Viper's Creed (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) (10 page)

Then the assassin strode past her to pick up one of the knives he had dropped. She picked up her own knife and sheathed it smoothly, suddenly awkward. She had been so set on finding him for such a long time.... Now that he was here, she wasn’t sure what to say.

“So why are you here?” Crash finally asked, wiping off his blade and tucking it under his cloak. “I thought I told you to stay put. You were supposed to forget about us.”

A lot easier said than done.
Sora realized that the man she had glimpsed on their last day together was not about to resurrect himself. No more mud fights or tickle wars. She prepared herself to deal with the cold, familiar Crash. Business first.

“I had a vision,” she said. He looked at her steadily, making her flush in embarrassment. Somehow, she thought that would mean something. “Well, a dream, maybe, but it was from the Cat’s Eye. It meant something, Crash. I've been learning about these things. I....” She wondered how she was supposed to communicate with him, explain the sickness that was spreading across the land, the sight of Volcrian, of Dorian's body in the grass, of the islands and his own terrible transformation....

He continued to stare at her, then said tonelessly, “Sit down.”

“What?”

“Sit down. Your foot is wounded. Then tell me about this dream.”

She frowned and moved to one of the trees. She sat down at its base, purposefully selecting a beam of moonlight so they could see each other. Much to her surprise, Crash knelt down before her and gently tugged off her boot. Then he pulled off his gloves, inspecting the cut foot, his fingers deft and hard with callouses. She tried to ignore his firm, warm hands, the touch of skin against skin. It was surprisingly difficult and distracting.

With a deep breath, she started her narrative.

She did her best to describe the illness that she and her mother had discovered; how it had infected the livestock, then the farmers, and had only been cured by the Cat's Eye. Then she began to describe the dream. It was still branded in her memory, as though it had happened just a few minutes ago, so intense that she could still smell the ocean air, hear the call of seagulls and the rush of waves. Strange, because she had never seen the ocean before.

As she talked, he wiped off the wound and bandaged it with strips of cloth. The only sign that he was listening were the glances he gave her whenever she paused. Once finished, he sat back and gazed at her intently. His full attention was unnerving, but she continued, once again horribly self-conscious. She couldn't tell what he was thinking; couldn't read his face. She went on to describe the book her mother had found, the forbidden Wolfy magic, and finally, the discovery of the Dark God's weapons. Crash lowered his eyes then, staring intently at the ground.

Finally, she ended her story with how she had met Laina. His eyes avoided hers, his face drawn. He looked down at the crushed leaves beneath their feet.

“Do you have the rapier hilt?” he asked slowly.

She nodded. “Do you want to see it?”

“No, it's fine,” he murmured. Another pause. “And the other weapons... they have manifested as well?”

He spoke about them as though he knew about the Dark God and the curse. As though he had known about it for a long time. She frowned—but how could he know?

“My mother seems to think so,” Sora replied. “Though honestly, I haven't seen them.... I'm assuming that Volcrian summoned more than one wraith.”

Crash nodded. “Well, if the sickness is any indication, then she's probably right. Your mother is a wise woman.”

More silence.

Sora cleared her throat. “She... she said that we need to travel to Barcella, to speak to the High Priestess of the Goddess. She'll be able to interpret my vision.”

Crash nodded again.

It wasn't the reaction she had been expecting. She hesitated. Then, “I wish I could say that it was just a dream...but I remember it perfectly, Crash. It still wakes me up at night. The Cat's Eye....”

He looked at her sharply. “I'm not questioning you,” he said. “I don't know a lot about the artifact, but I trust you wouldn't run out here on a whim. You realize that destroying the weapons might require you to release the necklace?” His gaze settled on her throat, where the stone lay hidden under her shirt.

No, she hadn't. And to be honest, Sora had avoided thinking about that for a long time. When she first put on the Cat's-Eye necklace, it made a psychic bond with her mind... if she removed it, the bond would break, her
mind
would break... and she would die. The backlash of a broken bond would destroy her from the inside out.

She nodded, unable to speak.

“And you're willing to do this?” he asked softly.

She didn't know what to say.

His words sat heavily between them. She wondered, briefly, if he would stop her. If he would refuse her help, force her to turn around and go back to her mother. She could suddenly, easily imagine it. Part of her was relieved by the idea. It would be better than breaking contact with the necklace, slipping into a coma and slowly dying. But so far, that wasn't part of the plan. It would also mean standing by while a plague overtook the world. She couldn't imagine doing that, either.

And she would never see her companions again. They would have to run from Volcrian indefinitely, leave the continent, head to some other faraway land, some place with different languages, customs and clothing. Perhaps far to the west, where there was nothing but rocks and sand.

She breathed deeply, but it was Crash who spoke.

“If your mother said there is a plague, then I believe it,” he said quietly. “Did you think I wouldn't?”

Sora felt a knot forming in her throat. Why was she suddenly so emotional? “The thought had crossed my mind,” she said.

Crash let out a long, slow breath. Then he nodded. “I wasn't sure what the rapier hilt was when I first saw it, but I had my suspicions. And I've seen this sickness that your mother talks about. Burn and I just passed an entire field of cattle, all dead. If you're willing to do this, then so be it. We will travel to Barcella....” His face grew hard. “But we must hurry. I am certain that Volcrian is on his way.”

Sora swallowed. Really? He would travel with her? She hadn't realized she had been holding her breath, waiting for his rejection....

Crash released her foot. “Barcella is about two days' travel to the south,” he said. Then suddenly he was standing, pulling away from her, turning back to the trees where Burn and Laina had disappeared.

