Mayville was the only town on her father's lands. Populated by serfs, it wasn't fully in her father's jurisdiction, as it was half-sprawled on a neighboring Lord's estate. It resided on opposite sides of a trickling stream, a border of sorts, crossed over by tiny footbridges.
The Fallcrest side had red clay-tiled roofs and whitewashed buildings. The Sinclair side favored tin roofs and brick. The villagers and farmers were just as competitive as the two families, holding a yearly festival to prove which side was better. The Tin Roofs baked the best bread and shod the best horses, or so they claimed. The Red Roofs made fancier ceramics and sewed prettier quilts.
Needless to say, a long history of tension existed within the town. Every year, there were disputes over taxes and trade laws.
Sora had met Lady Sinclair once at a tea party about three years ago. The young Lady had been a perfect specimen of country nobility—that is to say, mimicking the First Tier in every way possible. She had worn her hair in a mountain of dark curls, her cheeks pinker than even the sunniest sunburn.
As they entered town, Sora entertained the dark, horrifying thought of bumping into Lady Sinclair and being recognized. “Dressed as a peasant in day-old clothes,” she could almost hear. “I'm sure her mother would be proud.” Followed by shrieks of laughter, of course. But she shook her head, trying to clear it. If she were recognized, that would lead to her rescue, which would be more than welcomed. But her rescue would return her to noble life, which she dreaded. At that moment, she wasn't sure which she preferred—the life of a captive, or the life of a Lady. They felt much the same.
She and Crash followed the cobblestone road through town. It took some time to find an inconspicuous place to tie their horse, away from traffic and yet not so far as to be stolen. Then Sora followed the assassin on foot, carving their way deeper into the marketplace. He kept a subtle grip on her hand, as though they were old friends...or worse, lovers. Sora tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.
"It's too crowded," she muttered, narrowly avoiding a large woman in aprons, a tray of freshly baked bread in each hand.
“Stop dawdling,” Crash said sharply, dragging her through another swarm of people. She had no choice but to follow, his hand solidly on hers. She was barely able to dodge the stampede of farmers, bakers, smiths, midwives and chickens. It seemed like everyone from the surrounding countryside was at market. Well, she figured, thinking back on her estate studies, it is Spring and they are clearing their barns for new crops. Countless serfs haggled over wares, buying livestock or spending well-earned coin.
Lily had described Mayville as a “mid-sized” town; until now Sora hadn't known what that meant. It seemed pretty big to her. The vendors' carts were numerous and there was more than enough to stare at. Baskets of flowers hung from windowsills, fountains decorated each market square, and sheepdogs ran back and forth, fighting over bones or chasing cats.
Crash led her past everything, stopping only to buy a few biscuits, one of which he tossed in her direction. Sora caught the roll in midair, immediately popping it into her mouth, relieved to fill her stomach.
Then a voice burst out from her right-hand side, making her jump.
“Goddess here! Bells of the Goddess! Her Winds bring you good luck!” A skinny man leapt frantically around the crowd, a cluster of brass bells in his hand, charms of the Wind Goddess. There were several other bells of various shapes and sizes hanging from his booth.
His stand was full of miniature figurines, whittled from cheap wood. Sora glanced over them curiously. There were the two male gods, Fire and Light, and the rest were of the goddesses: Wind, Earth and Water. There was a final sixth god, that of Darkness, but it was considered bad luck to portray Him.
Each god or goddess had its own pose, its own fortune: good luck, good business, courage, wisdom, health. Their lore went back to the creation of the world and the different races. At one time, all of the gods and goddesses had been worshipped; each race had paid homage to a different deity. But now the races were gone, and the humans only worshiped their patron Goddess of the Wind.
Shrines to the other gods could still be found in rural areas, but they were small affairs, stone monuments found deep in the forest, overgrown with moss.
For a moment, she yearned for such a bell—maybe it would bring her luck on the road—but then Crash was by her side, tugging her into the crowd. He didn't seem impressed by the salesman.
They waded across to a store that read Dried Goods across the front window. Sora was stunned by the line of people out the door, so long it trailed into the street and around the corner. She thought Crash might try to enter anyway—barge his way to the front, step on a few toes—but no such luck. They followed the line to the end and got behind a withered old woman with two scabby children, both smudged with dirt.
Perhaps even more terrible was when the woman turned and said to them, “Did you hear?,” pinning Crash with a milky-blue stare. “Lord Fallcrest is dead. And his own daughter, the culprit!”
Sora's mouth dropped open.
