Volcrian's Hunt (The Cat's Eye Chronicles)

by T. L. Shreffler

  She glanced at him. The assassin stared at the letters that Burn had read, a frown on his face. “After the War was won, the stones were too dangerous to keep using, so the humans threw them back into the ocean and sealed off this cave.”

  “And only a bearer can open the door,” Sora murmured. A thought crept through her mind, and the inscription started to make sense. “The ward is magic,” she said. “Only a Cat's Eye can dispel it.”

  The three turned to look at her. Burn stepped away from the door and Laina moved too, staying close to his side. “It could work,” the Wolfy said. He nodded to her. “Try it.”

  Sora grimaced. Anxiety twisted in her stomach, a strange foreboding. She wondered what they would meet on the other side—if the caves had been sealed off for more reasons than just the War. What is a garrolithe? She couldn't answer that question. It didn't stop her imagination, though. Was it a spell, a land formation, or a creature...? When she looked at the doors, she suddenly felt as though something stared right back, waiting for her on the other side.

  She put her hand against the stone, this time full of purpose. The rock was cool to the touch, grainy, strong. She closed her eyes, reaching inward, summoning her Cat's Eye with her thoughts.

  She wasn't sure what to expect, but the reaction happened immediately.

  There was a flash.

  For a moment her body tensed, her head tilted back—then she was gone, flying through the veins of the earth, seeping into the rock as though part of it. Her senses reached out, probing, hunting, searching for something. Her Cat's Eye seemed to know immediately where they were, what they were doing. It spread outward like a net, feverishly moving through the stone.

  Then, suddenly, they made contact. Sora couldn't explain it in any other way. There was the sense of running up against something. She felt jolted, shocked by energy. It moved over her skin, cool and powerful.

  Welcome. The voice was not her Cat's Eye, though it spoke in the same way. She felt as though it came from the earth, from something far deeper and older than she could fathom. Her body vibrated with it.

  Her hands flew from the doors as though they'd been burned. She felt herself slam back into her body, ripped away from the earth. Sora stumbled backward, shaking, completely unnerved. The voice seemed to linger, warming her like a fire.

  Crash caught her arm, keeping her from falling to the ground. Her head swam. She looked around, remembering where she was.

  “What happened?” the assassin asked.

  "I'm not sure," she muttered dazedly.

  "The doors aren't opening!" Laina wailed. "It didn't work!"

  Sora stared at the rock without truly seeing it, her body still humming from the strange voice. She waited breathlessly.

  Suddenly, a low rumble shook the cavern. It started deep in the ground, working up through their feet, then to the walls. Bits of dust showered them, and Sora hunched forward, expecting the ceiling to collapse at any second. The stone creaked and moaned. The four travelers tensed, each staring upward, bracing themselves for the worst.

  Then the doors slowly started to inch open. Finally, after several long moments, they stood ajar. There was just enough room for Burn to fit through comfortably. Sora had a feeling that this was not a coincidence.

  White light poured through the opening, momentarily blinding them. Sora squinted against it, raising a hand to shield her face. What? Light?

  Burn let out a long sigh of relief. “Looks like you did it,” he said, his hand touching her arm. “Let's go.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SILAS ESCORTED BOTH of them to the basement—or bilge—of the building; a dark, airless underbelly with no windows and hardly any ventilation. Here the sick men were laid out on cots. There was evidence of food trays and water basins. They had been somewhat cared for, but Lori doubted the quality of care in a pirate city.

  “We need to move them to a better ventilated area,” she said immediately. She sniffed the air, noting the faint, musty scent of mold.

  Silas looked doubtful. “The illness will spread to the rest of the ship.”

  She shook her head. “Not if we're careful. We'll work on them one at a time in an isolated room.”

  Silas still hesitated. Lori gave him a firm glare. “You asked me to save your men. Are you going to help me or not?”

  At that, the captain conceded, spreading his arms in a slight bow. A wry grin quirked his lips. “Of course, madam. Anything to assist a Healer. Do you have any other requests?”

