Sora's Quest (The Cat's Eye Chronicles #1)

Several weeks passed as the swamp became more and more dense, the trees larger, the ground softer, until it was like wading through the slough all over again. Sora tried several times to help Dorian, usually at night by the campfire, putting her hands on his temples and trying to vanquish the spell. But the Cat's Eye remained dormant, as though it didn't sense any magic.

  She asked Burn about it, and he could only shake his head. “That is the true power of a Wolfy mage,” he murmured. “Blood magic is physical, not purely energy. Perhaps the necklace can't detect any magic inside of Dorian. Or perhaps it is too weak a spell.”

  Dorian didn't experience any more episodes. Still, she wasn't allowed to practice with him anymore. Crash took over her instruction. Surprisingly, it became a welcome change. He was a much different teacher than Dorian—strict and logical. He hardly ever spoke unless he was teaching her a new technique. He corrected several things, forcing her to relearn her staff, her daggers, her footwork. For the first week, she did nothing but push-ups and basic exercises, over and over again. “Repetition is key,” he said brusquely. “No sparring until you master the forms.”

  The beasts grew thinner and weaker over the days, and had to rest more frequently. Grass was harder to find, and the horses were reluctant to eat moss or any of the other roughage in the swamp. The group was running low on feed, and the beasts would sink into the mud if they stood in one place too long. Sora began to wonder why they had brought the horses in the first place, and more than once, Dorian mentioned eating them. There was no other sign of game or wildlife. She didn't like the idea of killing their steeds, but a slow death by starvation sounded even worse. She was worried about taking the animals much farther into the swamp.

  The trees continued to change, thickening and growing despite the soft earth, or perhaps because of it. Their bark became grayish-white and they leaned at odd angles, split at the trunk. They appeared like large, sinewy hands reaching for the sky, thick and ancient, wider than houses, growing into a shadowy mess above their heads. The clouds became thicker and thicker until they were like a solid roof.

  As far as Sora was concerned, this was a place that should exist only in her nightmares. She could easily see how travelers could get lost there, with or without a curse. Thick vines hung down from the branches, like the bodies of giant snakes. Silence enveloped the four travelers, and she felt a vague depression come over her, a sadness that she couldn't explain. She wanted to go home, she wanted to sleep, she missed sunlight, and she longed desperately for a soft chair and a warm fireplace.

  But I don’t have a home anymore, she thought. That thought sat in her gut like a rock.

  They continued through the damp gray world, sleeping in trees at night so as not to sink into the soft ground, eating handfuls of berries and a rare strip of dried meat. Her beautiful mansion seemed like a dream now, although it couldn't have been more than a month since she had last seen it. It seemed as unreal and nonexistent as the once legendary races.

  “Block! Now, while I move like this. Raise your staff—there! Again! Again!”

  Crash was seldom this vocal during their sparring. But he wanted her to get better at anticipating blows. Sora felt like she was being attacked by a thunderstorm. She barely raised her staff on time. Clack! Crack!

  “Excellent!” Burn called from a nearby tree branch. Sora barely heard him, nor Dorian's light applause. It was nighttime, a fire crackling nearby, contained by a circle of rocks in the crook of an ancient trunk.

  They sparred above ground, high up in the canopy. The trees had grown so old and thick that they became like a second highway far above the soft, sludgy earth. The branches were so large and the trunk so huge, Sora felt as though they stood on a wooden deck, on the balcony of an exotic palace.

  Crash came back at her, leaping across the thick branches. Sora braced herself for another impact. He lunged, forcing his staff down on hers until she felt the strain in her arms. Using what little strength she had left, she threw him off and leapt over a low swing aimed at her knees. Whirling, she went for his chest and head, but found that no matter which way she tried, she was blocked. It was still a mystery to her how someone could fight so well with a large branch. I doubt I’ll ever be that good!

  With that thought, Sora wavered from her strict concentration. Then a blow from Crash came out of nowhere, catching her hard in the ribs.

  With a cry of pain, she stumbled back against a tree. Her head cracked against a wide branch. She slid to the ground, clutching her ribcage, white-hot stars bursting against her eyelids.

  When she refocused, Crash was above her, blocking out the firelight, his face in shadow.