“Aye, missy,” the woman said, nodding to Sora with an air of knowing. “I almost fainted meself when I heard the news. But the funeral was yesterday and the Lady gone missing. Why else would she run from the crime? The whole town is speculating—if not the whole countryside!” Then the woman laughed, a large, gap-toothed grin. “The nobility think they're above the King's laws! Well, this'll teach her!”
Sora was speechless, her mouth full of dust. The culprit? Had she heard correctly? No, it must be a mistake, perhaps she had misheard, or the woman had misspoken. Killed my own father? Is that what they think?
She glanced at Crash, still stunned. She should do something—tell the woman the truth, point to her dark companion and proclaim him a killer. But she had seen the knives gleaming at his belt, and even more blades concealed beneath his cloak. She would be dead in a heartbeat if she raised her voice.
She caught a look from the assassin and knew that was true.
“Right,” she said, turning back to the woman. “That wretched nobility!”
The woman nodded agreement and turned back to her children.
Sora spent the remainder of the time in brooding, contemplative silence. They left the store almost an hour later, her arms laden with brown bags and heavy packages. The crowds were larger and sweatier than before. It was mid-afternoon, bright and blazing hot. Sweat began to form at the base of her neck, trickling between her shoulder blades.
A murderer. That's truly what they thought. And the serfs believed whatever the manor's servants told them. It almost hurt worse, knowing what those servants must think of her. Now that Sora's ears had been alerted, she seemed to hear the same conversation everywhere, shouted from second-story balconies through open windows, from clotheslines to street corners: “Lord Fallcrest is dead, and our Lady, a murderer!”
“We shall have to protest, to petition the King.”
“They haven't found her yet. Where could she have gone? In the swamp, methinks. Nowhere else to hide....”
“The Sinclairs, I'd bet you two acres they did it. They're old enemies of the Fallcrest name.”
“Of course a Red Roof would say that! The Sinclairs are good, honest, hardworking people...with any luck, the estate will go to them!”
The Sinclairs. Now that she thought of it, it didn't seem so farfetched. They had connections in the City of Crowns; they could arrange an assassination. She glanced at Crash, again wondering who had hired him. The question was on the tip of her tongue. They were in Mayville, after all, the most likely place to collect payment if the Sinclairs were guilty. And Lord Sinclair could lay claim to their land in such a fragile situation...or at least, to the town, as he'd been trying to do since before she was born. It suddenly made too much sense.
The sound of laughter caught Sora's attention, distracting her from her dark thoughts. She looked up, curious. A whirl of bright colors appeared ahead of her, breaking through the crowd. Blues, greens and reds....
&n
bsp; As she neared, she saw a street entertainer standing inside a large circle of people. He was dancing to a musicbox, whirling left and right, a rainbow-colored cape flowing around him, scarves and bells twirling in the air. He wore a lopsided hat; a crow was perched on the brim, maintaining its balance with a few awkward wing flaps.
Intrigued, Sora stopped, mesmerized by the flashing colors.
The music changed, and the street entertainer ran around the circle of spectators, pulling nuts and oddments out of children’s ears, then trying to put things into their pockets that were too big to fit. Sora had never seen anything quite so ridiculous. The large crow flew above the crowd, snatching up coins that were flipped in the air. The street entertainer spun around amid roars of approval.
When he reached her side, he pulled out a long yellow lily from his sleeve. With a small bow, he offered her the flower. "A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady," he said.
Sora opened her mouth, surprised. She was momentarily reminded of her handmaid, who had loved lilies, her namesake. She found herself suddenly choked with emotion.
“Thank you!” she finally managed to say. She set down the heavy packages and took the flower.
The man laughed. He had twinkling, aqua-colored eyes, somewhere between blue and green. For a moment she had to wonder at those eyes, which seemed unnaturally bright and shiny, sort of like opals or sapphires.
Then the odd man danced away back to his audience. Sora sighed, wishing she had a coin to toss him. She would have given him an entire goldpiece. She glanced at Crash, thinking of her stolen purse.
But the assassin was not by her side, where she had expected him to be. She turned around, searching the crowd....
Gone.
She looked again, left and right.
Yes, gone.
Sora's heart began to pound. She couldn't quite believe it, and she turned around full circle, astounded. The assassin was nowhere to be seen. He'd lost her in the crush of people! Now's my chance to escape.
Sora turned on her heel and pushed her way through the swirling foot traffic. A few people shouted, pointing to her dropped packages, but she ignored them. No time to waste. The assassin would notice her absence at any moment, if he hadn't already. She remembered where Crash had tied his horse. She would take the steed and make a run for it. She wondered where Crash had got to....
Sora was so focused on her thoughts that she ran head-first into something very large and very solid. Whumph! She gasped, stopping dead in her tracks, and brought her hand up to her nose, her eyes tearing in pain. She glanced up....