  Lori didn't miss his subtle sarcasm. She ignored it. “Have three of your sailors cover their mouths with towels or cloth. They need to lift the first patient upstairs to a room with a large window and sunlight, preferably facing the ocean. And I'll need plenty of herbs—you might want to write this down.”

  Silas raised an eyebrow. “I have a keen memory,” he replied dryly, and waited.

  “Alright,” Lori continued, walking along a row of cots, noting her patients' symptoms. “I will need elderberry, yarrow, rosemary, licorice root and chamomile, a full ounce each. This will increase their sweating and expel the toxins from the body. And for their fever blisters, I will require lavender, peppermint and lemon, enough to make about four-quarts of paste. Also, a jar of honey and several gallons of fresh drinking water.” Her eyes lingered on the men's cracked, blistered lips; the harsh rasp of their breathing. They were terribly dehydrated. “Aloe,” she said as an afterthought. “For their flaking skin.”

  Silas frowned at her. “Rosemary, chamomile, honey and water....” he paused. “I'll be back with a piece of paper.”

  Lori smiled. “Quick as you can.”

  Silas grimaced at her, then turned and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Ferran laughed softly from his position at the side of the room. “Very bold of you. It looks like Captain Silas doesn't like taking orders,” he mentioned. He leaned up against a wall, a toothpick in his mouth, idly gazing at the sick men.

  “He's a stubborn one,” Lori agreed, preoccupied.

  “That was pretty impressive, you know,” Ferran said suddenly. He gazed away from her, at the cot immediately to his left.

  She glanced up at him, surprised by the compliment. She usually received praise from farmers and merchants, but coming from Ferran, it felt different.

  “This disease looks terrible,” he continued. “If you weren't here, I would write them off for dead.” He met her gaze.

  Lori was struck by the irony. “Ferran,” she began slowly, “if you weren't here, I'd be useless. All I'm doing is treating their symptoms. To fully recover, they need your Cat's Eye.”

  He cocked his head to one side, considering her words. “Eh,” he finally shrugged. “I suppose you're right. But I stand by what I said.”

  Lori grinned.

  Silas and his men arrived a minute later with cloths tied around their lower faces. Silas brought a sheaf of parchment, a quill and ink. He jotted down her list of ingredients and then quickly left for the kitchens. Meanwhile, the sailors lifted her first patient and carried him out into the hallway. Lori followed after them down the corridor, then up a short flight of stairs to the first floor. They entered a small room at the rear corner of the ship. A large window faced the ocean. She opened it, allowing in the brisk, fresh air.

  The sailors laid the man on the bed. Lori had them wash their hands in a basin of warm water, then sent them into the hallway. “We'll need you when we are finished. Don't stray too far,” she said. The sailors nodded.

  She shut the door firmly, then turned back to their patient, already thinking ahead. “When Sora used her necklace against the illness, she had to place her hand over—”

  “I know,” Ferran said, gently cutting her off. He was standing next to the bed, looking down at the sick man intently. The only sound in the room was the man's raspy breath. Even at this distance, Lori could hear the fluid in his lungs. He was the worst of the lot, perhaps the first to become ill. Large welts covered his arms and legs.
His lips were chapped and blistered, sallow skin and hollow cheeks.

  Lori watched Ferran closely. When Sora used her Cat's Eye, she usually closed her eyes, at times placing a hand on the necklace. Ferran did no such thing. He used the stone much more naturally, passing his cuffed hand over the body. The stone flared up brightly and a red glow spread around his fingers. After a moment, he placed his palm over the man's heart.

  Immediately, the sailor jolted upward, going rigid, but Ferran pushed him firmly back down. Lori took a step back despite herself. Tendrils of darkness began seeping from the man's mouth and nose. With a burst of harsh crimson light, the Cat's Eye pulled the ropes of darkness into itself, drawing them from the man's body. It was far less violent than when Sora had done it. In her case, the tendrils had spewed from the farmer's mouth, landing across the room like a pile of rotted worms.

  After several minutes, the darkness waned and the sailor's body went limp. Lori heard an audible change in his breathing—it sounded deeper, less constricted.

