Sora clenched her fists to stop them from shaking. Stop worrying, she told herself firmly. If anyone could cross, it was Crash. Still, she couldn't tame her imagination—the vision of him being torn from the surface of the bridge, the wind sweeping him into the ravine.
Finally, he reached the opposite side. Crash stood up, sheltered by the stone ridge of the second tunnel.
“Sora!” he called. “You're next!”
She gulped visibly. The last time she had crossed a rickety bridge, it had collapsed beneath her. That had been two years ago while crossing the Crown's Rush before entering Fennbog swamp. It seemed like a lifetime ago, yet the memory was still fresh and intimate. It was not an experience she wanted to relive—and this crossing was far more treacherous.
“Okay,” she said, more to herself than her companions. She glanced at Laina. The girl stared at her with large lavender eyes, glistening with unshed tears. Sora had to look away. The girl's expression only made her more frightened.
Burn rested a hand on her shoulder. “I can go,” he offered.
“No,” Sora repeated, shaking her head firmly. “No...I can do this.” She checked her staff and daggers, ensuring that the weapons were strapped firmly to her body and wouldn't fall. Then she crouched by the edge of the bridge, determined to cross before she could have any second thoughts. She inched her way forward, gripping with her knees as she had seen Crash do. Her fingers found the small creases in the rock, indents from his knives. The wind was fierce over the ravine, pressing her flat to the stone. She gritted her teeth in concentration. Don't look down, she told herself, and kept her eyes trained on the rock beneath her. Don't look down!
Once she was in the middle of the bridge, Sora felt the Cat's Eye stir in the back of her mind. She paused, unsure of what it meant, waiting breathlessly for the feeling to pass.
Then, as though rising from the very rock itself, a long, moaning howl carried through the ravine. It was purely animal—something between a wolf and a mountain lion—fierce and primal, impossibly loud.
Sora's entire body jolted. All of the hairs on her arms and neck stood on end. Without intending to, she looked down.
Her head spun at the drop. Sickening fear lurched through her, making her arms weak and her body quake. Then, at that moment, another gale-force wind blasted down the ravine. The rock vibrated beneath her hands, shaking her grip loose. She felt her body slide sideways.
Sora screamed. Someone shouted her name, but she was too panicked to know who. The gale plucked her easily from the rock bridge, like a hawk grabbing a mouse. She scrabbled for a hold, but her hands were useless against the smooth stone. With a shriek of pure terror, she was swept into the air—into empty space.
Her heart stopped.
She plummeted downward. The scream was ripped from her mouth, stolen by the wind. She clamped her eyes shut as the bridge flew away from her, her body as heavy and solid as stone. Her stomach went up to her throat, past that, to her head. She was diving, consumed by vertigo, spinning, her arms flailing, reaching instinctively for a handhold—there was only emptiness.
Her mind raced in panic, consumed by pure instinct, overriding all coherent thought.
Then something grabbed her from behind.
* * *
* * *
Krait lingered in the sitting room of a large stone house. Outside, rain lashed down on the flagtone streets. It was mid-afternoon, but felt more like late evening. Everything was cold, wet and subdued.
A week had passed since her narrow escape with The Book of the Named. She had expected Cerastes to meet her on the other side of the portal, but had arrived at an old tavern on Tourmaline Street. The heavy smell of the Crown's Rush was easily recognizable through the windows. In the City of Crowns, everything found its way into the Rush: heirlooms, old furniture, human waste and—at times—dead bodies.
A letter had been delivered to her room upon her arrival, telling her that Cerastes would summon her. That summons had arrived just two hours ago, while she sat in the tavern proper, listening to an old minstrel play. One minute, she had looked out the window. The next, a note had been slipped under her drink. One of the Named, she suspected, though she hadn't seen any of her brethren in the tavern.