"Well there, little thing. Don'cha have someplace to go?"
She had half expected the street entertainer again, but came face to face with a massive belly. Her mouth dropped open. She craned her head back quite a long ways, and found herself staring at a blunt, shaggy face, fat lips and an exaggerated nose. Mean little eyes stared back at her.
"I-I..." Sora was tongue-tied. She didn't know what to say. The man was as ripe as a pig barn and utterly gruesome.
"Ya know, it's dangerous in town these days, what with Lord Fallcrest gone,” the giant man chortled. “Not much law on this side of Mayville. I'd be careful. Never know who you might...bump into.” There were a few stifled laughs from behind him. It was only then that she noticed his friends, weasel-like cronies lurking in the background, grinning.
Sora backed away, horrified. She had no weapons, no means of defense. What could she possibly do—use her necklace? She touched the stone at her neck, wondering if it would work to protect her, but there was no murmur in response, no sense of energy, no movement.
Then she bumped into another body, this one behind her.
"She's with me," came a familiar voice.
Sora whirled around, her heart in her throat. She knew that voice, soft and lethal. She took one look at Crash and almost collapsed. Blast! Now she was right back where she had started. He held a bundle of rope in his hands; she recognized it from a nearby vendor's stall. So he hadn't been far away.
The assassin didn't even glance at her. Instead his eyes were locked on the giant. “Is there someplace you should be going?” he asked the man. His voice was as sharp as a knife and twice as deadly.
“Yer lucky there is, shrimp, or else I'd smash in your face,” came the guttural response. They stared at each other for a long moment before the man lumbered off, parting the crowd effortlessly, cronies trailing in his wake.
Sora turned to Crash, wondering if he would kill her after all. She opened her mouth, ready to explain.
He shoved the bundle of rope into her hands. “Come on,” he cut her off, then turned and stalked away.
She stared after him, surprised. He kept walking. She waited, wondering if he would disappear into the crowd again, but he stopped above the pile of their bags. She had only traveled about thirty feet; it had seemed much more with all of the people in the way.
He turned to look at her. The expression on his face was not encouraging.
She slung the rope over her shoulder and scurried to pick up their bags and packages, his gaze a whip at her heels. He started walking again as soon as she had picked up the last package. She wasn't used to carrying such a heavy load and, to be honest, felt absolutely humiliated. Not only was she being treated as his servant, but he had just bailed her out of a very awkward, potentially dangerous situation. What if he hadn't arrived? She hated to think that he had actually helped her.
They walked for a few minutes and suddenly the crowds parted before them, leaving them in front of a small shop. It was low to the sidewalk, with smudged windows and chipped paint. A sign with a sword on it hung above the faded green door. Sora figured this was some sort of weapons dealer.
Crash swept her into the shop before she could say anything. The door closed behind them with the small ring of a bell. Ding-ding.
She paused and looked around, hesitant to set foot in the gloomy darkness; the shop was not very big, from what she could tell; most of it was shrouded in shadows and dust. The air was musty, like a bedroom that hadn't been used for a long time. A row of old candles spewed thick smoke but hardly shed any light.
She glanced uneasily at Crash. At first, her eyes passed right over him; he was barely visible in his black clothes. He seemed to belong in the musty store, snug on a shelf somewhere, with all of his daggers and swords and road dust.
Suddenly, from her left, a voice drifted through the gloom—"May I help you?"
Startled, Sora pivoted sideways and landed on Crash's foot. He grunted and caught her shoulders, steadying her for the hundredth time that day. All of those nights spent sleeping in the woods must be getting to me, she thought, brushing herself off, trying to regain her dignity. Then she peered into the shadows, her eyes narrowed, trying to determine where the voice had come from.
After a few moments, the darkness seemed to form into a man. He was tall, thinly built, with very pale skin like alabaster—the last kind of person she would expect to see in a weapons shop. As he stepped toward them, she could see that he had soft, delicate features, pale hair that wafted across his forehead and wide, sensitive eyes of a peculiarly glassy color.
He paused a few feet away and clasped his long, bony hands in front of him. He coughed lightly into them as if hiding a smile, and Sora felt a sense of disbelief, as though she were talking to a ghost.
"So sorry," came his sweet voice again; his words were gentle and airy, pleasing to the ear. "I didn't mean to startle you. Are you looking for anything specific?"
"A good blade—if you carry any,” Crash sneered.
Sora glanced at the assassin and raised an eyebrow. She wasn't truly surprised; as far as she knew, he was always rude. Turning back to the store clerk, she witnessed the man's expression change from warm to cold; his face hardened and he glared straight back at Crash. The dislike between them was so intense, Sora wondered if they knew each other. But how could they?
