Colin Wilson - Spiderworld 03 - The Fortress.pdf - Colin Wilson - margozap

The Fortress

Spider World, Book 03

by Colin Wilson

a.b.e-book v3.0 / Notes at EOF

Back Cover:

Eight legs good -- two legs bad

Under the bleak 25th Century desert Niall and his family eke out a meagre

existance, hidden from the predatory eyes of the giant spiders that float silently

overhead in their silken death balloons.

For Niall has committed the ultimate crime -- he has killed a Death Spider,

and now it seems only a matter of time before the invincible spiders take their

revenge.

However, Niall has one advantage of which the spiders are unaware -- he

shares their gift of telepathy. And when his family is captured, he turns his mind to

the task of liberating humanity from the Spider Lord.

Grafton Books

A Division of the Collins Publishing Group

8 Grafton Street, London W1X 3LA

Published by Grafton Books 1988

Reprinted 1988

First published in Great Britain by

Grafton Books 1987

ISBN 0-586-07288-8

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Collins, Glasgow

Set in Aldus

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any

means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of

trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated

without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover

other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent

purchaser.

The cold wind against his face restored him to a sense of normality. He was in

almost total darkness. A few moments later, the moon emerged briefly from behind

flying black clouds, so that he could take his bearings. The grass underfoot was wet

and slippery; it had evidently been raining heavily. He had to walk carefully to avoid

losing his footing. He held the metal rod by its narrow end, using it as a staff, and a

few minutes later felt the hard pavement under his feet. The clouds parted again, and

the moon revealed the avenue that stretched northward towards the bridge. He turned

left and walked in the direction of the women's quarter of the city.

As he crossed to the far side of the square, the wind was so powerful that he

had to lean into it. It was a relief to be in the shelter of tall buildings. According to his

map, this section of the city was deserted, forming a kind of no-man's-land between

the southern part and the slave quarter. He paused in a doorway to shelter from the

wind, which made his teeth chatter, and to wait for the moon to emerge. When it did

so, he saw something that made his heart contract with fear. The white tower was

gleaming in the moonlight, looking as if it was shining with its own inner

phosphorescence. And around its base, clearly visible against its whiteness, there was

a movement of heaving black shadows. For a moment, he convinced himself that they

were cloud shadows; then, as the moon was isolated for a moment in a calm space of

unclouded blue, the light strengthened, and he knew they were living creatures. As

the light dimmed again, the shadows seemed to be moving across the grass towards

him.

His immediate response was to run, but he knew at once that this would be an

error. He was already using all his self-discipline to repress the panic; fleeing would

amplify it beyond his control. His next impulse was to take refuge in the nearest

building. This he also rejected; sooner or later, every building in the city would be

searched. The spiders possessed the thoroughness of endless patience. His hiding

place would soon become a prison. The correct solution was to keep on the move and

hope that the darkness and the wind would delay the search.

He began moving westward, towards the women's quarter, but turned north at

each intersection so that he was also moving towards the river. In these narrow, man-

built canyons, the darkness was so complete that he had to walk like a blind man, the

metal rod stretched out as a feeler, the other hand groping at railings or the walls of

buildings. The pavements were cracked and uneven. At one street corner -- he could

tell it was a corner because the wind converged from two directions -- he stumbled

over the kerbstone into the gutter, and the rod shot out of his hand. As he groped

around on all fours, he had to wrestle with rising panic; the thought of losing the rod

filled him with despair. Then he recollected the thought mirror. He reached inside his

shirt and turned it on his chest, then sat down in the roaring darkness and

concentrated his attention. There was a momentary pain in the back of his skull; then

he experienced the sense of power and control. He stood up and spread out his hands

within a foot of the ground, walking forward slowly. A tingling feeling in the

fingertips of his right hand guided him to the object of his search. Now his mind was

calm, it was as if he was able to pick up some faint signal from the metal rod. A

moment later, he found it lying in the gutter. He turned the disc again away from his

chest, aware of how much this kind of concentration drained his energy.

When the moon came out again, he saw that he had reached a broad avenue.

His memory of the map told him that the river was two blocks to the north. He

stopped in a doorway and scanned the avenue for moving shadows; it seemed empty.

Overhead, a vast spiderweb heaved up and down in the wind; but in such a gale the

spider would be crouched in the shelter of some windowless room. Niall hurried on

up the avenue; now his eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness he could

move more quickly. In the freezing wind, his face and bare arms were beginning to

feel numb. But the cold also brought him comfort; he knew the spiders disliked it

even more than he did.

While still a block away from the river, he halted on a street corner to rest.

Overhead an immense black cloud covered the moon; he judged that it would take at

least ten minutes to pass. He was unwilling to venture on to the embankment in total

darkness; if the spiders were guarding the bridge, then it also seemed likely they

would be patrolling the river.

He sat on the pavement with his back against the railings of a basement area.

