CHAPTER 5:

THE ARCHER
NAMED ARROW

1

When his voice faded, Leticia stared at the grasslands in the distance. Despite the darkness of the song, she appeared bathed in light. “That’s the first song I heard other than my mother’s.”

“Do you like it?”

“Oh, very much,” she said, squeezing her hands in front of her chest. “But it’s a sad song.”

“Sad?” Greylancer felt a peculiar feeling come over him. The word he’d uttered was an emotion he’d not recalled feeling before.

From whence had this emotion been borne?

And what had brought it on?

He felt his consciousness drift terribly far away…

And then a door flew open.

A glittering chandelier. Men and women dressed in evening attire. A party? But when? Then—

His consciousness weaved and slipped deftly between the night dwellers and emerged onto the veranda, where the marble floor reflected the moonlight.

She stood in the crowd of partygoers milling about like shadows.

Perhaps the white dress had been spun from moonlight. Her face was obscured from view, as her bare shoulders and back shimmered like water.

Call out her name, Greylancer.

He closed his eyes. He was at a ball.

Yes, her name—

Slowly, the woman began to turn around.

Her name escapes me, but if I glimpse her face—

The distant sound of wheels rumbled from the depths of night.

†

The Noble’s eyes fluttered open.

Greylancer shot a hard look in the direction of the sound, but he could make out nothing more than waves of grass.

“Is something wrong?” Leticia asked, sensing a change in her companion.

“A wagon approaches.”

After straining her ears toward the road, the girl said, “I don’t hear anything.”

A Noble’s ears were capable of picking up noises several kilometers away. “Your companion comes this way.”

“Huh?”

“Too late.”

“What?”

“Something else is coming this way. It must have sniffed out the smell of blood. Do you know your way back to the road?”

“Yes.”

“Keep low and run.”

“What is—”

“A monster. It’s coming straight at us from the west. Quickly.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll manage. You should know I am immortal.”

“You’re talking like a Noble. Come, we’ll run together.”

Greylancer looked at the girl’s desperate face and then down at his lower body.

If the girl were somehow persuaded to reattach his body, he would regain his freedom in an instant.

“Go!” he barked. The sound of a Noble’s roar.

†

“Now what?” muttered Greylancer.

He did not appear to be in a terrible panic. A Noble would rise again even after being devoured by a monster. But being torn to pieces without a fight was something his pride would not allow.

“Move.” He threw his consciousness into his right hand. “Move, damn it. Move!”

Something bright and colorful thrashed through the grass and appeared before him.

The stout, one-meter body and eight legs stretching ten meters were yellow with black speckles.

Its shape was similar to that of a giant spider. It halted its advance and eyed Greylancer.

“A ghost spider. Damn that Mayerling. Allowing these behemoths to run loose. And he calls himself a human sympathizer.”

The surface of the spherical body that could be called neither the cephalothorax nor abdomen split open in the shape of a cross and a face appeared out of the opening.

It was the face of a middle-aged man.

“The last victim.” Greylancer twisted his lips in amusement. Feeding exclusively on humans, the monster was also called a human-faced spider because it reproduced the face of the last prey it devoured.

More spiders appeared on either side of the first: one with the face of a white-haired old woman and the other with the face of a boy of sixteen or seventeen. The living faces of the humans emanated a ghastly aura.

“I’ve tired of lying here. Come and get me.” The words were spoken in provocation. After eying Greylancer suspiciously, the human faces slackened and broke into eerie smiles.

The three arachnids quickly closed the five-meter distance.

The face of the middle-aged man opened its enormous mouth to bite off Greylancer’s head, when something rained down from above.

From where had they been shot?

How had the bowman taken aim? What was but a blur tracing a beautiful arc downward transformed into three scarlet arrows and skewered the spiders from the back to front.

The spiders let out a hideous scream. Because of their screams and blood that poisoned the area, the prairie withered afterward and would never grow another blade of grass within a two-kilometer radius.

“Well now.” While the three spiders writhed in the throes of death, Greylancer admired the dexterity of the archer lurking somewhere in the grass.

Based on the angles of entry, the archer figured to be over two hundred meters away. Sighting the spiders from that distance hardly seemed possible. Was it possible, then, to hit a target without seeing it? Three of them, no less?