Then the clerk pointed a pale, elegant hand past
her into the shadows. "Our blades are toward the back of the store,” he drawled. “I hope you find what you're looking for. If you are in need of assistance, don't hesitate to ask." He smiled tightly at her. Then he turned away, as though carried by a slight wind, and disappeared into the gloomy shadows.
With an impatient tug on the back of her cloak, Crash led her toward the rear of the store, his pace swift. Soon Sora found herself at the opening of a narrow aisle. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the lack of sunlight, and revealed a sight she had never expected to see.
Both sides of the aisle were lined with blades: swords, sabers, cutlasses, and other weapons that she had never before imagined. Sora doubted that she would be able to lift even the smallest one. She kept to the center of the aisle, holding her arms to her sides, hugging the meat packages close.
To her relief, Crash didn't stop at the sword section, but continued to walk until they were looking at a row of daggers, each laid with explicit delicacy upon the shelf. They didn't look particularly sharp. In fact, they looked downright old, as if they had been rummaged from attics and basements, abandoned houses, or—perhaps—crypts.
She decided to mention that.
“What are these—butter knives? You couldn't slice cheese with them,” she said loudly.
“A whetstone should do the trick,” Crash murmured, and plucked two long, curved knives from the shelf. “And we don't want you cutting off a finger.”
Sora opened her mouth to respond, but was distracted by the flick of his wrists. The blades spun in his hands, smooth as windmills. He flipped one dagger and caught it deftly, spinning it again between his fingers.
After a moment, he set the pair back on the shelf. Then he moved to the next.
He repeated this process several times with many other knives. They all looked the same to Sora, who stood a safe distance away, but she didn't ask what he was looking for. After a while, she stopped watching. Every flip of the knife reminded her of his deadly hands.
Finally he turned to her and offered two docile-looking daggers, almost twice as long as her hand. They looked blunt and bulky, but when she picked them up, she was surprised to find them almost weightless. She had never held anything bigger than a steak knife before, but somehow the grip felt natural; she could feel the dagger's balance and shifted her hands easily. She saw, or rather thought she saw, a hint of a smile pass over Crash's face. Then he asked, "Have you ever handled a knife before?"
"No,” was her only answer.
“You’ll work with them well,” he murmured. “Though you'll need a larger weapon.”
“Larger...?” Sora echoed in surprise. Weren’t these wicked blades enough?
He nodded, then turned, striding into the darkness. Sora half-jogged to catch up to him. He made his way down the center aisle, checking the shelves on either side. They passed spears, ropes, archery, hooks, maces, and other rows of weapons that Sora couldn't identify. Still he didn't stop. She was now striding just behind him, thoroughly puzzled about what he was looking for.
Finally, he stopped at the very back of the store, where the shadows were the murkiest. Sora hesitated to follow him into the gloom; she could hardly see. She stepped up to the nearest shelf and timidly ran her hands over it, then blinked in surprise. Both sides of the aisle were lined with wooden staffs in different shapes and sizes.
"Pick one," came Crash's voice from in front of her.
"What?"
"You need a larger weapon. I doubt you can lift a sword, and it takes too long to learn archery.”
“Why not a spear?” she asked.
“You need to learn the staff first. Trust me.”
Sora glared at him; he raised a dark eyebrow. She stiffened indignantly—then looked back at the shelves, rows upon rows of silent wood. There were no hints, no signs indicating what she should do. Finally, she shrugged. “I don’t know anything about weapons. How am I supposed to pick one?”
“Well, I can’t help you,” Crash’s tone was scornful. “I don’t know what will balance for you. You’re quite...short.”
“Petite,” she corrected him in annoyance.
He just stared at her. With another sigh, Sora gave up and turned back to the shelves, a peculiar sinking sensation in her stomach. "How will I know if it balances for me or not? I know nothing of testing for balance." It made her anxious. What if I pick the wrong one? And what good would a large stick do in defending herself?
"You'll know,” was his only response. “It will feel natural.”
Sora nodded in defeat. Well, there was a first time for everything...but she was pretty sure this would be hard, and she would probably pick the wrong one. Tentatively, she reached for the first to her left, a stout oak staff. Sora gripped it and turned to look at Crash to see if she was doing the right thing.
He nodded. "Hurry up."
Sora turned away from his scrutinizing gaze and lifted the staff off the shelf. It was so heavy, she almost dropped it. After fumbling for a moment, she placed it back on its perch. That definitely wasn't it. The next one was made out of willow, and she was attracted to its classy sheen, but it proved too tall for her to wield easily. She tried one made of pine that turned out to be slightly heavier on one end. With a small smile, she felt her confidence grow. Maybe this would be easier than she had originally thought.