Sora looked after him, studying his tall, dark frame as he walked away. Then Laina’s laughter drifted through the woods, shaking her from her thoughts. She rose to her feet, brushing herself off. “Do you have anything to eat?” she asked, following the assassin into the trees.

"Squirrels and berries," he said, and she caught a hint of humor in his voice. "Just like old times.”

Chapter 5

Volcrian knocked on the door and waited impatiently.

He had tied his horse to a tree at the edge of the property. It was a good animal, obedient and docile, no hidden agenda. So far, it had lasted the entire trip around the swamp, crossing treacherous mountain slopes and broad valleys, and still it showed no sign of tiring. Quite a fine beast, worthy of its previous owner, the late Lord Garret.

Volcrian had killed the man, drained him of blood, and taken his steed. He was sure the act was justified, though he couldn't waste time trying to remember why.

The town he had come across was small and isolated. Its east side fringed the Catlin swamp, its northern end cut by a long, rocky trail—which, if one followed far enough, would lead straight to the mouth of a mountain pass. It was the direction Volcrian had traveled from. For a year now, he had ridden through the highlands, spending nights in river basins or on dry, flat, deserted hills.

They weren't proper mountains like the ones he had seen in the far, far north, thousands of miles away, above the City of Crowns. There, the great peaks and slopes of The Scepter climbed over twenty thousand feet into the sky. No, these were highland mountains, made of rocky gray stone, windswept and rolling. But still, it had been an impossibly frustrating detour. The swamp was vast. Traveling around it had taken more than twice as long as cutting straight through.

A frown touched Volcrian's lips. The swamp's curse was ancient and powerful, as old as the Catlin colony that lay hidden within it. Compasses failed. The sun disappeared for months at a time. Travelers became disoriented and lost.

His prey had used the Cat's-Eye necklace to travel through Fennbog swamp, which was otherwise impassible to humans and Wolfies alike. All because of that stupid girl. She was an inconvenience... but easy enough to track, if one asked the right questions.

The town had been full of chatty farmers and midwives. He had been surprised by just how easy it was to find the girl's trail. No one remembered the Viper or his Wolfy companion, which was not unusual, since the assassin avoided being seen. But the blond girl with the pretty stone necklace, oh yes, that sounded just like the Healer's daughter...
awkward little thing, arrived about a year ago, none of us even knew the Healer had a child. Nice enough, though!

Yes, nice enough to leave a clear, blazing path, straight to the Healer's house.

Volcrian shifted impatiently and knocked again, slightly irritated that the woman would take so long to answer her door. Didn’t she know it was urgent? Finally, his long ears picked up movement from inside the house. A small smile settled over his lips.
At last.

A chill wind blew, unlikely for this time of year. The last rays of the setting sun illuminated the doorway as it opened. His cloak drifted around him gently in the breeze. Surprised, Volcrian looked down at the figure who stood there.

“May I help you?” the woman asked, with a slightly puzzled smile.

He was stunned, to say the least; that was an emotion Volcrian did not enjoy. At first he had thought it was the girl herself, but no, this woman was far older. An easy mistake to make, perhaps. He had only ever seen the girl in glimpses, fragments of vision perceived through his monsters and wraiths. This woman was mature and wore a low scoop-neck shirt, with no necklace in sight.

His eyes narrowed momentarily, taking in her classically beautiful features and short stature. She had the toughened appearance of having lived a well-traveled life. His keen nose picked up the scent of herbs from inside the house: salves, potions and powders. He could even see a stain on the floor, sunken into the wood, a remnant of blood from years past. The aura of a Healer was unmistakable.

“Ah, Ma'am, I was wondering if you might assist me. I am searching for a lost companion,” Volcrian murmured politely, with a thin smile. He waited for an invitation to enter the house, but the woman didn’t move. Instead, a bright smile fixed itself on her face.

Why is she looking at me like that?
Volcrian shifted slightly, uncomfortable under that gaze.

“And just who are you looking for?” she asked warmly.

Volcrian hadn't been expecting this open, disarming smile. Most people were suspicious of him based on his appearance alone. His silver hair and long, pointed ears were a sure indication of his race; he was far from human. He listened now, using his heightened senses. His ears picked up the steady beat of her heart, the calm cadence of her breathing. She was perfectly at ease.

“An old friend, actually,” he said. “A girl who wears a Cat’s Eye. Word has it that your daughter meets that description.”

The smile stayed in place, the telltale heartbeat didn’t flutter, there were no signs that his words meant anything. “My daughter left here quite some time ago; I don't know where she is.” Honesty. Truth. He could smell it.

Volcrian nodded slowly. “Then perhaps you have seen a man with dark hair and green eyes, and a Wolfy mercenary, nigh unmistakable.”

The woman continued to stare at him steadily. “I have many patients,” she finally said. “They come from all over the lowlands, even the coast. Do you know the vow that a Healer takes?”

Volcrian shook his head slowly. Healing was an art that he had never bothered to study. It wasn't magic, though strange energies were known to manifest in healing at times. Humans were incapable of
true
magic.
Like rats or pigs.

“We take a vow at the beginning of our apprenticeship to help all people, all creeds,
all races
,” the woman said. “It is the backbone of our order. Can you fault us for that? A true Healer cannot choose sides, nor can she choose her patients. I do not remember the people you speak of. But they might have passed through.”

Volcrian was troubled by this. She was hiding something, she had to be—but she was cleverly avoiding lies. She must know about his race, his heightened hearing and impeccable nose. It had once been said that a Wolfy could detect a lie a hundred yards away.

But that didn't make his task any easier. For the past several years, he had hunted the assassin, killing all who helped him even in the slightest way. He had planned to do the same to her, if she admitted her guilt. Such was his duty to his dead brother.