The spiders fell sideways at Greylancer’s feet.

At the same time, the human faces stole out of captivity, leaving a hole in the quivering bodies.

Eight legs sprouted out of each of the faces and carried them into the tall grass in the blink of an eye.

As soon as they disappeared, the creaking of a wagon drew closer. Within a minute, a wagon drawn by a headless cybernetic horse emerged from the road.

Next to the young man holding the reins and bow sat Leticia.

The boy jumped off the wagon and ran toward Greylancer, notching an arrow in his bow.

But his feet carried him no further than five steps. He was not blind.

The moment he mouthed the word, “Noble,” his consciousness was taken from him. Greylancer’s eyes burned red.

“Come,” the Greater Noble said.

The youth, bow still pulled ready, began to walk with slow, unsteady steps. Even as his will was taken from him, his subconscious was fighting tooth and nail to resist.

When he finally stood next to where Greylancer lay, the Noble commanded, “Bring my lower half and attach it.”

The well-dressed young man must come from Leticia’s adoptive family. Probably an older brother, given his rugged looks, and how he’d come to fetch Leticia. Above all, he was the human to whom Greylancer owed his life.

The Greater Noble paid no mind to such trifles. He was an overlord, and aside from supplying him periodically with blood, the human boy was a worthless barnyard animal under his protection.

Easing the tension in the bow, the boy rested the weapon by his feet.

His awkward movements suggested the ongoing battle for his will.

When Greylancer touched his legs at last, he smiled a satisfied smile.

The boy had managed to carry out the frightful task.

Sweat dripped from his brow. It was more the result of the struggle between his mind and will than of physical labor.

“That will do.” Greylancer nodded, his eyes glowing blood red. “Tell me your name.”

“Arrow Belsen,” answered the boy, mortified. Greylancer’s smile grew wider. “How can…a Noble…in broad daylight…?” he gasped, his spirit not yet broken.

Greylancer ignored him and asked, “How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“Such ruddy cheeks…how warm and sweet the blood flowing through that body must be.” Greylancer was able to raise his right arm. The dormant power began to reawaken in his now whole body. “Come here.”

The right hand beckoned.

The youth resisted as sweat dripped from his chin and dissolved into the dirt.

His body bucked and bowed several times, until finally he was brought to his knees before the Greater Noble.

“Petty human.” Greylancer grabbed the boy’s black hair and wrenched his neck toward his chest so the carotid artery came before his eyes. “Well now.” The vampire’s red lips opened before the rapidly ending day.

“Arrow?” The girl’s voice forced Greylancer to pull away. When he spotted Leticia approaching with the aid of her stick, his sinister intentions were shaken. Perhaps with the instinct of the blind, she came to a halt just short of the two men. “I can sense the two of you about here. Arrow, are you there?”

“Yeah.” The boy pulled away from Greylancer and stood up. Snatching the bow up off the ground, he returned the arrow to the quiver on his back. “I went through an ungodly experience, but it’s over now.”

“I’m glad. Thank you.”

“There are three dead ghost spiders here. Don’t come any closer.”

“You killed them, didn’t you? You’re so brave.”

“It’s nothing.” Arrow looked down at Greylancer and asked, “Can you walk?”

“I’ll manage.” Greylancer shot a glance at Leticia. “Is he your true love?”

“That’s right.” It was Arrow that answered. Leticia could only blush and nod.

“He is a good man. I wish you a happy life.”

“Thank you.”

“We should go back to the wagon. It will be dark soon,” said Arrow. “He can stay the night with us.”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” Leticia smiled, suspecting nothing of the true nature of her current circumstance. “This man is a troubadour,” she informed Arrow, as they walked together back to the wagon.

Watching protectively over her every step, Arrow nodded. “Oh, so he’s a bard.”

“He even composed a lovely song for me. I wish you could have heard it.”

“Not a chance.”

“Arrow!” Leticia admonished. “I’m sorry, he’s always this way.”

“So you are his adopted sister,” said Greylancer, walking several paces in front of the couple.

“That’s right,” Arrow answered again. “But we want to be together.”

“That sounds fine.”

“When that day comes, would you come to our wedding?”

Arrow’s eyes grew wide at Leticia’s request. “Now wait a minute, this man is—”

“A troubadour,” said Leticia, “with lovely songs to sing. Would you write a song like the one earlier for our wedding? I promise to send you an invitation.”