She repeated this process several more times, trying woods that she was familiar with and a few she had never heard of before. Most were either too heavy or too tall. Finally, when she was just about to give up, her hand bumped into a staff that was placed far back on the shelf, barely noticeable. Its wood was a dark, dusty gray, almost blue. Lifting the staff from the shelf, she found it had a sturdy weight to it, though not too much to tire her hand. It reached eye level, and the letters KW were carved into the top, most likely the initials of some loving past owner. She gripped it in the middle and laid it crosswise. It felt comfortable. Familiar.
Turning to Crash, she said, "This is it; I found one.” She did her best to give him a smile, though smiling at the assassin seemed odd. “We can go now."
He nodded and took the staff from her, feeling it in his own grasp. He seemed satisfied, and without a word, turned back down the aisle. Sora had to rush again to match his strides. Sometimes she hated being so petite.
When she caught up to him, he was standing at a front counter that she hadn't noticed before. As soon as Crash reached for the service bell, the strange man appeared again.
"I hope you found everything you needed," he said in his musical voice. Sora wanted to lean in closer. Though she couldn't explain why, she could listen to that voice for days. His voice was truly like honey to the ears. She almost asked him to sing.
"Yes, fine," Crash said, his own voice like brass.
The man nodded and then smiled charmingly at her. He took their items and checked them over, assessing the price. He stopped when he saw the initials on the staff and glanced up at her, his eyes searching. "Are you sure you want this one? There are several other good staffs back there," he said.
Crash snorted his opinion, but Sora ignored him. She was intrigued by the question. "Of course I want that one," she said. “Why?”
"I'm not one to argue with a customer, but this is witch wood,” he said, as though expecting her to know what that meant. She waited for him to explain. “It's...for professionals. You know, trained soldiers or the King's Wanderers....” He paused, looking back and forth between them. Neither spoke. Finally, the man sighed. “I was holding it for another customer, but he is long overdue and I fear he won't come for it. So I'll sell it to you...for a bit more. The wood has special properties. It's excellent as a weapon, harder than normal wood, and can’t be broken by a sword."
"How much does it cost?" came Crash's annoyed voice. He dropped Sora's coin purse onto the table.
Sora held up her hand to stop him, engrossed in the man's story. “Wait. What do you mean, witch wood? You say it's unbreakable?”
The clerk
frowned, pursing his lips. “Well, it’s all but extinct. It comes from The Bracken, a land far to the east of here. Very rare. The wood is unbreakable, and some say it has magical properties, but I can't vouch for that. This one was found floating off the coast.”
“Enough with the lesson,” Crash cut in. He shot Sora a glare when she tried to interject again. “What's the price?”
Sora wanted to scream in frustration. Here was another man who acted as though magic was more than just a myth, who might even know something about her Cat's-Eye necklace, and now she couldn't even speak! She opened and then shut her mouth, wondering if it was worth fighting with the assassin; she didn't doubt that he would lift her up and carry her from the store if she provoked him. And she had already tested his anger once today. It felt like he was growing more and more annoyed with her by the minute—and that wasn't good for her health.
With an angry sigh, she turned away from the store clerk and stormed toward the door, eager to leave the assassin's company and run back out into the daylight.
Crash bought the weapons and followed her swiftly. He overtook her at the doorway and grabbed her wrist with enough force to hurt her, dragging her from the store. The clerk’s eyes followed them.
Outside, Crash shoved her into the alley next to the building that was shielded by a small sapling tree. Then he stood in front of her, eyes narrowed, lips curled.
“Dorian might find your ignorance charming, but I don't,” he hissed. “I am not your friend, nor your footman. Silence yourself, or I will. Don't test me.” Flashes of heat swept through her; she felt fiery and cold all at once. Furious that he had threatened her. Powerless to defend herself. It overtook her suddenly, a strange need to cower, to hide her face. I'm a coward, she thought, realizing it for the first time. Without my father's name, I'm nothing.
If anything, this infuriated her even more.
Crash turned away, looking for a sound in the alley; so he didn't see the confusing mess of emotions pass over Sora's face. Evil bastard! she thought, watching him. She blinked back hot tears, regaining her self-control, angry for letting in that moment of weakness. Her teeth dug into her lip, showing her stab at willpower.
Then she followed Crash back into the crowded streets. She was glad that she had the bags to carry because they hid her shaking hands.
The two visited several more shops. Sora stayed silent, as she'd been told. The sun started to set, smearing a gory mess across the sky. The crowds thinned to a few scattered people. Even as she watched, they seemed to slowly melt into the surrounding streets. As though by magic, the square was empty by just past 4 o'clock, draining with the sinking sun.
