Sora's Quest

  Then, abruptly, the Panthera yowled with laughter. An act, performed in front of the colony. The beast wouldn't back down. Of that, Crash was certain.

  “If you wish to die, so be it,” the Panthera said. Then he pulled the mask back down over his face.

  The drums started again, first one, then ten, then fifty, pounding out a fast, syncopated rhythm. The Catlins began to yowl in excitement, shifting from paw to paw, climbing on top of each other or taking to the trees, to get a better view. Crash fervently hoped that Sora and the Wolfies were long gone. He had given them as much time as he could.

  The Panthera leapt towards him, like a charging bear. Crash waited, watching the beast's momentum, the roll of its paws in the dirt. At the last second, he leapt forward, rolling beneath the warlord's legs, missing his claws by fractions of an inch. The assassin regained his footing on the other side, behind his opponent. Then he leapt up on the Panthera's back.

  The crowd of Catlins began wailing and shrieking. Their high-pitched keens split the night. The drums grew louder. He knew the spectators would not intervene. He had initiated a challenge, and the Catlins were bound by their own laws. The Panthera would defend his rank—or be killed. It was their way.

  The warlord tossed himself to one side, rolling in the dirt, but not before Crash buried his dagger in the beast's back. His wooden mask flew off, tumbling across the ground. The Panthera crushed him backwards, but Crash held on, clamping his hands around the creature's throat.

  The Panthera leapt to his feet and twisted, throwing Crash off with a mighty heave. But not before Crash could reclaim his dagger, dragging it out of the beast's back, causing as much damage on the exit wound as on the entrance wound.

  The Panthera let out a ferocious roar, seething in pain. He shook himself, blood spattering to the ground, matting his fur. Then he stooped down and picked up a spear from the ground, whirling to face the assassin.

  “A worthy opponent,” the Panthera growled. “I would expect nothing less, Dark One.” Then the giant lunged at him. The spear whirled and jabbed, left and right.

  Crash recoiled like a snake. He deflected the spear with his dagger, sparks flying in the air. Then he grabbed the shaft and pulled the Panthera towards him. The beast let go of his weapon, stumbling backward, off-balance. Crash swung the length of the spear into the Panthera's head, connecting with his left cheek.

  The Panthera staggered for a moment, shaking off the blow. Crash was somewhat surprised by the beast's endurance; he was certainly formidable.

  Then the Panthera leapt at him again, lashing out with his claws, trying to rip the assassin in half. Crash dodged the giant paws, blocking with the spear. It would have been easier to just kill the beast, but he was trying to buy more time. Sora and the Wolfies needed to get as far away as possible—at least back to where they had stashed their supplies.

  The Panthera's claws gouged his shoulder, a lucky blow. Crash hissed in a sharp breath, leaping away from his opponent, breaking off the close combat. They circled each other briefly, regaining their breath. The Panthera's tail lashed back and forth. He showed his teeth, growling low in his throat.

  “I have killed creatures three times your size,” the Panthera hissed. “To me, you are a darting gnat.”

  Crash smiled slowly. He didn't waste words while fighting. It was useless to taunt the dead.

  “I'll kill you,” the Panthera groaned. “And I'll flay the bodies of your companions, drain them of blood and burn them before the eyes of our wrathful Goddess....”

  Enough of this. Crash's grip tightened on his weapon. He had stalled long enough.

  The assassin charged the Panthera, the spear held in front of him. He feinted left, then jabbed to the right. He struck the Panthera in the face, plunging the spear into his eye.

  With a yowl, the beast fell back, stumbling around the circle, his hands clamped to his face. Crash approached his opponent methodically, backing him into the corner of the ring, against one of the torches. The Panthera screamed in rage, clawing the air, unable to anticipate the assassin's moves.

  Crash picked up a second spear from the ground. Taking full advantage, he plunged the weapon deep into the Panthera's chest, snapping through bone, puncturing the heart. Blood spurted around the shaft, gushing to the ground, turning the dirt to mud.

  He released the spear and stepped back, allowing the Panthera's body to fall, gurgling, to the dark earth.

  The drums stopped.

