Viper's Creed (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) (3 page)

Crowds, bartering, the dull impression of voices....

A young man with aqua-colored eyes and red hair stepped off the plank of a giant merchant ship. A crow perched on his shoulder ruffled its feathers and squawked, perhaps annoyed by her presence. She didn't recognize the traveler's face, but he looked vaguely familiar.

Then she was whisked away again, this time over the ocean, across waves and waves, endless waves. In seconds she had covered countless miles, heading swiftly toward a series of green islands.

She moved in closer to the main island. A circle of gigantic stones rested amidst a field of green grass overlooking the ocean. Sora dove down to its center, then was pulled up a rock path to a strange marble pedestal atop a hill, mere yards away from a steep drop, straight into the crashing surf. The pedestal was shaped like a claw, as though meant to hold something small and round, like a rock or a small pebble, a marble, or maybe even... a Cat’s Eye.

The vision changed, sending her into a whirl of chaos, the scenery spinning around her, flashes of woodland and ocean and rock. The Wolfy mage stood close by, staring at her, grinning. As she watched, he slowly raised his fingers to his mouth; they were covered in blood, and he licked each one clean, as though devouring a great delicacy. A dense, impenetrable darkness seemed to be spreading from him, oozing out of his pores, dampening his clothes and overshadowing his face, until all she could see were his eyes....

There was an abrupt shout; she tore her gaze from the evil face. Next to her stood another figure, someone living and breathing whom she knew very well.

“Trapped again?” the assassin whispered. He reached out to touch her hand. Her heart twisted at the sight of his dark hair, his green eyes.... For a moment, she felt relief.

“
You came back for me,” she murmured.

“
No,” he said. But it wasn’t his voice. No, someone else, a darker voice, impossibly deep and crusted, like rusted metal....It sent needles of fear through her heart.

“
You’re not Crash,” she whispered, stepping back, her pulse thudding in her ears.“Get away from me! Who are you?”

“
You mean... what am I?” the voice taunted.

Abruptly her vision narrowed. She felt as though she were looking through a tunnel, the world focused solely on his face; then Crash’s face smeared, and in its place was a pair of glowing red eyes. Fire leapt in their depths—fire and darkness. The creature smiled.

She screamed.

She turned and ran, wind whipping around her, completely blind. A dull murmur reached the edges of her hearing, nagging, but she continued to run through the black space, glints of light all around her, stars or fireflies or something similar. A shushing sound grew in her ears... voices... rushes and whispers: “Who hast the nerve to light thy fire, to steal thy blade and risk thine ire....”

The chanting continued, and Sora covered her ears, wondering how to escape from this nightmare. Somehow the voices beat through her defenses, speaking as one, constant and insistent. “Emotions powered in the fight—around thy neck, burning bright—when thou dost run, do not fall— hence the destruction of us all.”

And finally—finally—the voices stopped, only to be replaced by a much more familiar sound, like the brush of wind chimes, but louder, ever more urgent. The clink of bells made her think of a galloping horseman, faster and faster, thundering in her direction. It could only be one thing....

* * *

"Sora! Sora! Wake up!"

Sora sat up with a start, bursting from the dream like a wild horse, grabbing her mother with hands of steel. Her body was shaking, trembling, and she clung to the woman like a rope in a dark ocean. She still felt trapped by the intense dream, as though it would rise up at any second and consume her again.

They stayed like that for a long moment, both women breathing, holding each other, until peace seeped back into the room. Sora finally let herself sag backwards onto the sweat-soaked chair. Her lungs shuddered in her chest.

The two looked at each other. Sora realized her headache had gone; tears were streaming down her cheeks. Tears? Numbly, she wiped at them. She couldn't get the image of Dorian's dead body out of her mind, or Crash's evil, maniacal eyes. She could remember the dream clearly, vividly, like a poem or a song. It took her mother’s voice to bring her back to her surroundings.

“And so it begins,” the woman whispered.

“W-what?” Sora replied.

