Otherworld Ink

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.”