  Crash didn't hesitate—he could sense the shock that ran through the colony like a lightning strike. The Catlins stood in silence, staring at their fallen leader.

  He didn't give them time to respond. With a few swift steps, he launched into the roots of the Grandmother Tree, immediately swallowed up by shadows, then dashed to the other side, leaping onto a curtain of hanging fungi, pulling himself up into the tree. He jumped from branch to branch, moving as swiftly as possible, careful not to catch his clothes on any twigs.

  Within seconds, he was gone.

  Chapter 15

  Sora ran all night, stepping from branch to branch, swinging across vines, climbing up and down tree trunks. After returning for their bags, she had stopped briefly to regain her bearings. Away, she had thought, touching the Cat's Eye. Away, through the swamp, to safety.

  Surprisingly, the necklace had surged in response, filling her with energy, almost toppling her from her feet. Its message was a thousand times stronger now. She felt as though it had burrowed deeper into her mind, planted its roots firmly in her thoughts. The Cat's Eye knew exactly what she wanted.

  She nodded to Burn, turned and continued through the trees.

  Close to morning, the three travelers collapsed. Burn was exhausted from carrying Dorian's unconscious body. Sora had checked the head wound twice; it wasn't bleeding anymore. They didn't know when the thief would wake up. She asked Burn about it, but he only shook his head.

  They lay down for a brief rest. Sora shut her eyes, her body dragging her right into sleep.

  About two hours later, she awoke to an unfamiliar noise. She sat up, her heart quickening, looking around in the dim morning light.

  Crash hovered next to her, crouching low in the branches.

  Sora's mouth was open; she was shocked. “Y-you're here!” she exclaimed, and was flooded by an unexpected wave of relief. She didn't linger on it. “How did you find us so quickly?”

  “You left a clear trail,” Crash said. “Come, we must continue. The Catlins might be following us. And if the ground is any indication, we are nearing the edges of the swamp.”

  Sora glanced over him, surprised again. His clothes were spattered in mud and leaves, his face scratched by branches. “Aren't you tired?” she asked. “You've been running all night!”

  The assassin only stared at her.

  “The end of the swamp?” Burn asked, sitting up from his roost in the tree. He was nestled slightly above them, closer to the trunk. He picked a leaf from his hair. “That's strangely optimistic of you. I hope you're right. What I would give for a mug of ale,” he muttered. Then he shook his head slowly. “This is a nightmare.”

  “Yes, a nightmare,” Sora murmured, staring at the trees. Dawn could barely be seen through the branches, but most of the forest was still in darkness. The canopy was so dense, sunlight usually wasn't visible until midday.

  She had to admit that, in the filtered morning light, the trees appeared smaller and more widely spaced than the growth surrounding the Catlin colony. We must have covered a lot of ground, she thought, remembering the night before. Judging by the pain in her legs, she believed it.

  “How is Dorian?” she suddenly asked, remembering her fallen friend. She turned, her eyes searching for him amidst the tree. He was curled up behind Burn, slightly higher in the branches, tied by a thick rope so he wouldn't fall off, still unconscious. She gazed at him in worry.

  “He'll wake up,” Burn said, giving her a soft look. It wasn't very comforting, given the thief's condition. Then
he climbed up to the higher branches and started to untie him. “Let's go before those beasts catch up with us.”

  Sora couldn't agree more. They picked up camp and continued quickly through the trees. She was clumsier than the day before, her muscles sore and strained. Her eyes kept wandering to the ground far below them; the drop would certainly kill her. In her weakened state, she worried that she might miss a step.

  Eventually, Crash stopped and turned to her. “Get on my back,” he said bluntly.

  “What?” Sora asked, panting and sweaty, slightly horrified by the idea.

  “You're too slow. We're moving at a snail's pace compared to the Catlins.” He knelt slightly on a large branch. “Get on.”

  Burn nodded to her.

  Sora looked from one to the other, then let out an irritated breath. She was outnumbered. Stiff and hesitant, she climbed onto Crash's back and gripped him around the shoulders, wrapping her legs around his waist. She was suddenly self-conscious about how muddy their clothes were. She winced. She probably smelled like a mule.

