Sora's Quest (14 page)

She stared after him, surprised. He kept walking. She waited, wondering if he would disappear into the crowd again, but he stopped above the pile of their bags. She had only traveled about thirty feet; it had seemed much more with all of the people in the way.

He turned to look at her. The expression on his face was not encouraging.

She slung the rope over her shoulder and scurried to pick up their bags and packages, his gaze a whip at her heels. He started walking again as soon as she had picked up the last package. She wasn't used to carrying such a heavy load and, to be honest, felt absolutely humiliated. Not only was she being treated as his servant, but he had just bailed her out of a very awkward, potentially dangerous situation. What if he hadn't arrived? She hated to think that he had actually
helped
her.

They walked for a few minutes and suddenly the crowds parted before them, leaving them in front of a small shop. It was low to the sidewalk, with smudged windows and chipped paint. A sign with a sword on it hung above the faded green door. Sora figured this was some sort of weapons dealer.

Crash swept her into the shop before she could say anything. The door closed behind them with the small ring of a bell.
Ding-ding.

She paused and looked around, hesitant to set foot in the gloomy darkness; the shop was not very big, from what she could tell; most of it was shrouded in shadows and dust. The air was musty, like a bedroom that hadn't been used for a long time. A row of old candles spewed thick smoke but hardly shed any light.

She glanced uneasily at Crash. At first, her eyes passed right over him; he was barely visible in his black clothes. He seemed to belong in the musty store, snug on a shelf somewhere, with all of his daggers and swords and road dust.

Suddenly, from her left, a voice drifted through the gloom—"May I help you?"

Startled, Sora pivoted sideways and landed on Crash's foot. He grunted and caught her shoulders, steadying her for the hundredth time that day.
All of those nights spent sleeping in the woods must be getting to me,
she thought, brushing herself off, trying to regain her dignity. Then she peered into the shadows, her eyes narrowed, trying to determine where the voice had come from.

After a few moments, the darkness seemed to form into a man. He was tall, thinly built, with very pale skin like alabaster—the last kind of person she would expect to see in a weapons shop. As he stepped toward them, she could see that he had soft, delicate features, pale hair that wafted across his forehead and wide, sensitive eyes of a peculiarly glassy color.

He paused a few feet away and clasped his long, bony hands in front of him. He coughed lightly into them as if hiding a smile, and Sora felt a sense of disbelief, as though she were talking to a ghost.

"So sorry," came his sweet voice again; his words were gentle and airy, pleasing to the ear. "I didn't mean to startle you.  Are you looking for anything specific?"

"A good blade—if you carry any,” Crash sneered.

Sora glanced at the assassin and raised an eyebrow. She wasn't truly surprised; as far as she knew, he was always rude. Turning back to the store clerk, she witnessed the man's expression change from warm to cold; his face hardened and he glared straight back at Crash. The dislike between them was so intense, Sora wondered if they knew each other. But how could they?

Then the clerk pointed a pale, elegant hand past her into the shadows. "Our blades are toward the back of the store,” he drawled. “I hope you find what you're looking for. If you are in need of assistance, don't hesitate to ask." He smiled tightly at her. Then he turned away, as though carried by a slight wind, and disappeared into the gloomy shadows.

With an impatient tug on the back of her cloak, Crash led her toward the rear of the store, his pace swift. Soon Sora found herself at the opening of a narrow aisle. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the lack of sunlight, and revealed a sight she had never expected to see.

Both sides of the aisle were lined with blades: swords, sabers, cutlasses, and other weapons that she had never before imagined. Sora doubted that she would be able to lift even the smallest one. She kept to the center of the aisle, holding her arms to her sides, hugging the meat packages close.

To her relief, Crash didn't stop at the sword section, but continued to walk until they were looking at a row of daggers, each laid with explicit delicacy upon the shelf. They didn't look particularly sharp. In fact, they looked downright
old
, as if they had been rummaged from attics and basements, abandoned houses, or—perhaps—crypts.

She decided to mention that.

“What are these—butter knives? You couldn't slice cheese with them,” she said loudly.

“A whetstone should do the trick,” Crash murmured, and plucked two long, curved knives from the shelf. “And we don't want you cutting off a finger.”

Sora opened her mouth to respond, but was distracted by the flick of his wrists. The blades spun in his hands, smooth as windmills. He flipped one dagger and caught it deftly, spinning it again between his fingers.

After a moment, he set the pair back on the shelf. Then he moved to the next.

He repeated this process several times with many other knives. They all looked the same to Sora, who stood a safe distance away, but she didn't ask what he was looking for. After a while, she stopped watching. Every flip of the knife reminded her of his deadly hands.

Finally he turned to her and offered two docile-looking daggers, almost twice as long as her hand. They looked blunt and bulky, but when she picked them up, she was surprised to find them almost weightless. She had never held anything bigger than a steak knife before, but somehow the grip felt natural; she could feel the dagger's balance and shifted her hands easily. She saw, or rather thought she saw, a hint of a smile pass over Crash's face. Then he asked, "Have you ever handled a knife before?"

"No,” was her only answer.

“You’ll work with them well,” he murmured. “Though you'll need a larger weapon.”

“Larger...?” Sora echoed in surprise. Weren’t these wicked blades enough?

He nodded, then turned, striding into the darkness. Sora half-jogged to catch up to him. He made his way down the center aisle, checking the shelves on either side. They passed spears, ropes, archery, hooks, maces, and other rows of weapons that Sora couldn't identify. Still he didn't stop. She was now striding just behind him, thoroughly puzzled about what he was looking for.

Finally, he stopped at the very back of the store, where the shadows were the murkiest. Sora hesitated to follow him into the gloom; she could hardly see. She stepped up to the nearest shelf and timidly ran her hands over it, then blinked in surprise. Both sides of the aisle were lined with wooden staffs in different shapes and sizes.

