread that overtook me, I looked into the child’s soft gray eyes. He smiled and a giggle rose from his toothless mouth as he reached out to touch my face, even now seeming like any other cheerful baby. As I watched, the pupils of his eyes spread outwards and took the shape, first of two rings, interlocked, and then of spiders, their legs reaching to the edge of his dove gray irises.
          At that moment my mind was flooded with images, so many that I could not read them all. There were some that came all too clearly, however. I saw Eagan’s family torn asunder, a ring falling to a stone floor, I saw blood, bones both red and white, I saw a child chained and wreathed in flames, and with horror, I felt life being torn from my body.
          When I came out of my trance I could hear myself speaking, almost against my own will.
          “The spider that devours spiders! By his hand the flies learn to bite!” I shook my head, trying to free myself of the fear and hatred, trying to come to my senses. My first instinct was to lash out, to kill the child where he lay. I think now that I should have done it, but I remembered my oath, curse it. I had sworn fealty to Eagan’s ancestor, and if I broke that tie I would be homeless again and forced to wander. Instead of killing the baby I wheeled on my lord.
          “Take this thing out of my house! Never do I wish to see him again! Go!”

            Panicked by my tone, Elonde snatched up her whelp, took hold of Neal’s hand and fled my hut. Eagan remained, seeming startled and perplexed while Keagan continued to watch silently from the door.
          “What is the matter with you, witch?” Eagan demanded of me.
          By this time I had mastery of myself and I answered more calmly, though I could hear my voice shaking. “I tell others of their future, Owen’s son, I have no wish to know my own. More I will not, no, I cannot tell you, save this: Aiden you call him? I call him your grief and ruin, for such he shall be. Go and live as you may.”
          At that Eagan turned and, taking up his eldest in his arms, he followed his wife out. As he left, I had one last vision, a remnant of my trance. There was a seed of fear lodged in his heart and its roots began spreading sluggishly outward.
          That is a record of all I saw today. If more visions come I will write them after. There is much of which I am not certain. I do not know if what I saw was a possibility from the present, or reflections of the future. Either way, Aiden must not be allowed to live. He must be killed, and more than killed, destroyed. I will attempt it, as I may, but should I fail, others must accomplish it. There can be no failure here.  One thing is clear to me: the greatest threat to our kind since the wrath of the suns has come, and it must be stopped before it gains any power.