  “Foul, oh, foul!” she heard Dorian shouting, along with Burn’s soft complaints. It might have been her imagination, though—her ears were still ringing from the blow.

  “Quiet!” Crash snapped over his shoulder. Then he turned back to her, kneeling down. His hands searched her ribs, traveling gently yet firmly over her shirt. Wow, gently? She hadn't thought he knew how.

  "Nothing broken," he murmured, his hands pausing just beneath her breasts, where the staff had hit. Sora felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment, and she tried to ignore the awkward position. She looked away from his face, focusing on the tall trees and wide, waxy leaves.

  “My head,” she said briefly. “It's a little tender.” She wondered if he truly cared. By his businesslike approach, she doubted it.

  “A slight bruise,” he confirmed.

  She nodded, still unable to make eye contact, his hands cradling her ribs. “Right,” she muttered. She tried not to wince as she moved her head. She didn't want to show weakness in front of these warriors; she was beginning to understand just how skilled they were.

  “You're improving,” the assassin said abruptly. Then he was standing again, offering a hand to help her to her feet. “But you are not yet prepared. The Catlins could attack at any moment. You'll need to be able to defend yourself."

  Sora couldn’t believe her ears. Improvement? “Thanks,” she muttered, partly sarcastic.

  Crash frowned. She wondered if the sarcasm bothered him somehow. Not bloody likely. Why was he looking at her like that?

  “Oh, come now!” Dorian protested. The Wolfy jumped up from where he had been sitting, his words directed at Crash. “Give the sweetheart a break. She's doing fantastic! She will be a seasoned warrior by the time we get through the swamp.”

  If we get through, Sora thought, but she didn't mention that part. Honestly, her Cat's-Eye necklace had been disturbingly quiet as of late, and she wondered if they were still on a good path. Or any path.

  “Take a break,” Burn agreed evenly. “It's late. Let's relax.”

  “Fine,” Crash said.

  Sora sighed. Hardly as much encouragement as she was used to. Back at the manor, her tutors would fawn over her, drenching her in praise every time she wrote an essay or balanced an equation.

  “That brings up a good question,” she said, walking back to her bedroll, which she had tied between two branches like a hammock. She moved gingerly on her tired feet, wincing with discomfort. “We've been in this swamp almost a month. I'm sure we will be out soon. What happens next?”

  The three men fell silent. They shifted, looking at each other, several expressions passing between them. It seemed that they were deciding who should speak first. Sora put her staff down and waited, raising an eyebrow.

  “The coast,” Burn finally said.

  “The coast?” she asked, surprised.

  “Aye,” Dorian agreed. “Leave the mainland, start a new life. Volcrian has always followed us, no matter where we've gone. At first we thought we could find a way to kill him, you know...off with his head, that sort of thing, but....” He trailed off, scratching his ear, a frown coming over his face. Sora was reminded of the blood spell, of the fragile influence that Volcrian had over Dorian's mind. She wondered if it was a good idea to discuss their plans in front of him. How much control did Volcrian actually have—assumin
g that the spell was real?

  “Our best chance is to head overseas,” Burn explained. “We can use our money to buy passage on a ship. Start over on some foreign coast, where Volcrian won't find us.”

  Sora frowned, gazing at Burn's soft-gold eyes. Their plan seemed...empty, somehow. Hopeless. Is that it? Their master plan was to catch a boat overseas?

  “Seems a little cowardly,” she mentioned.

  Dorian snorted. “No one here denies it. We're not heroes, love. Just survivors.”

  She glanced at him, then at Burn, who didn't say anything. But the look on his face spoke volumes. She wondered what Volcrian had done to them, since it seemed obvious that they were afraid of him. She cleared her throat. “So you're running? That's it?”

  They shuffled, looking at one another again. Then Dorian said, “Not without good cause, love. What about you? Where are you going?”

  “Excuse me?” Sora asked, taken aback.

  “Aye,” Burn agreed. “Just where are you going after the swamp?”

  Sora was surprised. She snorted in wry humor. “Are you saying that I'll be free to do as I wish?” she asked.

  It was an uncomfortable question, met by a strange silence. They had grown closer since entering Fennbog, that was for certain. They relied on each other more, and—perhaps—had been forced to trust each other. But Sora wasn't one to forget the past. She knew who these men were. She hadn't come here by choice.