“If your invitation should ever find me.”

“Oh,” Leticia gasped. She began again, sounding as if she might cry, “What shall I do? How will we keep in touch? I know, you can write to me! Not every day, or once a week. Once a month. And if you’ll tell me where you are and where you’re going next…” Her face clouded again. “No…that won’t do. A troubadour travels daily. Perhaps you should write me once a week. If you don’t mind.”

Greylancer didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the way she had tacked on, “If you don’t mind.” Whatever the reason, the Noble let out a full-throated laugh. “Very well. Once a week then. If you so desire to hear my song.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Listen to you,” Arrow muttered sullenly. “So much more cheerful now.”

2

The three climbed onto the wagon.

After the cybernetic horse started into a gallop, Greylancer asked, “Who taught you the bow?”

“A traveling bowman.” Arrow cracked the whip, and the horse accelerated.

“The wicked bow skill—the ability to fell an unsighted target. Fewer than ten Nobles are known to practice it. What is your range?”

“The farthest I’ve attempted is two kilometers. But my master succeeded from over ten kilometers.”

“How is it you accomplish this?”

“I can hit any target I’ve seen once, whether he’s inside a house, underground in a wine cellar, or on a moving boat. I don’t need to see him firsthand. I can look at a picture or drawing.”

“What if you can do neither?”

“I can listen to a detailed description and shoot.”

“And when you’re unable to do that?”

“If I had a strand of the target’s hair, a sliver of skin, a part of a nail…”

“Nothing of the kind.”

“Then I’d have to go by the name alone.”

“Hm, can you do it?”

“But the accuracy goes down to ten percent.”

“A formidable skill.” It was a sincere appraisal. That the boy was human did nothing to lower the Noble’s estimation of his skill. Such was the measure of the Noble named Greylancer. Then, he asked a frightful question: “Have you ever felled a Noble?”

“Alas, no. My master hasn’t either. But if I had a mind to, I wouldn’t miss.”

The wagon rattled down the road in silence for nearly an hour before entering the tiny village.

Arrow and Leticia’s house stood just west of the village square.

The farmhouse was spacious and made of lavish materials, as might be expected of a family affluent enough to adopt.

The three climbed down from the wagon inside the barn.

“I’ll be by with a blanket later,” said Arrow.

“Arrow, what are you saying?” Leticia said. “We can’t have a guest sleep in the barn!”

“It’s all right,” said Greylancer. “Your brother knows well how to treat me. It is the proper way.”

Hearing this, Leticia could say nothing more. “What will Mother and Father say?”

“I’ll explain to them later.” With this curt response, Arrow left the barn.

“My brother is acting very strangely,” said Leticia, to which Greylancer answered, “He is only doing what I requested.”

“When was that?”

“In the grasslands, before you returned.”

“Why won’t you come inside the house?”

“We troubadours are not easy around others. It’s far easier to be alone with our words.”

Each utterance weighed heavily like iron. Leticia nodded in satisfaction. “Then I’ll be back later to bring you dinner. I hope you can tell me about all the places you’ve seen then.”

Then Leticia padded out of the barn.

Beneath the sixty-watt light bulb, Greylancer stood alone. Around him were haystacks, hoes, spades, and scythes of various sizes, a wooden cart, sacks of fertilizer and seeds, along with the sprayers to disperse them. They took up space in the century-old barn as if they had been waiting for Greylancer for as long.

It was a strangely familiar scene, the reason for which Greylancer already realized.

“Was her name…Michia?” The village chief’s wife, whom Greylancer had cut down with his lance. He had watched her die in a barn much like this one. “The night is still young. There is no telling what will happen. But first, a proper feast.”

His cape swelled like the ocean. It was the wind.

Like an actor walking onto a stage before an audience, Greylancer strode out of the open door and into the night.

†

As soon as Leticia returned to the main house, the family took their seats at the dinner table.

Leticia began by regaling them with the tale of the troubadour who’d sung her a song.

“Why that’s wonderful,” said her mother. Her plump face broke into a broad smile. “I don’t know about troubadours, but he sounds like a generous man. He makes his living from singing.”