  Ferran stumbled backwards, catching himself on the wall. He winced, holding his wrist as though sprained, his face pale.

  Lori rushed to his side, instinctively grabbing his upper arm. “Are you alright?” she asked.

  Ferran grimaced and spit out his toothpick. “Bitter,” he grunted, and then, “This is not clean magic. It's tainted. I don't know how much the Cat's Eye can take.”

  Lori kept her hold on his arm, checking his skin, wondering if the plague could infect him while wearing the Cat's Eye. The stone had its limitations, just like the human body. Would the Dark God's power be too strong? She was struck by a terrifying thought—if Ferran became sick, there would be no one to cure him. She gripped his arm a little tighter.

  Unexpectedly, Ferran placed a hand over hers. When she met his eyes, she saw a reassuring smile on his face. “Don't worry about me,” he said. “Worry about him.” He nodded over his shoulder to the prone figure on the bed.

  At that moment, Silas entered. He carried a small crate of supplies and two sailors followed him with a keg of fresh water. They set the keg down in the corner of the room.

  Lori stepped away from Ferran quickly, and Silas gave her a curious look, his eyes passing between them. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked wryly. Then he looked at the patient on the bed. A slow smile touched his face. “He already looks much better. Is there anything else that you need?”

  Lori nodded. “Just be ready when we call for the next one,” she said. “It might be a little while.”

  “My men will be at your door,” he promised. Then Silas deposited his crate on a desk in the corner. He turned and signaled for his men to leave. They walked out the door and shut it behind them.

  Lori spent the next hour mixing a powerful herbal tonic that would clear the body of toxins. She treated the sailor on the bed, then she and Ferran administered a sponge bath, applying aloe to his dry, flaky skin. After a half-hour or so, the man opened his glassy eyes and gazed at Lori. She knew the look. He was coming out of his fever.

  She finished the man's treatment with a blessing from the Goddess, passing her hand over his forehead, speaking words of power. It was not magic...but she hoped it would protect him, allow him to heal faster.

  Finally, they were able to call in the sailors to carry the man away. He would be placed in an isolated room where he could recover in peace.

  Lori watched them turn down the hallway out of sight. Then she wiped a tired hand across her brow. Her back was sore from leaning over the bed for so long, and she stretched it out, looking up toward the ceiling. “How many more?” she sighed. It wasn't truly a question.

  “Six,” Ferran replied, then approached her from across the room. He had a way of strolling rather than walking; shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets. He paused by her side. “But first, I need to see to you.”

  Lori looked up at him, curious. “What?” she asked.

  “Give me your hand,” he explained. “I want to make sure you're not infected.”

  “Infected?” Lori gave him a searching look, trying to read his eyes. “I don't think you'd say that unless you already knew. Am I?” She glanced down at her hands, inspecting her skin, her exposed arms and elbows. But there was nothing unusual.

  Ferran reached out and took her left hand. He smiled at her again, a lazy quirk of his lips. “The Cat's Eye sees it,” he said, indicating the wrist cuff.

  “Oh.” Lori glanced at the stone. It was dormant for the time being; it appeared like nothing more than a deep ruby. A strange thought occurred to her. “Can you...see magic? That which is normally hidden to the eye?”

  Ferran nodded. “I can smell it, too. In fact, that was the first way I communicated with the stone.” His grip tightened on her hand. “Be still, this will only take a moment.”

  As she watched, the Cat's Eye began to glow gently at his wrist, spreading to his hand. Then Lori felt a strange sensation, like all of the air was being sucked from her lungs. She tried to pull in a breath, but it felt hollow, empty.

  Suddenly, her knees buckled. Her muscles lost strength. She collapsed slowly, struggling to draw breath, raising her free hand to her neck. The skin puckered on her arms, a cold chill sweeping through her body. Her instincts told her to struggle, but she forced herself to remain calm, her eyes locked on Ferran's.

  Then she saw dark mist slip from her mouth, thin tendrils winding through the air. The Cat's Eye pulled the cloud from her throat and into itself. The stone flared brightly—then released her.