“Dane had these symptoms. Nightmares. Visions from the necklace.”

Sora nodded, still shaken. Her true father, Dane, had worn the necklace before her; in fact, he had died wearing it, which meant that his spirit could be trapped inside, still bonded to the Cat's Eye. But nightmares? No, this had been real, tangible; she had tasted the air and had heard Crash's voice as though spoken into her ear. It was a vision. She had never had one before, but she knew what it was instinctively. Something had transferred from that farmer; some residue of the curse. Her Cat's Eye had awakened—and was trying to tell her something.

“I saw sick people,” Sora murmured. “The earth was barren. Dead crops. Disease. It spread over the land like a dark shadow....” She looked at her mother warily, waiting for an explanation.

Lorianne sighed. “The Cat’s Eye isn't a dead rock. It's part of you now, just like your pulse or your breath. It knows your heart and mind,” she said slowly. “I think it's trying to warn us. The farmer's curse... is part of something much larger. Something that has to do with this....”

Sora hadn't realized until now that her mother was holding a package. She watched as Lorianne unwrapped it. Her skin prickled.

She already knew what was inside.

A thick, dark sword hilt, wrapped in leather, no blade.

Sora recognized what had been a true sword not so long ago—a rapier, to be exact—wielded by one of Volcrian's minions, a wraith made of powerful blood magic. The specter burst upon them shortly after they escaped from the swamp, catching them all by surprise. The sword had killed Dorian, and then the wraith had plunged it straight through her ribs.

She almost died in the fields next to him. Sometimes she wished she had. It was strange, the guilt of a survivor. She spent more time than she wanted to admit visiting his grave, thinking about his death, wondering if she could have prevented it—and knowing she could have.

Crash and Burn had left her the sword hilt as a strange memento. Neither had explained why.

“So?” Sora asked. “What about it?”

Lorianne held the hilt tightly, as though it could still hurt her daughter. She spoke quietly. “A bit strange, don't you think, that a creature made of blood and magic would wield such a weapon...?”

Sora shrugged. In all honesty, she hadn't thought much of it.

“Do you know much about Wolfy magic?”

Sora shrugged again. “Only that they use blood to work their spells. They're supposedly the strongest of the races, though I don't know if that's true....”

“It is,” her mother said shortly. “Blood magic is a tricky thing. It's not like elemental magic or nature magic. It crosses boundaries. The wraith that Volcrian summoned was powerful. It was a human spirit tied to a magical form, turned into something evil and soulless. The wraiths are not part of this world. They come from another place, the underworld, far beneath the earth. Where the Dark God sleeps.”

Sora nodded. She had heard the lore of the races before. There was a god for each of the elements: Wind, Water, Earth, Fire, Light and Dark. But only the Wind Goddess was worshipped now. The races were all but extinct; some humans believed that they had never existed in the first place. They were slowly being forgotten, and their gods with them.

“Each of the gods and goddesses has a sacred weapon,” her mother explained. “In this case, the Dark God has three: a rapier, a spear and a crossbow. I was reading this,” she said, placing a book in Sora's lap. It was a sizable tome, difficult to lift, the pages worn and dusty. “The spell that Volcrian used to summon his wraiths is forbidden. If the Wolfy race were still powerful, he would be imprisoned by now. It is strictly forbidden by the Wolfies, and all of the races, to raise the dead, because when things return from the underworld, sometimes they bring stuff back with them... like these weapons. The sacred weapons of the Dark God, released once again into the world of Wind and Light.”

“All right,” Sora said, nodding slowly. She didn't know much about the old ways, the laws of the Wolfies or other races, but she could remember most of the lore of the Elements. “So the Dark God had sacred weapons. Why does that matter?”

“If these weapons fell into the wrong hands, well....”

“What?”

“They have the potential to awaken the Dark God fully. To cause pain and suffering unlike any seen in thousands of years. This sickness that is spreading, it is not just a disease. It is a curse. Residue from the Dark God that is now seeping into the land. We need to destroy these weapons—and Volcrian—before it is too late.”