She looked around in wonder at the wide-open cobblestone streets scattered with scraps of cloth and paper, the only remnants of the busy market. There was a large fountain in the middle of the square with water splashing quietly down its sides; she wondered if it had been there before. The buildings around the square were closed, the windows dark, already shut down for the day.
Then she noticed Crash counting on his fingers, ticking off items on a mental list. "All we need now is a map," he muttered to himself.
Sora sighed; one more item to add to her already sore arms. Even an extra piece of paper sounded too heavy to carry. All she wanted to do was sit down and rest.
"Girl,” he beckoned to her unexpectedly. I have a name, you know. Then he turned and walked away, obviously expecting her to follow.
Sora stared after him, speechless. She thought of dropping the packages and making a run for it, but she knew she wouldn't get far. Finally, she started after him, juggling the bags in her arms. The packages teetered precariously. “A map of Fennbog swamp?” she called. “But no one has ever crossed it.”
“That remains to be seen,” Crash replied, and turned down another street.
Of course. Sora followed, still skeptical. What good is a map when the landmarks float around? She had heard stories of Fennbog. More than just stories. Facts. Each rainy season completely rearranged the territory. Hundreds of miles of muck.
It was beginning to get cold. The wind picked up and the sun sank lower on the horizon, now just a blurry rim of light. The stars had crept into the sky. Several twinkled right at her, winking merrily as though laughing at her predicament, telling her all of her worries were just a big joke. She picked out the constellation of Kaelyn the Wanderer and wondered if the lady warrior was looking down at her, somehow sharing her troubles.
She smiled softly at the thought, still staring at the stars. Her astronomy teacher once told her that all of the world's stories could be found in the heavens. Each constellation had a history, a piece of lore. If one listened closely, the stars would share their stories, telling of years long past, of places long lost to the world, of secrets long forgotten by man.
Fanciful, perhaps. But the stars were still pretty to look at.
The streets they were walking through now were lined with shabby shops and pubs set low to the ground. She could hear muffled noises from the alleys they passed, grunts and hoots and bottles breaking; she quickened her step. She still did not feel safe with the assassin. He seemed to fit in with the shadows, into the odd sounds from the alleys, as though he came from a place of murky smoke and darkness.
He stopped in front of a small shop with a large domed roof. Light glowed from inside like a giant paper lantern, illuminating the streets in the immediate vicinity. Sora stared at the strange building until Crash yanked her toward the door and opened it. He took her bags, then motioned to her to go inside, a very chivalrous act for a man like him.
Sora stepped inside. With a small click, the door swung shut and Crash paused next to her. She immediately reveled in the warmth that flooded her senses, and looked around the room in wonder. Cheery lanterns graced the walls on either side of the shop. She had never seen anything quite like this, not even in Lord Fallcrest's library, which was one of her favorite places.
The small circular room was jammed full of bookshelves, which were crammed with all sorts of books. She could see the twinkle of a thousand stars through the large domed roof. Tables set up like a maze throughout the tiny shop were stacked with piles of dusty scrolls, yellowed books and wrinkled parchments. The air was heavy with the scent of paper. Sora had the sudden, intense urge to curl up in an armchair with an old book and maybe a nice cup of tea.
Crash didn't make any attempt to find the storekeeper; instead, he circled a nearby table, leafing through old papers and books. Sora waited, glancing around, until she grew impatient. "Hello?" she called. "Is anybody here?"
"A second! Just a second! Hold your horses!" was the immediate response, closely followed by the unmistakable sound of a book closing. A small cloud of dust rose above a tall stack of papers somewhere to her left. A sneeze issued from behind the table. "Hearing ain't what it used to be," muttered an ancient, scratchy voice.
Sora looked around, wondering where the owner of the voice was hiding; suddenly she saw a weathered brown hat (obviously with a person underneath it) wandering through the maze of tables. I thought that was a decoration! she thought in surprise.
Then out came an old man, stooped and worn, with stiff gray hair that stuck out from under the hat like the bristles of a broom. He sneezed once more and looked up at her with vivid blue eyes. Sora thought he looked like a crafty badger or a gray fox. He wiggled a thick white mustache at her and scratched his stubbly chin.
"Well, what d'ya want? Eh? I wouldn't be out this late if I were a pretty young girl like you. Getting dark these nights—darker than usual, even with a full moon, and all of those ruffians out on the streets...." He trailed off, blinking at her. Sora was too tired to reply. She shifted on her sore feet.