“Then again, I imagine most men would do anything for my Leticia,” said her father, who was surprisingly skinny for a farm owner. A blind girl was an impractical presence on a farm. Nevertheless the kindly farmer had said, “A pretty girl like Leticia? Why her presence alone would brighten up our lives,” and brought her into the family. From that day forward, the girl had never forgotten her gratitude.

True to his words, Leticia’s adoptive parents accepted her like their own. Only Arrow remained gruff with her, but in time, she realized that his outward demeanor belied his kind heart.

The maid Miranda and manservant Alts looked after her.

They spoke little, but both helpers attended to their duties and did not once treat Leticia cruelly because she was adopted.

But it was Miranda, setting out the bowls of stew she’d ladled from a large pot before the others, who remarked, “This bard seems a bit rude, if you ask me. Here he’s been taken into a stranger’s home, albeit the barn, and he doesn’t even bother to say thanks. It’s ungentlemanly, eh, Alts?”

The stoutly built manservant was in the dining room fixing the broken fireplace.

He did not answer right away, but once he’d finished the repairs, he asked in a flat voice, “You sure he’s really a troubadour?” adding, “I saw one years ago in the Eastern Frontier. I’d expected a troubadour to be stately in bearing and appearance…turned out to be this dirty old vagabond with a banged-up lyre. Didn’t even look at the children hanging on him to sing them a song. I heard he was taken in by the village chief and ended up writing a good ten, twenty pieces in exchange for meals and lodging. Two or three years later, one of the verses he’d composed on that night had gotten out, and—it was as awful as if I’d written it. Even a newborn child could have sung it. That’s what everyone thought at the time. But it’s not about the song,” Alts said, casting a sideways glance at the girl. “My point is, Miss Leticia, troubadours are stingy that way. That’s what it takes to survive.”

“Are you saying this troubadour is a fake?” Miranda narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t know. Just that no one would be so generous with the art that feeds him.”

“Arrow?” The father shot a glance at the boy silently working his spoon into the stew.

“I can’t say whether he’s a troubadour or not, but he’s definitely not a man.”

“What was that?”

“I meant that he’s…not a bad man.”

“I agree,” Leticia chimed in. “The song he composed was sad and very lovely. Sure, he frightened me a little at first, but he’s very kind.”

Leticia’s parents looked at each other. They recognized that their daughter’s appraisal was far more accurate than that of the sighted.

“If Leticia says so, he must be,” said her father, to which Miranda shrugged in half-hearted protest, and there was no more talk about the bard in the barn.

“By the way, Arrow. You’re not still thinking about joining the Nobility’s army, are you?” the mother asked, tearing a bite out of a roll so hard it made her lips curl.

The boy’s answer was enough to make a mother cry. “It’s not the army. It’s the guard corps, in charge of guarding Noble graves during the day.”

“Why would a human do something so horrible?”

“Because only humans can do it.”

“But I thought they have machines for that.”

“The OSB’s technology is more advanced. Who’s to say the OSB won’t sabotage the mechanized guards to turn against their masters? No, humans make the ideal guards. Not to mention the status of standing by the Nobles’ side, not as a servant but as their protector.”

“That may be, but why you…”

After the mother’s words trailed away, the father asked bluntly, “Think of the danger you’d be putting us in. What if the Anti-Nobility Alliance comes after us?”

“No problem. I’ll just tell them that you have to jump into the bosom of the enemy to strike them down. The Alliance is so blind with rage that they’ll send me off into the lion’s lair with tears of joy in their eyes.”

“Even so—”

“To be honest, I’m not all that interested in the Nobility or humans, for that matter. All I want to know is whether the Nobility will recognize the wicked bow skills that Master Slade passed on to me.”

“What the Nobility need now are not archers but telepaths, I’ve heard.”

“If it doesn’t work out, fine. But I’m not going to be able to live with myself without at least trying.”

Mother and father looked at each other, sighed and returned to their meal. Only Leticia silently applauded his determination. She adored her taciturn and courageous brother, who liked to make silly jokes when they were alone.

†

After dinner, as Leticia got up to deliver a bowl of stew to Greylancer, there was a visit from Savagonin and his wife from next door.

After apologizing for their abrupt visit, Savagonin began, “We saw this giant of a man on our way to see the village chief. I think it was a Noble.” His voice trembled. His wife wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck.