She followed the letter's instructions, traveling down Tourmaline Street to a series of alleys that eventually led into the sewers. Small tunnels wove through the City of Crowns, ancient dungeons long since flooded by the Rush. She traveled to the center of the city, bypassing slums and heavily populated streets. Then she found her way under the great barrier wall into the Regency, a private sector of the city, exclusively home to the First and Second Tier.
When she climbed to the surface again, she found herself on a manicured street of large, gated houses, immaculate lawns and decadent statues.
Cerastes had given her an address. When she approached the large stone house, an old man opened the door. Without a word, he escorted her into a small sitting room and left her there, locking the door behind him.
The chamber was small and circular, with no windows and a single oak door. A large flagstone fireplace stood in front of her, an ornate golden clock upon its mantle. Two easy-chairs sat in front of the fireplace and a thick red rug spread across the floor. A small feast had been set on a large, polished table; she ate a roll of bread and cheese while she waited.
She wasn't sure if this was Cerastes' house; she could only assume that the Grandmaster would come for her here. In the meantime, she wondered why they weren't in the Hive. Why the City of Crowns? She watched the minute hand on the clock move in a slow circle. Its quiet ticking was the only sound to reach her ears. Eventually, she sat in one of the chairs, trying to relax. Her hand traveled to the book shoved in her belt.
Her mind strayed back to the Aurora. She dwelled on the memory of the pirate's stash—an entire room full of history. She had recognized only two relics from her own kind—an old, rusty sword that may have once been a Named weapon, though now eroded beyond repair, perhaps found beneath the ocean. Another was a piece of jewelry, to be worn during a joining festival, marking a woman's desire to mate. She had touched nothing in the room, but looked upon it all with eager eyes. She had never seen such a collection before. It was all that races had left: souvenirs, trinkets, the remnants of great civilizations that would never be restored.
She had searched for The Book of the Named, but among so many tomes it had proven difficult to locate. She had never seen it before and there were well over a thousand books packed onto the shelves.
Then the Dracian Captain had entered with his guests and pointed her right to it. She couldn't let the book be taken by someone else. She had acted fast...and she had left the savant behind.
He had been a young lad, new to the order, eager for an assignment. She had explained his duty clearly. If they were engaged in battle, he would do what was necessary to protect the book, even if that meant giving his life. He understood the sacrifice—had chosen it. And yet a glimmer of regret colored her thoughts. He had been very young and full of potential. Another few years of training and he might have taken a Name.
Yet this is the way of the Dark God, she reminded herself. We might lose a few fingers, but his Hand remains.
At that moment, the shadows of the room grew darker. Krait stiffened in her chair. It seemed that even the fire receded, rolling back on itself, shrinking against the growing darkness. She waited, her head tilted. The temperature dropped by several degrees, causing cold prickles to shiver across her skin.
She heard a key turn in the door's lock.
Cerastes entered the room, as majestic as a summer storm. He wore long, satin robes of midnight hues, with fine gold filigree embroidered on the sleeves. Around his neck dangled several pendants of different lengths and shapes, all made of expensive material: silver, gold, crystals and gemstones. A large medallion the size of a fist dangled toward his navel. The head of a boar was carved into its surface. The King's emblem.
Krait stared
at the amulet, curious, wondering why he would wear such a thing. She had never seen him dressed so richly. In the Hive, he wore simple black linen, like every other assassin. Today he looked like an emperor.
He shut the door and locked it behind him. Then he turned to her. “You have the book?” he asked.
“Yes, Master,” she said. She leapt to her feet, uncertain if she should bow first. She pulled the book from her belt and handed it to him, then got down on her knees, lowering her head to the ground.
“Good,” Cerastes remarked. He ran his long fingers reverently over the frayed cover, then opened the book gently and turned a few pages, delicately holding each sheaf of paper between his thumb and index finger.
“There were others searching for it,” Krait felt compelled to say. “Humans.”
Cerastes raised a narrow, sloped eyebrow. “No matter,” he murmured. “It is protected by spells. Only the Named can read it.” He thumbed through a few more pages and nodded. “Excellent.”