"But of course, I'm not a pretty young lady like you, am I? Ha ha! And I certainly don't have my own bodyguard—eh, young man?" he called over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, are you looking for something? I'm a bit scattered at the moment. Age catches up with you, you know—doesn't matter how far
you travel. Just the other day I almost set this whole place on fire, spilled a candle. Not very good for business...anyway, what is it you need?"
Crash didn't answer.
"A—a map," Sora said. The man's rambling was a little hard to follow. Now that she was in a warm room, the full force of her exhaustion hit her; she wanted to take a nap right there on the floor.
The storekeeper turned away and threw up his arms, making a loud sound of annoyance. He stalked off toward one of the back tables. "'A map,' she says, 'I need a map!' Well that's certainly a big request! A map of what, exactly? The world? Hasn't been made yet. The oceans? Mostly uncharted, except for the coasts. How about further inland? The City of Crowns? A grand sight, to be sure. The Temple of the North Wind? You'll need to join their discipleship to go there. Sorry if that spoils your plans.” He paused and looked her over. Sora knew she looked a mess—her hair was relatively straight, but her clothes were muddy and wrinkled from her nights spent in the woods. The storekeeper, however, seemed to look right past all the stains. “You seem like a well-off patron,” he said, and eyed their bags by the door. “Are you taking a vacation? A little getaway? I know of some great spots."
Sora couldn't answer the strange old man. Her mouth was dry; she was overwhelmed by the possibilities. The silence stretched—get a hold of yourself! She swallowed with a force of will.
Then Crash spoke up, saving her from further embarrassment. "A map of Fennbog,” he said pointedly. “The full swamp."
The man frowned at him, appearing genuinely concerned. “Have you lost your wits, man? Fennbog swamp has never been traveled, let alone mapped. The geography changes each season, anyhow. You can't map the weather!” And then he laughed, throwing back his head, spittle flying from his lips. Sora didn't think the joke was that funny. The man calmed down, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “Besides,” he finished, “They say that swamp is cursed.”
Sora gave Crash a pointed look. She had tried to warn the men days ago, but of course, no one had listened.
“Right,” Crash said, and took an unexpected step toward her. “But we have this.” And he nudged Sora with his shoulder. She stumbled forward, her mouth opening in surprise.
The old man stared at her, his eyes narrowing, then his gaze slowly traveled down her face, to her neck, to the chain that wound under her shirt. With a huff of annoyance, Sora pulled the Cat's Eye into the open. She knew this was what Crash wanted, though she wasn't sure why. She didn't see how a magical necklace would help in the swamp.
The man gazed at the stone. His eyebrows rising almost into the rim of his hat, he took a steady step toward her. “Is that....” he murmured, still staring. “Is that....”
“A Cat's Eye,” Crash said bluntly.
“But...I haven't seen one since I was a lad. Where...where would you get such a thing?”
Sora opened her mouth to speak, but Crash cut her off again. “No matter,” he grunted. “But to my understanding, you are a specialist on such things, are you not? How might it lead us through the swamp?”
“'Lead us through the swamp?'” Sora balked, turning to stare at Crash in horror. Was she to be responsible for navigating Fennbog? Ludicrous!
The old man saw the look on her face and grinned again, displaying the gaps between his yellowed teeth. “Why, yes, my girl,” he said, and nodded once again to her necklace. Sora let it slip back under her shirt, disliking the way his eyes lingered on the artifact. “Yes, indeed. The Cat's Eye works as a compass of sorts. It leads you...to where you want to go.” Then he held up a finger. “To where you truly want to go.”
Sora hadn't been expecting that. She turned to glance at Crash, her eyebrow raised skeptically. The assassin didn't meet her gaze; he was propped up against a wall, arms crossed, distinctly unimpressed.
“How do you mean?” she asked, turning back to the mapmaker.
“I mean...that you can ask it to lead you through the swamp. You can ask it to direct you. But the Cat's Eye has whims of its own. If it senses that you want to be somewhere else...well, then it might just take you there instead.”
Sora paled at this, a myriad of possibilities running through her head. She touched the stone subconsciously under her shirt, wishing that it was more familiar to her, that it didn't feel so mischievous and unpredictable.
She turned back to the storekeeper to see a small, stormy cloud of dust rising in the air. He was scuffling from table to table, shuffling through parchment like a madman, stacking and unstacking. Finally from a table at the back of the room he pulled a large book, almost too heavy to lift, bound in wood and string. He opened it wide, the pages crackling.