  Lori sagged forward. Ferran caught her by the shoulders, holding her up. She struggled to control her legs, but she felt weak and off-balance. Slowly, Ferran lowered her to the floor and sat next to her, supporting her with his shoulder, his hand locked in hers.

  “Well?” he asked.

  Lori struggled to catch her breath. “Not very pleasant,” she replied. She glanced at him, noticing his pale skin and the slight sheen of sweat on his brow. “What about you?”

  Ferran winced. “Like drinking cheap rum. Can't get the taste out of my mouth.”

  Lori nodded, still watching him. She wondered how many men they could heal before Ferran reached his limit. She would keep a careful eye on him. Otherwise he would probably push himself until he collapsed.

  “You're worrying about me again,” Ferran said, that lazy smile sliding across his face. “Don't worry so much. It's bad for your heart, Healer.”

  Lori raised an eyebrow. “This, from a shameless drunk?”

  Ferran snorted. “I'm not a drunk. Shameless, maybe.” Then he stood up, pulling her alongside him. “We should call in the next man. The longer we wait, the more chance of the plague spreading.”

  Lori nodded. They had wasted enough time. With a slight smile at Ferran, she turned and headed into the hallway.

  * * *

  Sora had never seen anything like this before in her life. It was magnificent—beautiful—awe-inspiring: The Shining Caverns.

  The four of them stepped through the door filled with apprehension. Now they stood in shock. Sora's mouth was slightly open.

  "By the gods," she heard Laina murmur next to her.

  "I'll second that," came Burn's hoarse whisper.

  The cavern around them was nothing like the dark, rocky tunnels from before. It glowed as brightly as daylight. Sunstone, Sora thought, remembering the word. She had never seen it before.

  The first cave they entered was massive, more than one hundred feet wide. The ground was smooth and shiny. The walls were uneven and lumpy in contrast, but they were pure white, as though made of pristine quartz. Sora saw no evidence of mining carts or tracks. The caves appeared completely untouched.

  A slight vibration moved across the walls. The air itself was thick with magic; it made her Cat's Eye shiver with excitement.

  “Sunstone,” Crash said, affirming her thoughts. His face was pale, drawn, as though he was in pain. Sora raised an eyebrow, watching him curiously. He didn't seem excited about the c
aves—he looked as if he was sitting too close to a fire. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

  “It's beautiful,” Laina said softly. Her voice echoed around the cave walls, carrying farther than natural. The stone had a way of stretching noise, tuning it, creating a perfect pitch. A simple word became like music. Sora's ears hummed with the sound.

  Home, something whispered inside of her, and she took a deep breath, tasting the air on her tongue.

  “Can you feel it?” Burn asked. His blunt voice broke the spell. “I've never seen so much sunstone in my life.”

  “Amazing,” Sora whispered. She felt her Cat's Eye tug at her, encouraging her to walk forward. After a few moments, she realized that her body felt refreshed and rejuvenated. The magic of the caves was overwhelming, a direct source of energy. Indeed, each breath seemed to fill her stomach, stimulate her limbs. She flexed her injured arm, surprised to feel no pain. After a moment, she took off her sling, stretching out her limb. It seemed to be fully healed. By the North Wind, she thought. Incredible!

  She turned to look at her friends, showing them her healed arm. She smiled at their expressions. “We need to go this way,” she said. “Trust me.” Then she turned back to the tunnel and started boldly forward.

  Crash was the first to start following her, and the rest fell in step behind him. They walked in silence for a long way, each lost in wonder. Sora felt as if she was being led somewhere on an invisible chain. She couldn't fight it, and after a while, she didn't really want to. Her Cat's Eye moved inside her eagerly. Anticipation shot through her with each step.

  As they passed, the walls captured their reflections like warped mirrors. The roof of the cave, which at first had been almost invisible, slowly lowered until they were walking down a narrow tunnel, like a hall of glass. The ground below them gradually became covered in white sand.

  They came to a point where the path split into two tunnels, each veering off in a different direction. Sora turned to the left without even slowing her stride. The rest followed without question. They knew that the necklace was leading her.