Krait waited, wondering if she should speak. Then she said, “What now, Master? We have the book, but not the weapons.”
“Yes, and our enemies will need this book to end the plague,” Cerastes said. “And when they come here to the City of Crowns, we shall be waiting for them.”
Krait nodded. Waiting for them. A vision of the Viper rose before her eyes, and she felt a tremor of anticipation. She would see him again and this time, she wouldn't be taken off-guard.
“For now, stay at the tavern on Tourmaline Street,” Cerastes said briefly. “It is near the West Gate of the city. Watch for the Viper and his companions; I expect they will travel from the coast. Keep an ear to the ground. Alert me when they arrive. You can find me here, at this address.” The Grandmaster paused, glancing over a passage in the book, then he closed it abruptly and tucked it into his robes. “I have matters to attend to in the city. You shall not see me for a while.”
Krait nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Cerastes pointed toward the far wall. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. Then the shadows began to melt and shift, circle inward on themselves, swirling lazily until they became thick, black mist. “Another portal, to take you back to the riverfront. Go.”
Krait stood up and turned toward the far wall, quick to obey. Without a backward glance, she walked across the floor and launched herself through the mist.
* * *
Sora was far too shocked to scream. Something wrapped itself around her—strong arms, biceps almost as wide as her chest. Black skin, cracked and hardened like scales. Scales! Her head spun and only one thought made sense. The garrolithe! This had to be it—some sort of demonic monster that lived in the Crystal Caves. She had heard it howling before she fell. She remembered the vague drawings on the doors to the cavern. There was no other explanation.
The bulging muscles flexed around her small form. Sora shrieked and twisted away on instinct. The creature tightened its grip, turning her in its arms until she found herself pressed up against a broad, powerful chest, oddly human. She became confused—was it a monster or a man?
Two wings spread from the creature's back, snapping open against the wind. Their ascent slowed, drifting downward like a parachute. Sora panted with fear. Her vision swam. She was certain that she would black out before they reached the bottom of the ravine. A good thing, she told herself. At least she wouldn't have to witness her own death.
Then the creature slightly loosened its hold so she could breathe. She looked up despite herself. Gasped.
The beast's head was manlike. A straight nose, firm lips, strong chin. But the eyes chilled her—they were wide and almond-shaped, pitch black, no evidence of an iris or pupil. They absorbed all light, reflecting nothing back.
The skin of the face was smooth and ashen. Where a natural hairline would have been, the skin became hard, scaled, and dark black. Countless small horns, perhaps the width of her fingernail, jutted from the creature's skull. When the horns reached its shoulders, they became large blades of blackened bone, protruding through the skin, continuing down the arms, growing in length and width.
"No," she whispered, horrified. She was struck by instinctual terror, like a child waking up in the night, staring into darkness. She began to whimper—a desperate sound of primal fear.
Then the creature spoke. “Brace yourself.” Its voice sounded like a low, crackling fire.
Her eyes caught on a silver line that ran along the beast's skin. Her mouth gaped. A long, jagged scar ran from the demon's jaw down to its chest.
WHAM!
They hit the ground at a fast glide, sending a shower of powdery white sand in every direction. All the air left her at once. They tumbled together, rolling wildly across the bottom of the ravine. The creature kept her pinned tightly to its chest, its wings wrapped around her protectively. Sora felt suffocated, terrified almost to the point of fainting.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of rolling, they came to a sprawled stop. The beast's heavy body was on top of her. It pressed her into the sandy ground, heat rolling off it in waves.
Sora lay with her eyes tightly shut, not daring to breathe. She didn't want to face the monster above her—didn't want to open her eyes to the reality.
Then its heavy weight seemed to lessen, to shift and grow smaller. Her chest eased, less constricted. Slowly the panic receded too, leaving her breathless and shaky.