  “Assuming we did,” Dorian finally said. “Where would you go?”

  She frowned, subconsciously touching the necklace under her shirt. She had tried not to think of the future too much. No use making plans if she wouldn't have her freedom, and no use planning to escape while they were still trapped in the swamp. But her necklace was a constant reminder of her true quest. My mother.

  She was searching for a woman who might be dead, whom she had no true connection with. Yet what else did she have? Where else could she go?

  She looked at the three men lingering around the fire. Their dirt-streaked clothes and matted hair. The only thing clean about them were their weapons. Certainly not their consciences. How could she tell them the truth? Her eyes roved to the assassin, who stood quiet and stoic in the shadow of a tree, cleaning his blades again. He was listening, of course. And she would rather he not know anything about her. He had killed Lord Fallcrest—a thought that still haunted her, especially on the fringes of sleep, when she could still see her father's body falling to the ground. What if he had killed her mother too? She had a powerful weapon on her neck—what would he do to keep it?

  “Nowhere,” she murmured, looking down at the thick tree trunk. “I don't have anywhere to go.”

  Burn nodded sympathetically, as he always did. “All that matters now is survival,” he said gently. He handed her a water flask, nodding to the trees around them. “No use making plans if we might not even survive.”

  “Right,” Sora said. “I guess that's the truth of it, isn't it?” Then she looked at Crash, unexpectedly catching his eye. Survival—because he had put them all in danger. All of them, running blindly from a mad sorcerer, only focused on getting away, not reaching a destination. And now she was trapped, dragged into his mess, her fate irrevocably changed by a murderer.

  And he had nothing to say. Crash turned and slid from the branches toward the ground, where the horses were tethered. He was the only one who hadn't spoken, despite having brought them here.

  She had to wonder about it. The entire situation was his fault. Perhaps that was why he always walked away.

  “It's quiet tonight,” Sora murmured.

  Crash didn't even glance at her.

  The two Wolfies were fast asleep, snoring softly, nestled in the crook of a tree. The night had fully enclosed them with shadows in all directions. Crash was on watch, sitting out on a lone branch, suspended hundreds of feet above the swamp.

  Sora was unable to sleep.

  Her thoughts lingered on her father's death. It felt strange. Now that Lord Fallcrest was dead, she had more questions than ever. Who had he been, far off in the City of Crowns? What sort of miserable business had he fallen into, trying to worm his way into the First Tier? Would she ever discover his true murderer—and why? It became such a confusing mess of conspiracies and emotions that she had to put a hand on her stomach, wincing in pain. If she had been eating regularly, she might have felt sick.

  And only one man had the answers—the assassin who had brought her here.

  “Thanks, by the way,” she offered, trying to warm him up a bit. She moved carefully out onto the branch next to him, balancing on the rough bark, “for saving my life back at the bridge, and for fending off Dorian. You didn't have to do that.”

  “Actually, I did,” Crash murmured. But he moved to the side, allowing her enough room to sit down.

  She perched on the branch next to him, their legs swinging out over infinite darkness. She looked down cautiously, her balance not quite mastered. This was a bad idea. She doubted the assassin would have much to say to her. But still she had to try.

  “I've learned a lot since entering Fennbog,” she started again. “Especially the weapons. It feels good to defend myself.” She waited, matching him minute for minute, wondering how long he would let the silence stretch.

  Finally, the assassin cleared his throat. “You're my first student,” he said.

  She glanced at him, curious. “Student?”

  “Yes.”

  She frowned. His comment was unexpected. Is that who she was now—a student?

  Crash continued after a moment. “What I know, I learned from...very long traditions.” He cast a sideways glance at her, then looked away.

  Sora pondered this. Long traditions. He instructed her much differently than Dorian. The Wolfy thief fought in an offhand manner, as though he had gained his skill from the streets, fending for his life. But Crash's instruction was different. Disciplined. Methodical. Intentional.

  “A student, huh?” she said ironically. “I thought I was your captive.” She couldn't keep the bite from her voice.

  Crash raised a dark eyebrow. “You asked to come with me.”

