"Come on." Crash motioned for her to follow, as though expecting her to have no problem witnessing a massacre. Somehow Sora managed to look past all the blood and scurried out of the cell. She waited, staring resolutely at the wall, while Crash slipped the Wolfies' key off one of the corpse's belts. Ew, he's touching a dead body!
Sora's disgust was interrupted by the sound of thrumming paws. Someone was approaching. She paused, realizing the sound was coming from behind them, from deeper into the tree. Definitely Catlins. They were approaching fast.
Crash didn't hesitate. He grabbed her and made a run for it, passing the Wolfies' cell and sprinting down the hallway. They slammed through the outer door and into open air. Sora tried not to fall; it was difficult to keep pace with the wound in her side. She could barely keep up. The air of the colony was harsh in her lungs, the mist coiling around them like cold fingers.
Then she tried to yank her hand away. "Crash!" she exclaimed, realization dawning. "What about Burn and Dorian? We can't just leave them! They'll be killed!”
"We can't help them if we're dead," he spat harshly, not breaking pace. "We'll come back for them."
Sora wasn't completely convinced, but she didn't have much choice. She remembered the Wolfies' wounds; the fury of the Panthera. What if there was no way to free them later? What if they were too late?
Sora heard the shouts of Catlin guards. A dozen or so were converging on them, leaping from different bridges and ropes. She forced her legs to run, pain piercing her side — no more tripping. Unexpected anger fueled her steps. She was enraged at Crash, at how he could be so damned logical in such a situation, as though their friends were mere objects, mere pawns in a game. And why were the Catlins so damned cruel? They were far too obstinate and arrogant for their own good. How could those disgusting creatures kill Dorian and Burn just because they were traveling through the swamp?
She had to focus, concentrate. The guards were gaining on them. Sora looked ahead to where a wooden bridge led off into the mist, and beyond that — the swamp. Obviously that's where they were heading. Quickening her pace, she and Crash sped past a few more platforms and alarmed groups of Catlins, running faster than Sora ever had before. The final bridge was before them, leading off into the thick trees, back into the wilderness. If they could just make it across....
A series of yowls erupted in the air. More Catlin guards joined the chase, right behind them. Seconds later, a Catlin barreled out of nowhere and threw Crash to the ground, tackling from the side.
"Crash!" she screamed in alarm. Sora had already sped past them, her legs propelling her forward, through the danger. The assassin had dropped her hand so as not to drag her down with him, and she suddenly found herself on the rope bridge, the boards swaying beneath her — so close to freedom!
And yet, she couldn't continue. She caught her balance and stumbled across the wooden planks, trying to stop her momentum. Crash, no! This couldn't be happening, she couldn't leave him here, and there was nothing she could do to help him. Halfway across the bridge, she grabbed the slippery ropes and turned to look back desperately. Where was he?
The bridge was thin and wet, and swayed dangerously as she adjusted her weight. Her eyes landed on the struggling figures, several dozen yards away. Crash was forced up against one of the wooden posts that supported the rope bridge, fending off a Catlin's sharp spear. The weapon was horizontal between them, Crash's hands on the long shaft, locked in a silent struggle of pure strength. A struggle that no human could win against such a creature.
"No...!" The word escaped her lips, a shallow whisper. The assassin leaned back dangerously. Sora could see what a strain it was to hold that awkward position. It was obvious that he would soon lose his balance.
"Crash!" she yelled, fear constricting her chest. He was going to die, dear gods, Crash was going to die.... No, the assassin couldn't die — out of all of them, he was the most invincible!
"Run, Sora!" he shouted, his words reaching her at a distance. "Don't wait for me!"
Crash's voice was cut off by a sickening crack! The post he was against split at the base. It didn't occur to Sora that this was the same pole that held up the left side of the bridge. All she saw was Crash yell and start to fall, and she was frozen, unable to move. She wanted to throw herself forward, dive after him — but she couldn't, there was no use, nothing she could do to save him. She thought she might have screamed. Her mouth opened. She felt shocked — under water. Her hands reached. Grasped. Useless.