“It can’t be,” the father said forthrightly. “The overseer forbids unannounced visits. No one would dare disobey him.”

Cinching up his scarf, Savagonin added, “You know, he looked exactly like the overseer of the Northern Frontier. No, I’m certain it’s him.”

“The overseer of the North is Lord Greylancer. I don’t believe it. What would he be doing here?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Savagonin’s wife said, her voice strained. “But that ominous, imposing figure. That cape. He had to be a Noble…and one of some importance, I know it.” Her bloodshot eyes turned to Arrow. “You’re handy with a bow. Would you track him down and find out what he’s doing here? We can take you to the place where we saw him. That’s what we came here to ask.”

Leticia could feel her heart about to burst. An imposing figure wearing a cape. Could it be…?

“All right, I’ll get my bow.” Arrow rose from his chair.

“Now wait a minute, Arrow,” said his mother. “Why must you—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll recruit some help on the way,” Arrow said coolly and exited.

His father said nothing, resigned to the daily reality of living in the Frontier ruled by the Nobility.

3

Arrow went to his room where he slung his quiver over his shoulder and grabbed his bow before going to the barn to confirm the bard’s absence. The answer was evident soon enough.

Letica appeared behind him. “Mr. No-Name. He isn’t here, is he?”

“No.”

“He can’t be a Noble, can he? It was light out when we met him.”

“Right.”

“Then the Noble that Mr. and Mrs. Savagonin saw couldn’t have been Mr. No-Name.”

“No, it had to be.”

Leticia stared at her betrothed in astonishment. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve heard the stories—about the Noble who walks under the sun.” Arrow began to pace and brushed past Leticia.

“Of course I have. But those are just stories.”

“Not necessarily. I heard from the Anti-Nobility Alliance that the Sacred Ancestor has the Science Center in the Capital working on a number of projects. One of them is called the Vampires Living in the Day Project.”

“What a long name.”

“Long is right.” Arrow’s voice came from behind Leticia.

“But that’s not possible. A Noble walking about during the day. I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it.” Arrow wrapped his arms around her neck.

“No.” Try as she might, she could not wriggle free. Feeling his hot breath on the nape of her neck, Leticia let out an imperceptible moan. “We mustn’t—not here.”

“We’ll be married soon enough.” He brought his lips to her pale flesh, making Leticia gasp. Pulling away immediately, he said, “So the bard is a Noble…but if you ask me, there are others who are more suspicious.”

“Who?”

“What happened to the Savagonins?”

“They left while you were in your room. You don’t think…”

“Did you notice how they both kept fixing their scarves? Maybe they did more than see the Noble.”

“Do you mean they were bitten?”

“I’m afraid not,” said a calm voice.

Arrow and Leticia twirled around in the direction of the voice. “Mr. and Mrs. Savagonin?”

Unlike earlier, the couple stood in the barn, smiling. “We haven’t been bitten. Look!” Mrs. Savagonin pulled down her scarf. Her neck was tinted yellow with black speckles.

“It’s true we encountered the Noble,” said Savagonin. “We were about to feast on him in the prairie, but you got in the way. We came here to express our gratitude—but after feeding on this couple first.” He unfurled his scarf, revealing his brightly colored neck.

Long nails grew out of the man’s fingers, each of the digits sprouting into gangling legs and feelers before Arrow’s and Leticia’s very eyes.

“The ghost spiders.” No sooner had Arrow said it than the impostors’ clothes were torn away. “There were three of you. Where is the third?”

“Paying a visit to your parents.” The woman’s voice descended from three meters above. Attached to its neck was a squat, ovular body, held up by eight legs measuring ten meters.

“Tsk, two siblings carrying out a secret affair. Where is your bow now? Whoa—too late!” The male spider’s legs lashed out, sending the bow flying across the barn and crashing against the far wall. “We’ll make short work of the Noble when he returns. He’s probably out drinking his fill of human blood. It must be quite a feast.”

“Exactly right.”

The spiders recoiled in shock. When they shot a look at the entrance, the wind let out a sharp whistle.

The spider with the face of the female Savagonin was lifted up and suspended five meters in the air.

