He must have swum through a stream, because his hair dripped with water, and was pressed against his head in a bristling black mess. His eyes gleamed in the fading sunlight. Bruises and burn marks covered his skin, though she was surprised to see that many of his wounds were already healing. Another trait of the Unnamed? She didn't want to ask. She only cared that he was safe. She had spent the majority of the day agonizing over the thought of him being tortured, wondering if she should go back to the holding cells and break him out. But she trusted Caprion, not wanting to jeopardize their plan. Once again, the Harpy's word had proven true.
The worst of the burns were around Crash's neck, where the sunstone had been. The skin was cracked and peeling, caked with blood. That explained the rough timbre of his voice. She was certain the sunstone would leave a scar.
“You look terrible,” she said, worried.
“And you look tired,” he replied.
She bowed her head in agreement. It had been difficult for her to sleep during the day. “How did you get out?” she asked wearily.
Crash frowned slowly. He indicated the dagger at his belt. “A Harpy released me,” he said. “He told me that you asked him to.”
Sora blinked, taken aback. “Oh,” she muttered. “Good.” She held his eyes, hoping he wouldn't ask any questions. He wouldn't respond well to her deal with Caprion, and she was too tired to argue with him. How much had the Harpy told him?
He frowned, watching her closely.
“You tracked us through the woods?” she asked, trying to change the subject. “We should move camp, then. If it was that easy for you to find us....”
“I wasn't followed, and I knew what to look for.” A bit of amusement entered his eyes. “I taught you how to cover your tracks. Remember?”
Don't smile! Sora told herself firmly. But she couldn't control her expression. How could she forget? All of those grueling months traveling through Fennbog swamp, learning his techniques, how to fight and defend herself. It was a long time ago, but this was the first time he had acknowledged it. She grinned at the dirt, still not looking at him. She liked it that he remembered those days.
“Does that make me your student?” she couldn't help but ask. She wondered if he would recognize the question, because she had asked it once before, back in the swamp, two years ago, when she had been terrified of him.
He paused, looking away. He seemed surprised by the question, though he hid it well. She could read him much better now than she used to. “You were my first student,” he said briefly, echoing his words from the swamp. Then he glanced at her. “I suppose you still are.”
She grimaced. “I thought I'd surpassed you by now,” she said, attempting humor.
He smiled quietly in response, but his eyes remained dark, his expression fading with the sun. She sensed him pull away, and immediately regretted her words.
He looked around their camp, quickly noting Burn's sleeping figure inside the tree. If he wondered about Laina's absence, he didn't mention it. Something told her that he was relieved to see her gone...and that he already suspected the reason why.
“Volcrian will arrive on the island tomorrow,” Sora said, remembering Caprion's warning. “The sacred stones are a quarter-mile to the east. I figure we can lure him there....”
Crash nodded, accepting her plan without question. “Have you learned what you must do with your Cat's Eye?” he asked warily.
“Yes.” She thought of Caprion's words, their meeting at the sacred stones. Then another thought occurred to her. She reached into her pocket, took out a folded piece of cloth, and held it out to Crash.
He paused before touching it. Briefly, he said, “I can't open this.”
“It's a second Cat's Eye,” Sora explained quickly. “I thought I might use it instead.” But would it require a bond to work? Would it activate once they put it on the pedestal? She couldn't control it without touching it, and she wasn't sure what that would do to her.
Crash seemed to read her mind. “It could work,” he said. “And it's better than the alternative.”
She pocketed the small stone again and smiled at him, though it didn't quite feel genuine. “Tomorrow...” she started to say, then paused, unable to finish the thought. Tomorrow, we might fail. “How will you fight Volcrian? Do you know what to expect?”
Crash shook his head slowly. “His magic has changed since our last meeting,” he murmured. “But he's still flesh and bone. We can restrain him if we get close enough. Easier said than done.”
Sora raised an eyebrow. “I take it you've tried that before?”
He nodded. “Don't allow him to get hold of your blood. You saw what he did to Dorian.”
“I won't,” she promised.
They paused, lingering on the thought of Dorian, on the battle to come. “I'll take watch,” Crash said abruptly, and motioned for her to lie down next to Burn. “You should rest. You need it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You're the one who just escaped,” she replied. “Are you sure you're not tired?” He looked tough, but she could see the drag of his shoulders, the way he knelt without moving, conserving his energy.
“I just spent the last day sitting in a cell,” he observed. “I'm more than rested.”
She wanted to argue with him. He might have been imprisoned, but he had also been tortured and brutalized. A serious injury could be far more tiring than physical exertion. Yet his expression was determined, and she didn't think she had the strength to convince him otherwise. She could feel her own exhaustion overcoming her.
She finally crawled into the shadows beneath the tree roots, settling down in the cool dirt. Her white clothes were already stained by mud and grass. It might not be as comfortable as a bed, but at least it was familiar.
Under Crash's watchful eye, she was finally able to slip into a deep, restful slumber.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CRASH SAT AT the base of the tree and waited for her to fall asleep. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her breath. She's safe. It loosened the tension inside of him, if only a little.