Crash disappeared, plummeting into the swirling mist.
Just as suddenly, the bridge tilted to one side and Sora felt her feet slip. With a shriek of surprise, she slid down the short planks toward the edge of the bridge, toward the endless drop. She grabbed onto a piece of rope just before the mist claimed her.
Sora clung there, suspended at an unknowable height, and tried not to let the fear take over. Her heart was choking her; her hands shaking dangerously. She looked down and went numb. Nothing beneath her but blankness, swirling white fog. If she could just pull herself up, she'd be safe. If I can just pull... a bit harder....
Her hand slipped. The slick rope burned her skin.
Then the world gave way.
Chapter 9
It was all too perfect.
Volcrian looked at the three muddy pools of blood before him, his nose discerning each one clearly from the next. To his right and left were the two servants; in the center, the late Lord Garret. Would they remember their past identities once they were reawakened as wraiths? He had chanted countless spells over the last several day, hoping to erase the spirit's memories. They probably wouldn't remember a thing, though vague shadowy impressions might remain at first. Eventually they would convert to emotionless, thoughtless drones, following his commands.
It was one of the oldest spells, manipulating the very life force that tied the soul to the body. It was dangerous to use; a weak-willed and inexperienced sorcerer might be manipulated by the bond, become as dumb and soulless as the wraiths themselves, a servant to his own creations. But Volcrian's bloodlust was pure, his thoughts clean, his purpose — clear.
Drawing a knife, Volcrian muttered a few words of power under his breath to concentrate his energy. He frowned, focusing on his hunt — on the assassin, his prey. Then he held his arm above the first pool and slit his skin, spilling a few precious drops of his own lifeblood into the mix. It had a sizzling, bubbling effect. A small smile pulled at his lips. The wound stung at first, but it was soon covered by the tingle of static and power. Of pleasure. His veins began to sing, his entire body vibrate with the strength of life and vitality. The strength of magic.
Steam began to rise from the first pool, a sign that it was working. He moved to the second, then the third, each time offering his blood and murmuring the few words of power. A dull wind picked up, slowly swirling around the fields where he had began the ritual, as though awakened by the magic.
With each pool complete, the power flooding Volcrian's senses was unbelievable — he could barely contain it. Fueled by a clear sense of purpose, the magic flowed much more strongly, thrumming down his arms, his legs. He could feel the spirits gathering, the shades of the dead men. They were thick in the air, practically solid, a tangible vapor.
"Rise," he whispered. "Rise and bond to me."
The steam rose faster, the blood swiftly dissipating into a dense mist, clouding thicker and darker. Soon the field was consumed by it. The sun's rays grew dull and the air heavy with charged energy. Volcrian's eyes watched the fog sharply, waiting, unsure of what might happen next. This was the most uncertain time in the spell — one wrong word or move, and the spirits could slip the noose, return to the limbo between life and death. But the blood was fresh and the bodies newly dead; the spirits would miss their physical forms and would be drawn to the heaps of skin and organs that rested next to each pool. He was confident that they would respond to his call.
Dimly, shapes began to appear in the mist, three of
them, as though built from the air itself. This was more than partially true; the wraiths were creations of air, blood and magic, held together by dead spirits. The three figures began to solidify, turning darker until Volcrian could make out humanoid forms, shaky and insubstantial as shadows. Then the piles of flesh began to tremble. The mist closed around them, as though sucked inward, creating a whirlwind around the three forms. The wind brushed through Volcrian's hair, teasing it, tempting him. Then finally the mist fully dispersed.
Three beings stood before him, shrouded in cloaks of darkest black. The cloaks seemed to dissolve into the air rather than standing apart from it; as though they might blow away like smoke. Volcrian was not fooled — these were powerful beings, magic that reached beyond the veil of life and death. He took in their figures, neither feminine or masculine, tall or short, broad or thin. In fact, getting a good look at each creature was difficult; they seemed to be constantly shifting, blurring over before reappearing, each moment subtly different.
