Sora's Quest

  “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 everywher
e, 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 11

  Volcrian perched on the hard bench of the coach.

  Women and children surged in behind him, scrambling onto the wooden seats. A few farmers and clerks followed. Soon they were all packed together like a tightly rolled bale of hay. He watched the peasants and serfs arrange themselves. Already the coach was beginning to smell like a pig barn.

  He wrinkled his nose. When he and his brother ran the apothecary, they owned a personal carriage, a beautiful creation of oak wood and finished seats. He had sold it shortly after his brother's death, exchanging it for a fast horse and a bag full of coins.

  He hadn't ridden on a public coach since his childhood days. This particular specimen was designed for rough travel across the country. A mud wagon, the locals called it. He did not relish the name.

  Somewhere nearby, a child began coughing. Volcrian pressed a handkerchief over his mouth and sucked in a breath.

  Traveling by stagecoach was the fastest way to bypass the swamp. He would have to change in the next town, and again, near the City of Crowns. Once they passed there, he would make his solitary way over the mountains. Luckily, they were the lower mountains, more like foothills compared to the snow-covered monstrosities of the far North. The journey could take an entire year, depending on his timing and the weather, but he anticipated his wraiths would make short work of the four travelers. Perhaps by the time he reached the coast, they would all be dead.

  That thought was the only thing that brought a smile to his lips.

  “Last call!” he heard the stage conductor cry out. There was another shout from outside, and a few more people squeezed on-board. Volcrian grimaced. How many peasants could a mud wagon hold?

  The final passengers settled in place. There was a thump from the rear of the coach. The boot was closed, their luggage secured. The door was shut.

  The driver cracked his whip and yelled to his team, the sound muffled by wooden walls. The horses surged forward, the coach rocking precariously forward. Volcrian let out a slow breath. This was going to be a long trip.

  * * *

  Sora blinked woozily.

  Her head pounded, like the morning after too much wine the night before. Her mouth was dry, her thoughts fuzzy. She stared at the smooth wooden ceiling above her. For a long moment, that's all she did, feeling the blood rush through her veins. Her body felt weak—like she was stuffed with cotton.

  Where am I? Vaguely, she remembered the attacking vines. Her head pounded and her right arm was in agony. She wanted to roll over and go back to sleep; she was all too ready to slip back into unconsciousness. At least the bed was soft.

  Bed?

  The sound of voices disturbed her thoughts. She looked toward the noise and found herself staring at a wooden archway, set flawlessly in the side of a room that could have been carved from a tree. She blinked at the smooth walls—no boards or panels, no brick or mortar. Just seamless wood.

  She looked back at the archway. At first it seemed completely open, but if she squinted, she noticed strange glints of light stretching across it, a near-invisible curtain. It took her a moment to realize what they must be. Spider webs?

  It was enough effort for her to sit up. The room spun and she put her hand to her head, her stomach twisting. She waited for her eyes to focus. Then she glanced around, looking for any signs of spiders or bugs or other threats. But the room was clean and empty, except for her soft cot and a porthole window, too small to climb through.

  The sound of voices drifted to her again, this time closer. It was like no language she had ever heard before. At times, it sounded more like two beasts growling and chirping at one another. She stared through the archway, trying to see into the corridor beyond, but her gaze was met by a plain wooden wall.

  Sora swung her legs off the cot and grimaced, then leaned over the side of the bed, gagging. She heaved several times, trying to vomit, but nothing came out. Saved by an empty stomach. Goddess! She had never felt sicker!

  Trying to lift her arm, she discovered it was wrapped in thick bandages from elbow to wrist, which tightly constricted her movement. She could remember the nasty, burning acid. Her blistered skin. How long have I been here? She put her hand on her pounding head and wondered how she could still be alive.

  The sound of footsteps and muttering voices drew closer. Sora tried to stay calm. She looked around again for a place to hide, but there was nowhere except behind the cot, and she had more dignity than that. She licked her dry lips, her fingers tapping nervously on the bed.

  A shadow lumbered outside the doorway. A hand reached up, gently touching the thin spider webs. Sora stared at the massive palm. It was unlike any hand she had seen before—long, thick fingers covered by thin orange fur. Nails hooked into long, powerful talons.

  There was a brief shimmer of light. The spider webs fell away, curling back on their own accord. Sora heard the slight chime of bells. Her Cat's Eye. Magic.

  Then a creature stepped in. It only slightly resembled a human.

 
She never could have prepared herself for the beast who entered the room. It wore sandals and a white robe, cinched at the waist with a wide tan belt. She stared at its feet—his feet?—which were more like giant paws.

  His face terrified her. She had to stifle a gasp, her eyes wide in disbelief and horror. The creature's head was that of a tiger, long teeth protruding past his lip. Thick, clawed hands hung at his sides. By what she could see under the robe, his entire body was covered in orange and black fur, down to the tip of his tail. He was huge, towering almost a foot taller than Burn, completely filling the small bedroom. This beast made the Wolfy mercenary look average.

  So this is a Catlin, Sora thought, trying to stay calm and reasonable. It was the only explanation.

  The beast either grimaced at her or smiled—she couldn't tell, with those huge fangs. She hoped it was a smile.

  "Human," he said in a low, grunting voice, more of a growl. "Can you walk?"

  "Uh...." Sora didn't really know how to respond. She felt terrible. She didn't want to stand up and collapse on this fellow—he'd probably eat me. Then again, she didn't want to sit around staring at him, either.

  Rather than answering, Sora decided to stall for time. If she was about to be eaten, she might as well get some answers.

  "Where is this place?" she demanded boldly. Her voice came out dry and small. Her mouth was still slightly numb from the poison and her throat muscles resisted the effort it took to talk. "What have you done to my friends?"

  The Catlin stared at her through slitted eyes. His teeth were pulled back into a snarl. Sora sat back despite herself—maybe that was a mistake.

  "You can walk," he confirmed. She couldn't read his expression; he had a cat's head, after all.

  "Well?" she heard her voice squeak, then cleared her throat. "What about my friends?"

  He continued to look at her, as though considering her for a snack. "You are in our shriekal, our colony," he finally answered. "The others are here too. The...the trespassers are in con-con-" the Catlin paused, licking his lips awkwardly.