"Ah, here we are," he muttered. Sora stepped around the tables and paused behind him, peering over his shoulder, trying to see around his wide hat. "An older tome, to be sure, but I can't imagine much has changed. This is a history of sorts. It speaks of the War of the Races. Bought it quite a few decades ago while I was mapping the changes in land formations....” His voice petered off as he caught a cold glance from Crash. “Right. This section here tells of the Cat's Eye, perhaps on a brief page. Not much is known of them anymore, you know. Nor ever, I suspect. But here it is, here it is...yes.” Sora saw a small drawing of an orb that looked similar to the Cat's-Eye stone. She recognized the smooth swirl at its center, the black lines highlighting its glow. The letters were heavy and ornate, drawn with an artist's hand.
“The stones were used to lead armies through dense mist, across stormy oceans and treacherous terrain,” he quoted. “They were essential in the Battle of Aerobourne, when the humans fought against the Harpies....The Harpy ships flew above-ground, powered by sunstones that were mined from the ocean....”
Crash snorted. Sora blinked, realizing she had been holding her breath, spellbound. She had already been imagining the sweeping masts, billowing sails and great gusts of wind that had lifted the flying ships into the air, up through the clouds, powered by shining white sunstones. She had read stories of the Battle of Aerobourne before.
“A bearer had to keep firm control of his thoughts and desires while leading a legion. He had to be completely loyal to the cause. Any thoughts of doubt or deceit, or a desire to run from battle, could lead the entire army into aimless circles. Above all, the bearer must be disciplined.”
Disciplined. The word fell on Sora's ears like a heavy stone. Am I? She quickly recounted several times she had refused an extra scone at breakfast, or had waited patiently through her morning studies for an afternoon ride. And yet, traveling with Crash and Dorian had showed her a different kind of discipline. A whole new world of hardship, where one had to hunt each night, wait an hour or more for a warm meal, constantly cover one's trail, and take good care of the horses.
“How much discipline?” Sora asked. Her voice wavered only slightly.
“Never mind that,” Crash snapped. “How does one direct the Cat's Eye? Need she visualize her destination? Or simply wish it?”
The old man turned away from the book. “I haven't the slightest,” he said, his mustache bristling. He gave Crash a pointed look. “I've never worn a Cat's Eye, and I wouldn't know. You would have to be stupidly desperate to travel through the swamp, either way.” And then his eyes narrowed, darting back and forth between Crash and Sora. He gave them a second look, perhaps wondering why they were so anxious to travel into Fennbog swamp....
Crash seemed to pick up on the same thought, flipping the storekeeper a silver coin. The old man caught it in mid-air with a practiced hand.
“For your trouble,” Crash said. He turned away, motioning for Sora to follow. She quickly picked up their bags, giving the mapmaker a slight nod for courtesy's sake, then hustled from the room.
The storekeeper watched them leave with quiet, thoughtful eyes.
Crash and Sora walked for a brisk twenty minutes until they were in a completely different district of Mayville, though still on the Fallcrest side. Crash finally paused in the dim glow of a window and waited for her to cat
ch up. Sora reached his side and awkwardly met his eyes, firmly resisting the urge to look away.
“This is The Oaken Door,” he said, indicating the building next to them. True to its name, there was a solid oak door painted a deep, rich red under a hanging lantern. It looked as though it had been built for giants. The doorknob was a large brass ring, dangling at Sora's eye level. “Burn and Dorian will be waiting for you in the common room, downstairs.”
“You're leaving?” she asked sharply. She knew what that meant. Collecting payment. Her thoughts began to race, spinning about in her head. Her eyes darted around the shadowy streets, wondering which way he was headed, where his contact awaited. Or perhaps there was no middleman, and he was meeting directly with his employer. She could suddenly envision Lord Sinclair riding up in a polished carriage of burnt cherrywood, with the sheen of four gray thoroughbred horses prancing through the night. A heavy sack of coins dangled from his ringed hand, thrust elegantly through the carriage window. “How much?” she blurted, her eyes still focused on that imaginary carriage. “How much are you being paid?" she boldly asked Crash. "I will pay you more—double—triple—if you'll tell me who hired you!”
The assassin gave her a smooth, blank stare, like a pane of glass. “I was given no name,” he finally consented to say. Sora was surprised by the direct answer. “And I have seen no faces. I work in complete anonymity.”
“Then take me with you!” Sora repeated. “I'll hide in the shadows, I'll try to identify....”
“Go inside,” he ordered icily.
Sora flinched at those words. She searched his eyes but saw only hardness, the coldblooded gaze of a snake. She turned to the door, simultaneously juggling the packages and trying to turn the knob.
“Is it far?” she said, still struggling with the door. “How soon will you return?” She finally got the knob to turn, and shoved the solid, heavy door open. Despite its size, the door swung easily on its hinges.
Suddenly she was engulfed by a wave of light and sound.
When she glanced up, Crash was gone.
CHAPTER SEVEN