  “I was desperate,” Sora admitted.

  “Yes. You were.”

  The blunt agreement left her slightly offended. Patience, her inner voice soothed. He's not a friend, remember? “Fine,” she grunted. “Maybe I was. But that doesn't change the facts. You killed my father and kidnapped me.”

  He didn't reply to that, just kept looking out at the night, listening.

  Sora sighed in frustration. “Who hired you?” she asked. “You can tell me now, can't you? We're in the middle of Fennbog and we might die tomorrow. I deserve an answer, don't I?”

  He glanced at her. “I don't know how you imagine my work,” he said, his voice sharp. “But your assumptions are that of a child. I am a professional. I work discreetly, I do not take names, money is left in designated locations by anonymous messengers. I don't know who hired me. I only know the weight of their coin.”

  Sora's mouth snapped shut, her jaw rigid. That was a cold, unfeeling speech. She raised her head a notch. A child? Is that how he saw her? Some whimsical spoiled brat?

  “Where were you hired, then?” she asked instead, her words tight.

  “In the City of Crowns,” he replied shortly. She waited for more of an answer, and eventually he added, “in a tavern on the riverfront. It was handled by the tavern keeper. Letters exchanged hands. I received half of my payment in the City, and the second half in Mayville. Are you satisfied?”

  Sora glared hard at him, trying to see through his cool, impassive facade. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind—explain how horrible he was, a blight on the world, scum of the earth. She imagined pushing him off the tree branch, watching him plummet into the shadows—but she knew it wouldn't work. He was too skilled for that, and probably expected it.

  She grimaced instead, turning her gaze to the darkness of the swamp. “You destroyed my life,??
? she said angrily.

  When he replied, his words were surprisingly soft. “I know,” he said. “And I've told you everything I can about your father.”

  She digested that, trying to calm down. The flicker of sympathy only made her hate him more. She didn't understand him at all. Did he truly see himself? His own wrongdoings? Or was he too jaded and cold to care?

  “So who am I, then?” she asked instead. “Your student, or just a prisoner? Are you ever going to let me go?”

  He watched her carefully with venom-green eyes. The question hung between them, naked and vulnerable. Finally, he said “No.”

  Sora stared at him, her mouth wide open. The answer was so brief, so permanent, that she couldn't organize her thoughts.

  “Why?” she finally whispered, having lost her voice.

  He continued to watch her, his eyes glowing like a nocturnal animal. A chilling sensation crossed her skin. She had the sudden sense that he was somehow more than his body. A dark aura lingered in the air. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.

  “You haven't been our prisoner since entering Fennbog,” Crash murmured. “But we cannot let you go. We have given you weapons and taken you under our wing. Be content with that.” Then, after a slight hesitation, he added, “It is safer to travel with us than alone. Volcrian knows your name.”

  And Sora realized, despite her hatred for him, that it made sense. He was not a threat to her. At least, not anymore. She had worse things to worry about.

  Suddenly, Crash stiffened. He sat upright, his head turned to one side, listening intently. Then he stood up, leaping smoothly from the branch to the main trunk, drawing his weapons. He was invisible within seconds.

  Sora's heart pounded. She listened desperately, blind but for her own ears. Finally, she heard it. A strange scratching in the trees. She reached for her belt where she kept her daggers. Was it an animal of some kind? She couldn't imagine. She stood up carefully and headed back to the crook of the tree, where they had set up camp.

  Crash awakened the Wolfies. She could see Burn's eyes glowing eerily in the darkness, a familiar gold. Dorian stirred slightly, his weapons clinking in the shadows. Using only her hands for guidance, she found her hammock and grabbed her staff, nervously waiting for a signal. What was going on? She wanted to ask, but also didn't want to make a sound.

  Scrrrtch. Scrrrtch. She listened breathlessly. Dull scraping noises, like the scurrying of clawed feet. Her stomach clenched. She whirled around, looking left and right, prepared for an attack.

  The warning wasn’t a moment too soon. A blurry shape whizzed past her, narrowly missing her head. It looked like a rope, or a giant snake, thick and green. It was...a vine?

  Completely autonomous, several other vines shot out of the darkness, like the tentacles of some giant sea creature. The largest group went for Burn, who was still drawing his longsword. He was bowled over into the tree branches.

