The Spider That Hid Rain (Episode 3)

Dojo and Rog stuck in the quagmire.

The Spider That Hid Rain 

Episode 3: Into the Depths of Bayoka 

The mist hung heavy over Bayoka, curling and twisting in the tree canopies like silver threads caught in a spider’s web. The children stood at the forest’s edge, where the undergrowth had thinned to a dry, brittle carpet of leaves and twigs.  

The once-vibrant forest floor now looked barren, cracked and parched due to the relentless drought. Dojo adjusted the small sack slung over his shoulder and took a step forward. 

Rog, clutching her flask of water tightly, looked around, “are you sure about this?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, as though afraid the forest might overhear. 

Dojo didn’t answer right away. His eyes were fixed on the towering trees before them, their gnarled trunks rising into the mist like ancient pillars “we came this far, didn’t we?” he replied, though his voice betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, “come on or we’ll never know what’s in there if we turn back now.” 

Rog hesitated, her bare feet digging into the dusty ground. The silence of the forest felt unnatural. There were no rustling leaves, no bird calls, no distant chatter of monkeys. Even the breeze seemed to avoid Bayoka, leaving the air heavy and still. Finally, she sighed and stepped in behind her brother. 

The deeper they went, the stranger the forest became. Thick roots crisscrossed the ground like tangled ropes, forcing them to climb and weave their way forward. Above them, the mist seemed alive, shifting and curling as though it had a mind of its own. Glints of light danced through the canopy, catching on what looked like delicate threads stretched in the mist between the trees. 

“Look at that,” Rog whispered, pointing upward. “Spiderwebs?” 

“Maybe,” Dojo muttered, his eyes narrowing, “but what kind of spider makes webs that big?” 

“Maybe the kind we shouldn’t meet,” Rog shot back, quickening her pace to stay close to him. 

As they walked, they came across strange sights. A dried-up stream bed, its rocky floor littered with abandoned nests, shells, fish bones and broken branches. Claw marks gouged deep into tree trunks, the only signs of animals that had once roamed here. But there were no fresh tracks, no recent droppings, no signs of life. The forest felt deserted. 

“It’s like everything just... just left or died,” Rog said, her voice tinged with unease, “even the birds!” 

“Maybe they knew something we don’t,” Dojo replied. His grip on the stick he’d picked up earlier tightened. 

After what felt like hours of walking, they stopped at a fallen log on a bed of dry leaves. Dojo dropped the small sack, sat down and pulled out a small piece of dried yam. “Here,” he said, tossing a piece to Rog. She caught it clumsily and sat down, her shoulders slumping. 

“My feet hurt,” she muttered, rubbing her ankles. “Why did you drag me into this?” she asked looking at him 

“You didn’t have to come, remember?” Dojo said, chewing thoughtfully, “you could have let me go alone.” 

Rog frowned, crossing her arms. “What if there’s nothing here? What if we came all this way for nothing? There’s no sign that the mist in the canopies has anything to do with rain. If it did, we’d already have seen it.” 

Dojo looked up at the shimmering mist above them. “It’s not yet for nothing,” he said quietly, “I just... feel like something’s waiting for us somewhere. We have to keep going.” 

“But where?” she asked, “it’s not like we have an official destination in this forest.” 

Dojo didn’t answer; he just looked ahead thoughtfully, nibbling on his yam and occasionally sipping water. They were quiet for a moment, the forest eerily silent. Rog took a bite of her yam and sipped some water. 

She sighed, finished her yam, took a small sip of water and stood up. “Fine. If we get eaten by a giant forest monster, I’m blaming you.” 

Dojo smirked. “How would you blame me when you are dead?” he laughed, “fair enough,” he said as he stood up, “come on,” he signaled, “let’s carry on before it gets late.” 

The forest grew denser as they pressed on. The mist above thickened, its edges curling like tendrils that seemed to follow their movements. The silence was broken only by their footsteps and the occasional snap of a twig. Every now and then, they heard faint, rhythmic clicking sounds from deep within the trees but the source was impossible to pinpoint. 

Then it happened. 

Dojo stepped forward, the ground beneath him gave way. He slipped with both of his feet. He began to sink into what looked like solid earth but it was a quagmire hidden beneath layers of dry leaves. Before he could react, his legs were swallowed up to the knees. 

“Dojo!” Rog screamed, rushing toward him. 

“Stay back!” he shouted, but it was too late. As she reached to grab his arm, she too slipped with both of her feet, the ground shifting underneath her. They were both stuck and sinking in the sticky muck. Both children began to struggle, their movements only dragging them deeper. 

“We’re stuck!” Rog cried, her voice rising in panic, “I can’t move! Dojo, we’re sinking!” 

“Stay still, Rog!” Dojo yelled, fear gripping his voice. The quagmire clung to them like glue, pulling them down inch by inch. Tears streaked Rog’s face as the mud reached her waist, “We’re going to die!” she sobbed. 

Dojo opened his mouth and shouted, “Help! Help!” It was a desperate attempt; they both knew they were on their own. No one knew where they were. No one was coming. Rog clung to Dojo, tears streaming down both their faces. “Help! Help! Is anyone there?” Dojo shouted again. 

The more they struggled, the more the mire pulled them down. They were terrified. 

“I told you, Dojo,” Rog sobbed, “I told you this was a bad idea. We should have told our parents where we were going, at least.” 

Dojo didn’t respond. He only cried as the mud reached their shoulders. Rog’s breathing grew shallow as they sank deeper and deeper. Now, only their heads remained above the ground. 

At this point, they gave up fighting, just sobbed. Then just aa their chins were beginning to touch the mire, a shadow appeared over them and moved closer, then faster—swift as a falling star. 

It descended briskly, a massive shape dropping from the misty canopy above. The spider moved with precision, its legs long and gleaming, its body shimmering like polished obsidian. It paused briefly, as if studying the scene, then began to spin a web with breathtaking speed. 

The children froze, too shocked to cry out. They were conflicted about what was worse—sinking or the spider. The spider’s legs flicked expertly, weaving a net of silvery threads that it lowered into the quagmire. The web caught Dojo and Rog, halting their descent. With one powerful pull, the spider lifted them from the muck and set them gently on solid ground. 

Dojo and Rog sat trembling, covered in mud and unable to speak. The spider loomed above them, its many eyes glinting faintly in the dim light. Its movements were slow and deliberate, as though deciding what to do with them. 

Dojo and Rog, their eyes wide, their lips parted, looked at each other, scared and silent. The spider shifted closer, its shadow stretching across the ground. In that moment, Dojo realized they were entirely at its mercy. 

The spider’s gaze lingered on them, unblinking, as if waiting for an answer to a question only it understood. 

EzroniX Kids.