  They continued at a much faster pace, practically flying through the foliage. She couldn't believe the endurance of the two men. Burn, she could understand. But Crash...he was just an assassin, a regular human. Right?

  * * *

  That night, they stopped at the edge of a small stream. They were definitely approaching the border of Fennbog. There had been no streams in the swamp—just sinkholes and wetlands. They'd had to boil their water before drinking it.

  The travelers set a small fire next to the stream and made a thin soup of tubers and wild onions. Burn found a nest of birds' eggs that they added to the mix.

  At some point while they were eating, Dorian awakened.

  “Ugh,” the thief groaned, his eyes slitting open. He put a hand to his head. “What happened?” He glanced around their camp, squinting against the firelight, taking in their surroundings. “I suppose we're not dead, at least,” he muttered.

  Sora almost dropped her tin cup. She leapt to her feet and ran to the thief's side, kneeling close. “Are you all right? How do you feel?” she asked, the words rushing out before she could stop them.

  “You took a nasty blow to the back of the skull,” Burn rumbled.

  “I vaguely remember,” Dorian replied, his voice weak.

  Sora put a hand behind the thief's shoulders and helped him to sit up. “Gently now,” she murmured. She tried to quench the worry inside of her. She didn't like thinking that the thief could have died—and how much that scared her.

  Dorian blinked, a bemused expression crossing his face. Then he winced. “I should get hit on the head more often. You almost seem concerned, sweetness.”

  Sora paused, the thief halfway in a sitting position, and almost dropped him back to the ground. What am I doing? she thought. Before their interlude with the Catlins, she had made a point of hating the three men, reminding herself again and again that they were evil, heartless scum. But now, after so much had happened, she couldn't summon her anger anymore. Somewhere along the line, her guard had fallen. She had risked her life for these men. And...they had risked their lives for her.

  “Don't mention it,” she grunted, and settled him back against a log. She held out a cup of soup for him. “It's mostly water,” she said.

  “Ah, grass soup, my favorite,” the thief mumbled, but downed the meal anyway. He moved slowly and stiffly, resettling his head against the hard log. “What I wouldn't give for a pot roast right now,” he murmured. “Or a loaf of bread.”

  “A big, thick wedge of cheese,” Burn added from across the fire. “A warm bottle of wine.”

  “I'd do with a soft bed,” Sora replied, grinning slightly. She looked up to see the three men gazing at her, their expressions something like surprise. She glanced away, self-conscious.

  The evening stretched on. Burn lay down to sleep while Crash took to the trees, keeping watch. Sora sat next to Dorian for a while, staring into the fire, keeping him company. They didn't speak, but shared the same exhausted silence. Then she let out a loud yawn. She stood up, thinking she would get some much needed sleep.

  Dorian's hand grabbed her wrist. He was surprisingly strong. “Wait,” he murmured. “Just a minute.”

  She turned to him, wondering what this was about.

  “Can you...check my head?” He gazed up at her, a peculiar expression in his eyes. Vulnerability?

  Sora didn't know what to make of it. She sighed. “Dorian, I'm not a Healer....”

  “No, that's not what I mean.”

  She frowned, looking down at him. His effeminate features had grown on her; the sharp jaw, pointed nose and wide blue eyes. But his expression gave her pause. He looked...scared.

  “Then what?” she asked, keeping her voice low. She sensed that Dorian didn't want to be overheard.

  “With your Cat's Eye...can you...see if Volcrian's spell is still present?”

  Oh. In all the excitement, she had almost forgotten about the mage. She glanced at Burn's sleeping form, the regular rise and fall of his breaths. Then she looked up to the trees, wondering if Crash was watching them, if he could hear what Dorian was saying. The thief's request made her nervous. She could remember his attack in the swamp, the way he had come after her, trying to take her life. It left a cold feeling in her gut. He suddenly seemed much more dangerous than just a wounded friend.

  But perhaps she was worrying for no reason. Burn said the spell was weak. Volcrian hadn't used much of Dorian's blood. Perhaps it had worn off.