Greylancer stood entranced by the silver lance impaling the spider, its face already frozen in the throes of death, as blood gushed like a waterfall down the handle. “I discerned your true identity just as you did mine. A sense of foreboding brought me back here soon after sating my thirst, and lo and behold, here you are. Pity—if you’d not harbored thoughts of revenge, perhaps you might have lived a day longer. Look at how you writhe and suffer. Vermin that you are, nothing is more precious than the pleasure of watching a woman meet her end.”

The nameless troubadour pulled back the lance and struck again.

The female spider’s body flew off the lance, crashed against the ceiling, and exploded into pieces.

Greylancer spun around and looked overhead.

The male spider—Savagonin had jumped and now clung to the ceiling.

Moonlight poured in from the one-meter square skylight above. Savagonin broke through the window headfirst and slipped out, stretching his eight legs behind him like an octopus.

As shards of glass rained down around him like jewels, Greylancer kicked the ground. Grabbing the window frame with one hand, he hoisted himself up onto the roof in one motion. Barely looking around, he spotted Savagonin scurrying away and leaping onto the next roof.

It was the very silhouette of a giant spider leaping beneath the moonlight.

“Arrow,” Greylancer called down below. “Can you shoot him down? Do not disgrace your master’s name.”

The answer was a sharp, whizzing noise from the window. Only Greylancer’s eyes were able to recognize the arrow.

The fiendish instincts of the spider, already but a speck in the distance, sensed its coming.

The spider jumped from the roof. The house was located at the end of the road, across from which was a square, where there stood the gutted remains of a religious building and a stone hut made of three enormous slabs.

Fifty years ago, a research team sent from the Capital had discovered a sarcophagus enshrined underground. Contained within the sarcophagus was a mummified humanoid creature dating back three thousand years; its origin was never identified. Though the research team had taken with them its garments, necklaces, and various other articles, the results of the analysis were never made known to the village.

The ghost spider slipped inside the hut. It was completely enclosed in stone, so not even a razor blade could enter the chamber. The spider’s was the only route in and out of the hut. There was no way an arrow shot from the rear could enter.

The spider allowed himself a moment’s peace. It was still smarting from the pain and terror of when its parent body was shot down in the prairie. One of its three lungs let out a breath.

Then the ghost spider expelled what breath was left in its remaining lungs.

Before the spider realized the arrow had entered through the front and pierced a hole in the middle of its forehead clear through the back, the spider was already dead.

†

“Got him?” Greylancer asked, after jumping from the roof and landing next to Arrow in the barn.

Arrow nodded and grunted his satisfaction at having proved his skill, following his three kills from earlier in the day.

“There is another. Go.”

“All right.” Notching another arrow in the bow, Arrow ran for the main house.

Drawing a bead on wherever the target might be, stopping at nothing to shoot through its jugular—such was the meaning of the wicked bow’s existence.

The proud, even arrogant expression on the Noble’s face vanished instantly like light snow upon looking at the lithe shadow. “Leticia.”

The girl, who adored the nameless troubadour, shook her pretty head. “Who was it that sang that song for me?”

“It was I,” Greylancer answered.

“Who are you?”

“Greylancer—overseer of the Northern Frontier sector.”

“Then I do not know you.” Leticia’s voice sounded exceedingly mournful and clear at the same time. “The man who gave me my song was someone who traveled distant lands. Someone who’d promised to tell me about all the things he’d witnessed and seen. Someone who’d bashfully composed a very lovely and sad song. Why didn’t you feed on my blood?”

“I must take my leave.” Greylancer set out toward the wagon. A siren blared from the open door. The emergency alarm. “Someone must have discovered my blood victim. I commend the rest to you.”

“Is that why…you came?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to drink your blood. Your brother has only been hypnotized. I will release him when I’ve left the village. I wish you a happy life.”

The giant exited through the barn door and returned pulling a cybernetic horse. After hitching it to the wagon, he climbed on and said, “Fare thee well.”

The girl pointed a pale finger outside. “You should go to the West Country Highway and head north by northeast.”

After a breath, Greylancer said, “You have my gratitude,” and flicked the reins.

The wagon sped off out of the barn.

Leticia stood there until the rattling of the wagon left the property and receded into the night.

Dance, will you

Dance, will you

Cut the strings of fate into the night

Several minutes later, Arrow returned and informed Leticia that he had avenged the death of their parents, who’d been killed by the elusive third ghost spider.