"Sora?" a voice murmured from above her. She flinched in surprise. Hesitantly, she opened an eye.
No, it can't possibly be...."Crash?"
His shoulder was before her, crushing her into the ground. Then he shifted, moving so his voice was right in her ear. "Caught you."
She shoved him back, staring up at his face, the familiar green eyes and dark hair pressed to his forehead, soaked with sweat. He looked pale and wan, as though he had just run ten miles straight.
“No,” she murmured. Had she gone mad? It was too much. She tried to shove him away, to scream, but he wouldn't budge.
“Get off of me!” she finally yelled. She struggled harder, pushing him with all her strength, trying to slip from his grasp. “You're not Crash! Who are you?” Terror struck again. The monster had to be using an illusion, trying to break down her guard. But she wouldn't be tricked.
“Sora,” Crash repeated, grabbing her wrists, trapping her with his legs. “Sora, calm down.”
“Calm down?” she shrieked, half-hysterical. A strange sound ripped from her mouth, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Don't tell me to calm down!”
“Sora, it's me,” he said, looking into her eyes. Suddenly he released her wrist and cupped her face with one hand. He shook her slightly by the jaw. “Look. See? It's me. I caught you.”
Sora tried to punch him with her free hand but was blocked by his shoulder. He maneuvered deftly and caught both of her hands in his, pulling them above her head. “Sora,” he said. “Look at me. I'm right in front of you.”
“No,” she struggled, still trying to break his hold. “No!”
“Ask me anything,” he said. “I'll prove it.”
She trembled in his grasp, overcome by fighting instincts. She tried to shake her head, dislodge his hand, but he held her firmly, not allowing her to pull away. “Where did we meet?” she finally asked, certain that he wouldn't know the answer. She was waiting for the demon to resurface, to show some sign of itself.
“At your father's manor. You were running away.”
She glared at him. “How long ago?”
He hesitated. “Two years?”
She paused. His response seemed genuine, his voice soft and unexpectedly patient. She watched him warily. Then she reached into her mind, beckoning the Cat's Eye. Magic? she asked silently. Anything?
But the Cat's Eye remained disturbingly dormant. She sucked in a slow, hollow breath. No, no magic. She looked at Crash again, finding the scar on the side of his jaw, the familiar angles of his face, sharp and masculine. His smooth forehead, the black bangs that swept a
cross it so naturally, the sloped brows and straight nose. Hard, unforgiving lips. They had never been this close before; his nose was inches above her, his eyes focused, intense. She could read his expression. He was imploring her to believe him.
After a long moment, her chattering, panicked mind stilled. A small tremor ran through her body. She could feel every inch of him, every ridge of muscle imprinted on her flesh.
He didn't move. Didn't even twitch.
Sora frowned. "Crash?" she whispered uncertainly.
A sigh escaped his lips, a long breath that spoke more than words. "I believe..." he said slowly, his voice deep and hoarse. "I believe I should explain."
Sora nodded, unsure of what to expect. Something had just happened—something that defied the very laws of nature. She still wasn't sure if she was in danger, if she should be panicking, fighting away from him. She was owed an explanation.
She tried to turn, to roll away, but he surprisingly kept his hold. She paused, her breath quickening. He stretched her hands farther above her head so she was completely defenseless, exposed beneath his expressionless face. His eyes flickered over her, observing her prone position, and she felt the urge to squirm, to struggle. But she couldn't. No, his lower body held her down. She had the intense feeling that he didn't want to let her go—he didn't want her to run.
Somehow she managed to whisper, "What are you doing, Crash?"
Silence. It was so quiet that she thought she could feel the walls breathe. Then the assassin slowly released her. She noted that he was sweating.
"Nothing," he said.
"Right," she whispered in response. Then she slipped out from beneath him, scooting a short distance away. She needed space, distance, a chance to recover her thoughts. She glanced over him suspiciously, remembering the great beast, the bladed arms, the giant wings and midnight eyes. How was it possible?