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“I see apple.”
Most of the time Zaroun’s comments have to be deciphered, and so I don’t find this too alarming. “Apples come from trees, and I don’t know that we can make an apple tree work.” I run a soapy hand up his arm. “You see apples though?”
“Smiling. Happy.”
Well, that could be me, or that could be anything. “I’m happy right now,” I confess, and strangely enough, it’s the truth. My last lover prior to arriving here—Solat, who travels with Aron of the Cleaver and his anchor—was handsome enough, if not the most generous of lovers. And traveling with Aron allowed me to escape the brothels that seem to be the end-point of most attractive female slaves. True, there isn’t anyone around to talk to except the Spidae themselves, and the weather is bleak and dreary every day, and if I want food or a particular piece of clothing I must craft it myself…and yet, I am happy. My belly is full. I have a home to call my own and I am not being forced to service anyone with my body. I’m the one being serviced. I know I’m supposed to be helping the Spidae by being their anchor, but this last week, I feel as if I’ve been getting more out of things than they have.
That might be all the orgasms speaking, though.
But yes, I am happy. It’s not anything I would have imagined for myself, but I’m content and even looking forward to what each day brings.
* * *
I don’t thinkanything of our conversation until the next day, when one of the spiders approaches me in the kitchen and drops an apple at my feet.
That makes me pause, blinking.
I’ve grown used to the spiders that move about the tower, silently creeping in the webs that cover every surface. While I thought they were unnerving at first, now they’re just more of the tower’s fixtures, just like the gods themselves. The spiders appear occasionally to bring me bundles of food wrapped in webbing, too. Sometimes it’s fruit and nuts scavenged from who only knows where, and sometimes it’s a freshly killed animal. That took a little more getting used to, but I’ve learned to be more comfortable with it, knowing that the Spidae are directing the spiders to bring me such things.
They all want me strong and healthy, and so I’ve learned to overlook my squeamishness to enjoy the variety of things they bring me to prepare.
So I pick up the apple and smile at the spider in my kitchens. “For me?”
It crouches low, its hindquarters in the air, and gives a little wiggle. I’m reminded of a puppy, and while the face and legs are certainly not dog-like, there’s a sweet, innocent air to the spider. He looks as if he just wants to please me.
I beam at him and shine the apple on my dress. “Thank you very much. I love apples.”
The spider trots away and I return to tying bundles of herbs to dry.
A moment later, another apple rolls to my feet. When I look up, the spider gives another wiggle of delight, and I can’t help but laugh.
Well…I did say I liked apples.
Twelve
Over the next three days,the spider continues to show up over and over again, bringing me more and more apples. It makes me smile each time, and I start to look forward to my new friend visiting me. He always waits in the kitchens, and I’ve taken to saving scraps to feed him. Spiders still aren’t cute or cuddly, and one the size of a pony is definitely not either of those things…but he’s growing on me.
I start calling him Apple, and it seems I have a pet.
Apple follows me outdoors into the gardens as I dig at the rocky soil, and I drop fruit-cores and potato ends with roots growing out of them into the dirt and add composted kitchen scraps to the heap. It doesn’t look promising, as everything here is gray and cold. I’m determined to grow something, but my seedlings don’t look hardy enough to survive the weather here.
I glance over at the enormous spider. The apples it brings me are always fresh and juicy. “Where are you getting your fruit, love?”
It trills and wiggles its hind end, scampering away a step and then returning. Apple clearly wants to play. I pick up a nearby stick, unsure if it’s going to appease the spider, but when he (I think Apple shall be a he until I learn otherwise) races off to chase it, I suppose some games are universal. We play with the stick, me tossing it ahead of myself and Apple rushing to fetch it as I circle around the tower that afternoon. I make sure to stay far away from the water’s edge and as I gaze out on the gray, bleak lands and the jagged mountain peaks, I see no animal life. There are no birds, no rabbits, no foxes, nothing that might hint at life.
There’s only me and Apple…and the tower.
When we return inside, Apple is shivering and moves toward the small fire I keep going inside the hearth. I stoke the coals as I heat my dinner and ponder this strangeness. If Apple is cold outside of the tower, how are he and his brothers able to go about and retrieve food for me? Every day there are fresh pods of fruit or vegetables or meat. Given how barren it is outside, they must be traveling long distances to bring me such things…aren’t they?
Once I’m done eating and clean my dishes, Apple races away from the kitchen, heading up the winding ramp into the heart of the tower. I call out after him, amused. “Did you hear something?”
There’s no response, so I pick up my skirts and head up, since the Spidae haven’t called for me. I might as well do a bit of sewing. I’m working on a lovely blue dress with ridiculous, floor-length sleeves made entirely of exquisitely tiny, golden fabric pleats, mostly to see if I can. I’m eager to get it done and wear it, just for the simple pleasure of dressing myself in a frothy concoction.
When I get to my room, though, Zaroun is standing in the midst of my things, the blindfold on his face and his head tilted toward the ceiling. “Oh,” I say by way of greeting. “Have you been waiting for me long, my lord? I was following one of the spiders.”
Apple is nowhere to be seen, though. He’s probably making himself scarce now that one of the masters is here.
Zaroun tilts his head towards me and a smile curves his delicate mouth. “He is a good friend to you.”