Satisfied that Sora was completely unconscious, he turned back to the forest and knelt on the ground. With his index finger, he quickly drew a series of symbols in the dirt: a circle for protection and three ancient letters, S for sky, E for earth, V for vision.
Shadows began to gather and congeal inside of the circle. With a nudge of willpower, he sent the shadows climbing up the side of the tree, easily hiding the campsite. To a passing traveler, it would appear simply that the shade was a little darker than usual, yet no eyes could penetrate it. The Harpies would easily miss the campsite from above, especially once the sun was down. They didn't see well at night.
He usually avoided working magic in front of observers. It was a lesson long ingrained in him. The Sixth Race did not share their secrets—their true power lay in obscurity. And every time he used his magic, his demon came that much closer to the surface. He felt a burning power rise within him, a crimson wave of anger and frustration.
He had kept the creature subdued for years, locked securely inside his body. In fact, he hadn't allowed the demon to surface since he left the Hive. Yet for the last month, the demon had been eager for release, testing his discipline, pushing his boundaries. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep it under control.
But why now? Because of Sora? His eyes slid to her sleeping form, and he felt that conflict again, a natural instinct to shelter and protect her. He thought back to the Crystal Caves, when she had fallen from the rock bridge. The demon had risen in her defense. He had thrown himself off the ledge without thinking, his body acting on his own accord, the demon launching from his skin like a rabid predator. And yet it hadn't harmed her. That was unheard of.
When the beast came to the surface, he couldn't always control its will. Often, Crash existed only as an observer through the demon's eyes. He didn't want to scare Sora, so he hadn't told her the full truth. The demon could have easily chosen to kill
her, and yet it hadn't. Why?
My control never should have slipped. He wasn't usually this undisciplined. Perhaps he was growing weaker....Or perhaps the demon could sense the rising power in the land, and was bucking to welcome it.
He comes, that dark voice inside of him murmured, writhing. The demon sought the attention of Crash's thoughts, reminding him that he wasn't alone in his own body.
Silence, Crash commanded.
The demon just grinned in its cage.
He sighed and sat back, wincing as he shifted his sore muscles. He didn't want to show his weakness in front of Sora. She, of all people, needed him to be strong. But the Harpies had dealt him quite a bit of damage. His back ached like fire, his muscles burned and his body was desperate for food. But there was no time to go hunting now. He would have to wait until nightfall to see if he could catch an unwary rabbit or fowl. He needed to eat meat.
His wounds were healing rapidly, but it would be a long time before his voice recovered, perhaps a month or longer. The worst pain came from his neck; it was as though his throat had been clawed out by a wildcat, thrashed and bloodied. It burned when he breathed, and ached when he talked. The sunstone had left a nasty welt beneath his jaw. It was uncomfortable for him just moving his head.
His thoughts traveled to the day to come. Volcrian would be on the island before long. There was little time to prepare. Crash's sword and knives were lost to the Harpies, but he still had his Named dagger.
His lip wrinkled in disgust, and he touched the blade, remembering the Harpy who had released him; the man sent to kill Sora. Cold fire rushed through him. He should have killed the man when he had the chance; gutted him through like a fish. He didn't like leaving loose ends—and Harpies were dangerous.
But the thought of Sora had stopped him; the thought of admitting to her what he had done. Foolish—to let her influence him so much. Despite sparing the Harpy, he still couldn't summon her steadfast conscience. He only felt the black pit of his body, the dark force just beneath his skin, eager to consume. He didn't know if he could ever see life the same as she did. In this way, the teachings of his Grandmaster still lived on, rooted into his mind, inextricable. The wave rushes in, then rushes out, he heard, echoing across the years. It cannot just come in and in and in—then the whole world would be an ocean.
Life needed to be tamed. It needed to be cut back. Otherwise, it would consume itself.
We are the outgoing wave. The harvesters.
He had known this when he had taken a Name. He had been eager for it. Ruthless.
And yet a conscience must have developed over time. It must have, because eventually the coldness had become too much.
He shook his head, looking at Sora as though her sleeping form held some answer for him. Tomorrow, she would use her Cat's-Eye necklace to kill the mage. She might have to create two bonds with separate stones. He didn't know if that was possible. There was still a chance that she could die. It left a deep hollowness in his gut, a sensation that he was not familiar with—and not comfortable with.
He could imagine the disappointment of his Grandmaster, knowing that he cared for the girl. She is weak, the voice whispered in his head, taunting him. Yes, she was weak, and part of him reveled in that. A foolish thing to do, but there it was.
He still meant his words, the ones he had spoken to her in the forest, when she had confessed her fear. He would die to protect her. He welcomed the thought. It would be a fitting end to his life—perhaps a kind of redemption. Not that the Dark God would recognize such a gesture. But perhaps...perhaps there were other forces that would take pity on him, that would save him from a fierce and fiery afterlife.
Are you growing sentimental on me, Crash? her voice asked, drifting through his memories.
The thought was accompanied by the ghost of a smile. Was he?
He pulled out his dagger, running his hand over the sharp blade, gazing at the worn snake that wrapped around its hilt.