  Everything began to speed up. Sora looked around wildly for Dorian but couldn’t find him anywhere, and there was no time to search. She shouldered her staff and drew her daggers, nestling the blades in her hands. She already felt clumsy, inadequate.

  A vine whipped out of the branches nearby, attempting to coil around her neck. Sora shrieked and lashed out wildly with her daggers, cutting off its tip. Another vine tied itself around her ankle. She stabbed at it fiercely; frothy green acid spurted out, burning her skin. She screamed again, this time from pain.

  The noise seemed to attract more vines. Another one bowled right into her, slamming her into the branches, almost impaling her. Her head spun from the blow and she teetered precariously on her back, trying not to plummet from the tree. The giant vine reared over her like a hungry snake, poison dripping from its thorns. On instinct, Sora whipped out her dagger and sliced through its length, cutting it in half, acid spewing everywhere. Her arm was drenched in the stinging liquid. It burned like fire, and she screamed again.

  More vines flew at her, wrapping around her ankles, her arms. She was dragged backwards, into the darkness.

  Then—shing! A blade cut through the air, but it wasn't hers.

  Crash leapt next to her, sword in hand, slashing and hacking faster than she could see. His voice carried through the sound of ringing steel. “Where is Dorian?” he called.

  “I don't know!” she cried back, panicked. She couldn't see either of the Wolfies, and the darkness was too thick to search far.

  The vines were everywhere, moving in, surrounding them. Thick and slimy, curved with menace. She tried to raise her knife to defend herself against the vicious plants, but suddenly she couldn’t move her arm. In shock, she looked down. Her skin was red and blistered from the green acid, her limb was fast becoming numb. She tried to move her fingers, but couldn't.

  Her heart pounded in terror. The poison spread quickly. Now her entire left side had turned stiff and heavy. She looked at Crash, who was fighting a short distance away, hacking back the weeds. She tried to call out to him to tell him what was happening, but her throat was closed. It was becoming hard to breathe. Dear Goddess....

  Then the sound of bells disrupted her thoughts. At first she thought her ears were ringing, perhaps from the poison. She couldn't believe it. Her hand flew to her Cat's Eye. The necklace was warm to the touch. Of course. Magic.

  She gripped the necklace, falling back against one of the branches, barely able to stand. Help me! she thought, unable to do anything else.

  The jingling increased, and she felt a sudden wave come over her, consuming her thoughts, pushing her almost out-of-body. And then—flash! A brilliant burst of green and yellow light, followed by several other flashes, like a miniature lightning storm. The vines immediately started to fall, writhing and twitching as the magic was sucked out of them.

  Her Cat's Eye absorbed the energy quickly, ravenously, like a starving hound. Soon the tree branches were littered with limp, sagging vines. She saw Crash some distance away, across the giant tree, fighting doggedly on. She reached out her hand, wincing with the effort.

  "Over there..." she muttered, feeling the air thicken. The Cat's Eye responded to her words like a well-trained animal. Zzzzap! The vines fell to the ground one by one, empty and lifeless, like tangled ropes. Within seconds the air was clear.

  The battle was over. There was only silence. Sora sank back against the branches, slowly succumbing to the poison, no longer able to stand.

  Then, unexpectedly, some things far larger and more dangerous dropped down from the branches, landing with a heavy thud. Graceful and catlike, several creatures entered their camp. They surrounded Crash, spears held threateningly, speaking in some muttered, growling tongue. The assassin tossed his knives to the ground, outnumbered.

  Sora could barely see them in the darkness. She watched as though in a dream. More creatures arrived, prowling toward her, feline eyes flickering. She was defenseless against them. The poison burned through her veins, each heartbeat like a stab to the chest, and she had to wonder if she was hallucinating.

  The creatures paused, staring down at her prone form.

  "Don’t touch her!" came Crash's voice, muffled and distant.

  Where are the Wolfies? Sora thought blearily. She tried to look around, but her neck was stiffening, her muscles cramping and contorting. Then she couldn't focus anymore and lay quietly, wondering if this was the end, if her lungs would seize and her heart stop. Her head swam. She struggled to focus her eyes....

  CHAPTER ELEVEN