  “Well, what do you want me to do?” she asked, curious.

  “I don't know...I think you need to touch me.”

  “What?” Sora balked.

  “Shhh!” Dorian glanced around, but Burn was still sleeping, and Crash was nowhere to be seen. He met her gaze and raised a finger to his head. “Touch my head. I don't know if it'll do anything, but...can you tell me if...if your Cat’s Eye senses anything wrong?”

  Sora let out a long breath, considering the request. “Well, I don't know if it works like that....” she said slowly. She had already tried this method once, and it hadn't been very effective. “But I guess I can try again,” she murmured. Maybe things would be different now that her bond was stronger.

  Dorian seemed relieved. He settled back against the log, waiting.

  Sora wasn't sure how to begin. She wasn’t very skilled at using her Cat’s Eye—half of the time, she felt like it was using her instead. Finally, she decided to mimic what she had done last time. That is, set her fingers lightly on Dorian's temples and see what might happen. She did so, waiting for some sort of shock or revelation.

  His skin was smooth and slightly clammy beneath the pads of her fingers, but Sora tried to concentrate past that, past the intensity of his eyes. She had to figure out what she was looking for, which was hard to do since she hadn’t a clue.

  Just as the thought crossed her mind, she felt something stir in the depths of her consciousness. The alien presence unwound itself, pressing into her thoughts, flowing down her body and into her fingers. The sensation was strange, electrifying. Dimly she saw Dorian’s eyes widen in wonder.

  The Cat’s Eye searched, casting around for a sign of...well...anything. No, too broad; she had to narrow it down. Wolfy magic, she thought, hoping the Cat's Eye would understand. This necklace had been created back in the time of the races, right? It had to know what Wolfy magic felt like. Blood, she thought, trying to help it along. Something unnatural.

  She waited for several minutes, the Cat's Eye stirring through Dorian's mind like an eel in a dark pond. But there was no sense of discovery, no magic, except for the dormant power that flowed through the Wolfy’s veins. And yet—yet I sense something....It was a mere flicker, there and gone. Like a shadow hovering over his mind, an unknown shade.

  She couldn't take it anymore. The sensation was beginning to border on something like pain, and she felt a bead of sweat slip down her brow.

  “Nothing,” she said, dropping he
r hands, though she felt like that was a lie. There was a residue of sorts. Something vague and lingering.

  Dorian let out a sigh of relief, but still looked troubled. “Thanks, love,” he said. She waited for some witty remark, a teasing word. But there was none.

  “Sorry,” she murmured. “I don't know everything about the necklace. At least, not yet.”

  Dorian grinned at this, the worry melting from his face. “Look at you, taking charge,” he remarked. “You'll be an expert in no time.”

  Sora allowed herself a small smile, but it felt empty. She wished that were true...but she had a feeling it would take a long time to learn all of the necklace's secrets. Perhaps an entire lifetime.

  “You should get some sleep,” she said quietly, and moved away to the fire, stretching out on the hard ground. She wished she still had her bedroll, or at least something clean to wrap herself in, but only her tattered cloak protected her against the cold.

  “No,” Dorian said quietly. “You should get some sleep, love. I'll stay awake for a while yet. I've been sleeping long enough.”

  She nodded, giving him another slight smile. She must have looked as tired as she felt.

  Sora cushioned her head in her arms, wishing she could relax. But every snap of the fire made her jolt back awake, every subtle movement in the woods. The Catlins seemed to lurk just beyond her line of sight. She kept listening for a sign from the darkness, like the telltale shift of leaves. She couldn't quite believe that they were safe, even with Crash watching over them. They had been running for a long, long time.

  But her body was exhausted. There was no fighting it. Eventually, she slipped into troubled dreams, falling through dense gray clouds, plunging into an ice-cold sleep....

  * * *

  Several more days passed this way. The four travelers were exhausted, Sora especially. She didn't know where the men got their endurance. Food was scarce, though as the ground grew more solid and the trees smaller, they were able to find rabbits and wild hens. Finally, the swamp seemed to have turned into a genuine forest, interrupted by brief patches of wetland.