* * *
It was Sora's watch. She was somewhat relieved. She fingered her Cat's Eye, thinking of the day to come.
She had slept soundly for a few hours, but had awakened to the sound of Crash and Burn's voices, discussing the battle ahead. Their words lingered in her mind.
“What of Sora?” Burn had asked. “She's our only weakness. If Volcrian goes after her first....”
“We won't let him catch us off-guard,” Crash answered darkly. “Keep her as far from the fight as possible.”
“But we can't protect her from the Cat's Eye,” Burn replied. “She will sacrifice her life for us. I'd rather she kept away from the fight altogether.”
“We need her necklace,” Crash murmured. “And there's a chance that she'll survive.”
“Yes, and there's a bigger chance that she will die. And then what? We've already wasted Dorian's life. Shall we throw her to the fire, too?”
Crash hadn't responded. His silence worried her more than his words. Would they be able to defeat Volcrian, or was the Dark God's power too immense? She wasn't anyone special, after all. Not as skilled as her companions. Just a girl with a bit of jewelry. As Burn had said, she was their greatest weakness.
Now she sat with her back against a thick tree root. The sound of crickets permeated the air. The silver glow of the full moon illuminated the forest, revealing small insects and animals that skittered about the ground. A wave of bats passed overhead, diving for moths, shrieking through the night.
She felt for the second Cat's Eye in her pocket. It was smaller than the one at her neck, barely the size of a pearl. She planned to use it...but she didn't know if it would work. Perhaps she could place the new stone upon the pedestal instead of her own, but without a bond, she had no way of controlling it. What if it didn't react properly? She couldn't command it with her will. Too many things could go wrong—and too many people depended on her.
You can't worry about this, she told herself. You'll make yourself sick. She tried to distract herself, but her mind was set on torturing her. Laina's face arose in her thoughts. She felt that familiar pit of guilt open up in her stomach. The girl's betrayal still frustrated her, and she wondered if she had done the right thing by leaving her behind.
What else could you do? her inner voice said. Bring her to fight Volcrian? A valid point, but she wasn't reassured. Laina was only thirteen. She had played straight into the Matriarch's hands, simply used as a tool for information. She couldn't condemn a child for that.
I can't abandon her, she thought.
She chose it, her inner voice argued.
She's too young to know better.
And she's too stubborn to be saved. Let her make her mistakes.
Sora sighed. She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze lingering on the sleeping figure of Crash. He lay next to Burn, almost invisible beneath the tree roots. She sighed. How many nights had they spent like this over the past two years? Far too many to count. She found it difficult to imagine her old life of riches and prestige.
At least I have a home to return to, she thought. She wondered what her mother was doing, if Lori was still at the farm, healing the sick and watching the horizon for her lost daughter. Neither Burn nor Crash had a place to go when this was all over. What if they succeeded in killing Volcrian? What then? But our quest isn't over yet, she reminded herself. No, this would only solve half of the problem. They needed to destroy the sacred weapons somehow...and they only had two of the three.
Sora scratched a bug bite on her arm. She couldn't keep dwelling on these thoughts. Her mind wasn't providing any answers—only more worries. She was too restless. I need to walk, she thought; burn off a little extra energy. Just a short walk, not far from camp. Her eyes quickly scanned the night sky, but she didn't see any evidence of the Harpies, not since Crash had arrived. She was fairly certain that Caprion's plan had worked, and that they were safe for now.
She stood up and glanced back at her companions. I'm sure they'll be safe for a few minutes, she decided, and quietl
y strolled into the woods. She decided to head for the sacred stones, and take one last look before it became a battleground.
The calm forest engulfed her. Sora took careful note of which direction she headed. The wind brushed through her hair, cooling her forehead, tickling through the trees. Various birds and frogs could be heard chirping, hidden in the canopy. After a few minutes, the knot in her stomach began to loosen.
An owl hooted deeply and a small rodent scurried at her feet, ducking into a large fern. Sora paid them no heed. They were animals, untroubled by her concerns. No matter what happened tomorrow, this forest and all of its creatures would live on. For a while, she thought—until the Dark God's power overcame the earth, and then who knew what would happen. She couldn't draw comfort from that.
Sora stepped through a patch of tall bushes and found herself at the edge of the ruins. Terren Morte, the Garden of the Dead. She looked up, gazing at the shiny black pillars with their perfectly smooth surface. How had the stones become so dark? They looked to be the very opposite of sunstones—rocks made of pure night.
She hovered in indecision. It would be too risky to enter the open field, yet she wasn't quite ready to head back to camp. Something about the mystic ruins held her attention. She loved the ancient beauty of the terrain, the giant stones beneath the stars, silent and firm in their vigilance. If only she could contain such strength. She leaned back into the shadows of a tree, pressing her hands against the bark, feeling its cool, rough surface through her shirt.
Perhaps a minute later, she slowly became aware that she wasn't alone. She glanced to her right, where a large pine grew a few strides away. As she gazed into the shadows beneath its branches, she saw a familiar silhouette take form, like a phantom materializing from the air.
She managed a smile. “Checking up on me?” she asked wryly.