Something yielded, and he realised he was leaning against a gate. The thought of

sheltering from the wind, even for a few moments, was tempting. He pushed the gate,

and it opened with a creak of rusty hinges. Groping on his knees, he felt worn stone

steps, slippery with rain. He descended cautiously until he was below street level.

There was an unpleasant smell, like rotting vegetation, but at least he was sheltered

from the wind. Now his skin was no longer exposed, he experienced an illusion of

warmth. He sat there shivering, his arms folded round his knees, and wondered why

the smell of decaying vegetable matter seemed to grow stronger.

There was a light touch on his arm, and he started with fear. Since his first

assumption was that a spider's fangs were poised to plunge into his bare flesh, he

became immobile. The touch groped upward to his shoulder and, at the same time,

something brushed the calf of his left leg. As he sprang to his feet, a cold softness

closed round his ankle, and the stench of decay was suddenly nauseating. He tore his

foot free and felt the same cold softness groping at his arm. Then, as he shrank away,

it closed round his upper arm, pulling him against the railing.

In spite of the fear and nausea, it was a relief to know he was not dealing with

a spider. These cold, damp feelers moved slowly and deliberately; another was

slipping between his legs and winding round his right knee. When he reached down,

his hand encountered something cold, soft and slimy; as he squeezed, it seemed to

ooze between his fingers. It might have been a cold-blooded worm.

Another of the wormlike fingers tried to pull the metal rod out of his right

hand. Niall gripped it tightly and thrust between the railings; he felt it plunge into

something soft. Again and again he thrust with all his strength; each time he felt it

sink home. Yet the feelers continued to move, groping round his body with unhurried

deliberation.

As he felt a cold touch against his face, his loathing turned to cold fury; once

again he gripped the end of the rod and thrust between the bars to the full extent of his

arm. His hatred seemed to convulse his brain like a shock, and he felt its power

rippling through the muscles of his arm and into the rod. He gripped tighter,

clenching his teeth, and again felt the shock run down his arm. Suddenly, the feelers

released their hold. Niall staggered back against the wall, then clawed his way up the

steps and fell out into the street. Coughing and retching, he stumbled forward across

the road, then recovered his balance and ran. The cold wind was as welcome as a

caress.

Before he had run a dozen yards, self-control returned. He withdrew into a

doorway and stood there, eyes closed, resting the back of his head against the wall

until his heartbeat returned to normal. His flesh felt sore where the tentacles had

gripped him. Finally, to assist his concentration, he again turned the thought mirror on

his chest. The pain in the back of his head made him feel sick for a moment; then it

passed, and he experienced once more the satisfying sense of being in control of his

body and mind.

If the spiders were advancing towards the river, there was no time to lose. He

approached the embankment with caution and waited for the moon to emerge. When

it did so, it revealed that the great arch of the bridge was surprisingly close, the road

that led towards it empty. He waited for the moon to disappear behind the clouds,

then crossed the road. A low stone wall, about four feet high, ran along the

embankment. He groped his way along this until he encountered a gap. The metal rod,

used like a blind man's stick, revealed a recess with a flight of descending steps. He

crouched behind the wall until another interval of moonlight enabled him to take his

bearings and revealed that the steps were unguarded, then made his way down to the

path that ran by the river. Here he became aware of the need for haste. If there were

guards on the bridge, a sudden shaft of moonlight could betray him. He hurried

forward until the moon showed through a break in the cloud, then halted and pressed

himself tightly against the wall; as soon as darkness returned, he went on. Advancing

in this way, it took him more than half an hour to reach the bridge. While still fifty

yards away, he took refuge behind a buttress and waited until a longer interval of

moonlight allowed him to study it carefully. There was no sign of spider guards; but

at either end of the bridge were rectangular structures that might have been some form

of sentry box. About to move from his hiding place, he obeyed some instinct that

urged him to stay still. After a long interval of darkness, moonlight flooded the river,

and illuminated the nearest rectangle; it enabled him to see a square window that

looked out towards him. And, as he watched, there was an unmistakable movement

behind. A moment later, it was blank. But it had told him what he wanted to know:

the spider guards commanded a clear view along the river, as well as along the avenue

that led to the white tower.

The wind that blew across the river was so cold that he was no longer able to

feel his hands or feet. If he remained there much longer, he would probably be unable

to move. So as soon as a particularly dark cloud crossed the moon he ran, crouching,

until he found himself under the shelter of the bridge. There, concealed by its black

shadow, he was finally able to sink down with his back against the wall, huddled into

a recess that gave some shelter from the wind, and clasp his knees tightly against his

chest in an effort to keep out the cold.

Now, at last, he was able to allow the metal rod to contract and stow it away in

one of the pockets of the grey smock. As he did so, he felt the tube that contained the

baggy, metallic garment and experienced a glow of gratitude towards the

Steegmaster. This, at least, should provide some kind of defence against the wind.