Sora sat back, her mouth hanging open. She looked down at the rapier hilt, then back at her mother. She didn't know what to say. Finally, she cracked a smile. “Really, Mum?” she said cheekily. “Are you sure your eyes aren't tired? Maybe you need a nap, too.”

“Don't laugh!” her mother replied, but she was grinning. “Sounds dire, doesn't it? These things were common once, back in the time of the races, when magic was an everyday occurrence. People knew these things and they respected the old laws. But with the races gone and magic all but a myth, it's a very dangerous time for Volcrian to invoke this spell. There are few who know how to stop him.”

Sora nodded. She could see that. Most people either scoffed at magic or whispered about it worriedly, as though it were bad luck. Her eyes fell to the rapier hilt again and she studied the old leather wrappings. She had often wondered about the rapier in the last year. The handle looked ancient, worn, like a relic from a forgotten time.

But a sacred weapon? Something of legend? Truly?

“The Cat's Eye,” she said, putting a hand to the necklace again. “The vision. That's what it was telling me.”

“What did you see?” her mother asked.

At first, Sora didn’t want to relate what she had seen—in truth, she couldn’t make her voice work—but she knew she had to confess, especially if the curse was real.

But when she thought back to the dream, all she could focus on was the sight of Dorian's body.
Dear gods, Dorian....
The loss of her friend was still a fresh wound. It had been a shattering experience, seeing him fall in battle, his blood spraying the fields. The sight of his body occasionally rose up in dreams, usually in the background, in a closet or a corner, or behind some cracked door.... She would catch his shadow under a tree, his voice from beyond a river. But never had she been this close, standing right next to him, as though he had just fallen at her feet. Never had it felt so...
personal.

Suddenly, she found it impossible to keep the words inside. Half-choked, she began her narration, describing Dorian's dead body in the fields, the stranger near the woods, the acres upon acres of rotted farmland, the diseased city, the distant islands and Crash's terrifying transformation. And the words, over and over, circling in her head.
“Who hast the nerve....”

Lorianne bowed her head in thought. Sora finished, describing the sound of the Cat's Eye, its thundering, urgent presence in her head, like the clambering of horses' hooves. She waited for a response, thinking back on the dream. Part of her was hopeful—maybe it meant nothing—maybe her mother had read too many horror books. But Lori's silence stretched on, and Sora's hands became clammy.

A minute more passed; finally her mother spoke. “This is very serious.”

Sora swallowed hard. “Do you think the Cat's Eye is warning me about Volcrian?”

“More than that,” Lorianne said. “I think the Cat's Eye was trying to tell you how to stop him.”

Her mother opened the book and began flipping through pages of text. Sora hadn't read this specific volume before, though she recognized it from one of the shelves about magic. “The Cat's Eye hasn't had magic in some time,” her mother said thoughtfully. “It must have come into contact with Volcrian's residue when it absorbed the curse. It knows him, certainly... and knows that he follows you.”

“That's all just in theory,” Sora said.

“Well, your vision was certainly specific. This isn't the first time the necklace has tasted his magic.” Lorianne paused, her finger landing at the top of a column of text. “Here it is,” she continued. “There are only certain places that the weapons can be destroyed and returned to the underworld. This might be one of them. The Lost Isles.”

“The Lost Isles?” Sora asked, with an arch of her eyebrow.

“Yes, the island you described in your dream. The Harpies still live there, I believe, and they are the race of Light, natural guardians against the Dark God. They have a sacred stone structure there that could be useful.”

Sora turned to look out the window, taking in a slow breath of air. “I don't understand. What about the rest of it? Why Dorian? Why dream about his body?”

“Because your friends are in danger,” her mother replied. “Isn't it obvious? Volcrian is on the hunt to kill them, and his hatred is bringing something terrible into the world. The Cat’s Eye is trying to warn you. You said you lost him, right? That he couldn't follow you through the swamp?” Her mother bit her lip.