"Pick one," came Crash's voice from in front of her.

"What?"

"You need a larger weapon. I doubt you can lift a sword, and it takes too long to learn archery.”

“Why not a spear?” she asked.

“You need to learn the staff first. Trust me.”

Sora glared at him; he raised a dark eyebrow. She stiffened indignantly—then looked back at the shelves, rows upon rows of silent wood. There were no hints, no signs indicating what she should do. Finally, she shrugged. “I don’t know anything about weapons. How am I supposed to pick one?”

“Well, I can’t help you,” Crash’s tone was scornful. “I don’t know what will balance for you. You’re quite...short.”

“Petite,” she corrected him in annoyance.

He just stared at her. With another sigh, Sora gave up and turned back to the shelves, a peculiar sinking sensation in her stomach. "How will I know if it balances for me or not? I know nothing of testing for balance." It made her anxious.
What if I pick the wrong one?
And what good would a large stick do in defending herself?

"You'll know,” was his only response. “It will feel natural.”

Sora nodded in defeat. Well, there was a first time for everything...but she was pretty sure this would be hard, and she would probably pick the wrong one. Tentatively, she reached for the first to her left, a stout oak staff. Sora gripped it and turned to look at Crash to see if she was doing the right thing.

He nodded. "Hurry up."

Sora turned away from his scrutinizing gaze and lifted the staff off the shelf. It was so heavy, she almost dropped it. After fumbling for a moment, she placed it back on its perch. That definitely wasn't it. The next one was made out of willow, and she was attracted to its classy sheen, but it proved too tall for her to wield easily. She tried one made of pine that turned out to be slightly heavier on one end. With a small smile, she felt her confidence grow. Maybe this would be easier than she had originally thought.

She repeated this process several more times, trying woods that she was familiar with and a few she had never heard of before. Most were either too heavy or too tall. Finally, when she was just about to give up, her hand bumped into a staff that was placed far back on the shelf, barely noticeable. Its wood was a dark, dusty gray, almost blue. Lifting the staff from the shelf, she found it had a sturdy weight to it, though not too much to tire her hand. It reached eye level, and the letters KW were carved into the top, most likely the initials of some loving past owner. She gripped it in the middle and laid it crosswise. It felt comfortable. Familiar.

Turning to Crash, she said, "This is it; I found one.” She did her best to give him a smile, though smiling at the assassin seemed odd. “We can go now."

He nodded and took the staff from her, feeling it in his own grasp. He seemed satisfied, and without a word, turned back down the aisle. Sora had to rush again to match his strides. Sometimes she hated being so petite.

When she caught up to him, he was standing at a front counter that she hadn't noticed before. As soon as Crash reached for the service bell, the strange man appeared again.

"I hope you found everything you needed," he said in his musical voice. Sora wanted to lean in closer.  Though she couldn't explain why, she could listen to that voice for days. His voice was truly like honey to the ears. She almost asked him to sing.

"Yes, fine," Crash said, his own voice like brass.

The man nodded and then smiled charmingly at her. He took their items and checked them over, assessing the price. He stopped when he saw the initials on the staff and glanced up at her, his eyes searching. "Are you sure you want this one? There are several other good staffs back there," he said.

Crash snorted his opinion, but Sora ignored him. She was intrigued by the question. "Of course I want that one," she said. “Why?”

"I'm not one to argue with a customer, but this is witch wood,” he said, as though expecting her to know what that meant. She waited for him to explain. “It's...for professionals. You know, trained soldiers or the King's Wanderers....” He paused, looking back and forth between them. Neither spoke. Finally, the man sighed. “I was holding it for another customer, but he is long overdue and I fear he won't come for it. So I'll sell it to you...for a bit more. The wood has special properties. It's excellent as a weapon, harder than normal wood, and can’t be broken by a sword."

"How much does it cost?" came Crash's annoyed voice. He dropped Sora's coin purse onto the table.

Sora held up her hand to stop him, engrossed in the man's story. “Wait. What do you mean, witch wood? You say it's unbreakable?”

The clerk frowned, pursing his lips. “Well, it’s all but extinct. It comes from The Bracken, a land far to the east of here. Very rare. The wood is unbreakable, and some say it has magical properties, but I can't vouch for that. This one was found floating off the coast.”

“Enough with the lesson,” Crash cut in. He shot Sora a glare when she tried to interject again. “What's the price?”

Sora wanted to scream in frustration. Here was another man who acted as though magic was more than just a myth, who might even know something about her Cat's-Eye necklace, and now she couldn't even speak! She opened and then shut her mouth, wondering if it was worth fighting with the assassin; she didn't doubt that he would lift her up and carry her from the store if she provoked him. And she had already tested his anger once today. It felt like he was growing more and more annoyed with her by the minute—and that wasn't good for her health.

With an angry sigh, she turned away from the store clerk and stormed toward the door, eager to leave the assassin's company and run back out into the daylight.

Crash bought the weapons and followed her swiftly. He overtook her at the doorway and grabbed her wrist with enough force to hurt her, dragging her from the store. The clerk’s eyes followed them.

Outside, Crash shoved her into the alley next to the building that was shielded by a small sapling tree. Then he stood in front of her, eyes narrowed, lips curled.

“Dorian might find your ignorance charming, but I don't,” he hissed. “I am not your friend, nor your footman. Silence yourself, or I will.
Don't test me
.” Flashes of heat swept through her; she felt fiery and cold all at once. Furious that he had threatened her. Powerless to defend herself. It overtook her suddenly, a strange need to cower, to hide her face.
I'm a coward,
she thought, realizing it for the first time.
Without my father's name, I'm nothing.