Very cautiously, he extracted it and pressed the end with his thumb. As it unrolled,

the wind caught it and tried to tear it out of his hands, making a loud, flapping sound.

Quickly, he thrust it under his body and sat on it. For the next ten minutes, he groped

in the darkness, flattening the garment against the ground, holding it down flat with

his frozen feet while his numb fingers tried to unfold it. Eventually, his fingers

located a slide fastener and he realised, to his relief, that he understood its purpose;

the sleep-learning device had stocked his memory with many such useful items of

information. He opened the front of the garment down to the waist, then slipped his

feet inside. A few moments later, his arms were encased in the strangely thin material,

and the slide fastener had been pulled up under his chin. The effect was astonishing.

Although the wind continued to press the material against his bare flesh, none of its

cold seemed to penetrate. He might have been wearing a garment of thick animal fur.

Now only his hands, feet and head were exposed, and the arms and legs were

sufficiently long for him to be able to retract his hands and feet. Investigation of a

lump at the back of his neck revealed a tightly-rolled hood; when his fingers had

learned the secret of unrolling it, he discovered that it covered his head completely,

and that a draw-string enabled him to close it until only his nose and eyes remained

exposed. Further investigation revealed similar rolls at the wrist and ankles, but he

decided to leave examination of these until the daylight. It was easier to exclude the

wind by holding the ends of the sleeves with his fingers and folding the last six inches

of the legs under his feet.

When he once again turned the thought mirror away from his chest, he was

overwhelmed by a wave of fatigue which was transformed into a delicious weariness

by the warmth that now encased him. Even the wall behind him failed to

communicate its coldness through the paper-thin material. A few drops of water

pattered against the suit and made him aware that it was raining; when the moon came

out again, he could see the rain falling steadily onto the dark moving surface of the

water. But his eyes were unable to focus for more than a few seconds. His eyelids

closed and his consciousness merged with the darkness.

When he awoke, the sky over the eastern reach of the river was turning grey.

His neck felt stiff where his cheek had pressed against the wall; but the recess had

kept him from rolling sideways. In spite of the awkwardness of his position, he felt

relaxed and rested. The only discomfort was a cramp in his right leg and the stinging

sensations where the tentacles had gripped his flesh.

His stomach was rumbling with hunger; he was just beginning to regret his

failure to provide himself with food when he recalled the brown tablets; he unzipped

the garment -- letting in a wave of cold air -- and extracted the box from his pocket.

The tablets looked pathetically small, and he was tempted to swallow a handful. He

took one and placed it on his tongue. It had an agreeable lemony flavour and quickly

dissolved as he sucked it, creating a pleasant sensation of warmth. As he swallowed,

the warmth increased until it ran down his throat like liquid fire. A few moments later

it reached his stomach; suddenly, the hunger vanished and was replaced by a glowing

sensation that felt exactly as if he had eaten a hot meal. He was now glad that he had

resisted the temptation to swallow several; more than one would undoubtedly have

made him feel sick.

Now it was time to take his bearings. First, he removed the metallic garment,

shivering in the dawn wind that blew up the river. He carefully flattened it on the

ground, then folded it lengthwise; a touch on the button made it roll itself up into a

tube that felt as hard as solid metal. Niall slipped it into the pocket of the grey smock.

Next, he tiptoed cautiously to the west side of the bridge and looked upward.

From that position he could see the rectangular guard box; but without moving farther

from the bridge, it was impossible to obtain a clear view through its window. He

decided that the risk of being seen was too great.

On the other side of the bridge, there was no guard box. Here he discovered a

flight of steps leading up to street level. He climbed these warily, pausing for at least

half a minute on every step. When his head emerged above the top step, he could see

across the damaged bridge to the opposite bank. The guard box was a small, open-

fronted building which contained only a stone bench; in the days when this city had

been inhabited by men, it had evidently been a pedestrian shelter. The wolf spider

inside it was crouched against the wall, and was so completely immobile that Niall

had some difficulty in detecting its presence. As Niall watched it, he induced in

himself a sense of deep calm; he was more likely to betray his presence by the

movements of his mind than by those of his body. He deliberately made himself as

immobile as the spider, ignoring the cold wind that numbed his arms and legs.

Half an hour later, the sun rose above the eastern horizon; its warmth was as

delightful as a caress. As he sighed with relief and pleasure, he experienced an

overwhelming sense of pure wellbeing. It was accompanied by a curious sensation, as

if something inside him was dwindling and contracting to a point. As this happened,

the pleasure became almost intolerable, and he had to close his eyes to prevent

himself from being swept away by it.

As he did this, the feeling of inner-contraction came to a halt, leaving him in a

condition of deep calm such as he had never experienced in his life. It was then that

he became aware of the thought processes of the wolf spider on the other side of the

Colin Wilson - Spiderworld 03 - The Fortress.pdf

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