Volcrian grinned and licked his lips. They were perfect. "Minions," he murmured. "Do you know your master?”
The center wraith, who was slightly more substantial than the other two, raised one dark sleeve toward Volcrian. It pointed a skeletal finger. The Wolfy mage nodded, still smiling. It was the only answer he needed. The wraiths all thought as one, yet could perceive as three entities.
“Correct. I will give you your first task. Split up and find the four that evade me: Viper, Sora, and two Wolfies. Kill them. Do not return until your task is finished."
The figures looked at him for a moment longer, or at least, Volcrian assumed that's what they were doing. He could make out no eyes in their empty black hoods. Then they shimmered in the air. There was an eerie wail, so faint it might have been an echo of the wind — and then they were gone.
Perhaps you have put some distance between us, the mage thought to his prey. But you're not free of me yet.
The hunt would be over soon. He wanted to laugh, to kick up his heels in giddy exhilaration — but suddenly Volcrian was hit with a wave of exhaustion. He felt punched in the stomach. He collapsed to the ground, shaking, sweat springing out all over his body. It was impossible to remain upright. The cut on his arm was burning, aching, muscles cramping — he could have sworn his limb was on fire. He clutched the wound, gritting his teeth, willing himself not to cry out.
The exhaustion kept increasing until he felt as though he would be sucked into the earth. A massive bolder weighed down on his chest. The effects of using so much magic were immediate and intense. Each breath was a laborious undertaking — even keeping his eyes opened drained him of energy. He wanted to scream, but couldn't drag enough air into his lungs.
For each wraith created, two years of life were sucked from the mage. He had read as much in his text books. But he hadn't actually thought to experience it.
He was weary — drained to his very bones. He finally gave in and laid his head down, unable to control his body. He felt like the hands of death were pulling him into sleep, as though he would never wake up, and he could do nothing to fight against it. Perhaps he would die from this spell, and meet his gentle Etienne on the other side of eternity. It wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Volcrian sank into a deep, soul-healing sleep.
* * * * *
Sora seemed to plummet forever. The fog was so dense that she could see nothing but white; as far as she knew, she could have been falling up. Her stomach churned sickeningly as the wind whistled past her, her brain too numb to grasp what was happening.
Plunging downward, she somehow found the time to worry about whether or not she would hit upside down. The last thing she needed was to be knocked unconscious by the impact. If she survived. Isn’t there supposed to be ground down here somewhere? The fall seemed to be taking a horribly long time, but then again, falling was better than landing.
Wham! She hit something abruptly, her body stiff with shock. Only... she hadn't hit the ground. Or water. And she was still falling. Stunned, Sora realized that she was moving at a slower, more suspended pace. There was something solid beneath her cheek. Something cold and wooden....
Wham!
She slammed into the lake – or rather, wooden platform she had initially landed on slammed into the lake. Icy water exploded in all directions, the air knocked out of her for a second time. Sora's body was tossed into the air and then smacked back into the wood, landing amidst pieces of old cloth. The material was moldy and rotted, and it served as a kind of cushion and protected her from getting wet.
The uproar slowly died down. The makeshift raft still bobbed madly beneath her, but Sora focused her eyes intently on the swirling mist above, trying to regain her breath and straighten out her thoughts. Okay, okay, I’m okay. I don’t think I’m hurt — okay — um, right, I just fell a hundred feet, dear Goddess, I’m never doing that EVER again....
Wait a moment here.
The reason why she had fallen burst upon her, and immediately she sat bolt upright, head spinning, the rest of her body bruised and aching. There was no time for her injuries now, though — she had to find Crash. The assassin had landed around here somewhere; he hadn’t been that far away when he had fallen. Her eyes searched the gray water desperately, mist drifting above the surface, obscuring her vision. He had to be somewhere around here — she was sure she could spot him.
If he was still on the surface. Alive.
Of course he's alive! she thought, angry at herself for suggesting such a thing. Crash was the most capable person she had ever met — even if he was an evil bastard. He had saved her life only a few days ago, hadn't he? Maybe she owed it to him, maybe she didn't... either way, she couldn't rescue the Wolfies alone, never mind surviving in the swamp.
He's around here somewhere, I just need to focus. Sora gazed at the gray waters, trying to see through the trails of mist. She couldn’t see anything unusual, no bumps or clothes or bubbles on the surface, and a bit of fear bloomed in her heart. This is not good. She examined the gray water dubiously. She had been taught to swim in a lake near her manor, along with resuscitation and other things, but she hadn’t done so in a while. Truth to tell, the solid gray water didn’t look very inviting.
But she couldn't just wait for him to resurface — he would probably drown in the meantime. Berating herself, Sora grabbed a wide, mushy log out of the water and used it as a paddle. She made her way to where she thought Crash might have landed, though it was difficult to tell since there were no real landmarks. Peering through the fog, she was finally able to make out the gigantic trunks of trees around her; huge, lumbering shadows stretching into the mist, giant sentinels, reminders of the Catlin magic and the danger hovering above her. Would the Catlins follow her down to the lake? She would have no way of defending herself.
Once again, it seemed hopeless. How was she supposed to find Crash in all this water? There must be some way of telling where he was, some sign....
Wait. What was that? Sora squinted and looked harder, trying to catch another glimpse of whatever she had seen. No, it must have been her imagination... there. She could see it clearly now and thanked whatever there was to thank for her good fortune. A log — no, the pole that had supported the bridge — was floating in the water a few yards away, half hidden by the fog. Sighing with relief, she spotted a rope leading into the water, obviously weighed down by something. Quite possibly something human.
Crash.
Sora was about to throw herself into the water when she hesitated, once again studying the icy liquid. If I get my clothes wet, I’ll freeze, she thought, trying to be sensible. With trembling hands, she pulled her shirt over her head and began stripping. Boots. Pants. Undergarments.
Completely naked, Sora dived into the water and felt the air sucked out of her lungs. The icy liquid bit into her body, causing her wounds to burn. Her skin turned numb. Kicking up to the surface, Sora took several deep, shuddering breaths and kept moving so she wouldn't turn into an icicle. Her teeth c
hattered uncontrollably in the frozen air. Then she forced herself to dive under again, hoping she wasn't too late to save Crash.
She forced her eyes open and struggled downward, trying to move her limbs, though she couldn't truly feel them. The water was gray, vague, murky. She passed tufts of grass and clots of weeds as she followed the rope downward. The weight on the end had to be human or animal since it was so heavy, but a thought kept tugging at the edge of her mind. Crash is an assassin, right? she wondered. Wouldn’t he know how to swim?
Suddenly a piece of black cloth floated before her eyes. Sora snatched at it in slow motion, her frozen hands barely moving. She gave it a tug and pulled Crash's shoulders into view, followed shortly by a head of black hair. Relief flooded her. Wrapping one frozen arm around him, she started up to the surface, her lungs aching and desperate for air. Her chest was starting to hurt. She quickened her pace, her muscles straining with effort. The rope tore at her hand with every pull, but it was her only lifeline, a solitary route back to the surface — she thanked Crash silently for tying himself to it.
Any second now she would pass out. Spots flashed before her eyes and her arm shook with each tug and pull. She made sure Crash was still with her, her arms too numb to feel anything, and tried to go faster, her lungs screaming. She couldn't make it... the surface... she needed air! I'm going to faint and drown. Then Burn and Dorian will die and that will be the end of us. This is the end of my adventure and no one will even know what happened to me-!
Sora exploded out of the water. Her hair, having come undone, was a heavy mass against her back. She took a deep breath of air before the assassin’s heavy body pulled her back into the water. With the remainder of her strength, she slung Crash's unconscious form over the wooden post and rested for a moment, breathing in the blessed oxygen.
She used the pole to help her swim back to her makeshift raft. Gasping and shivering, her teeth chattering uncontrollably, she hauled Crash onto the wooden platform and dragged herself after him with her last ounce of strength.