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

by T. L. Shreffler

  She wondered, suddenly, who she had been to get caught up with two adventurous young boys. Nothing good had come of it. Nothing except Sora, perhaps. Who had that young girl been, so many years ago, when Ferran and Dane had wandered through her town? She felt as though she had changed over the years, grown from an insecure girl into a confident woman, sure of herself, capable of reading people, of healing them, embracing them or turning them away. And yet deep in her core, at the butter-soft center of her heart, that young girl still lived. The one who held onto the future, who created silent hopes and dreams, kept hidden from her matured self.

  That girl wanted to tell Ferran that everything would be all right. That his life wasn't for nothing. That his mistakes were all part of some great journey, an extravagant tapestry that couldn't be fully glimpsed. She wanted to promise that someday, it would all make sense. That all of the strands would come together and that there would be a great release, some cathartic closure to this open-ended world.

  But she knew better than that. He didn't need to hear those words—he needed her silence.

  The sound of footsteps disrupted her thoughts. Lori looked up to see Silas striding toward them. Today, the pirate captain wore a stark white shirt with broad cuffs. Ruffled lace decorated the neckline of the shirt, which was open at the chest, exposing his defined muscles and a small patch of red fuzz. His pants were of fine black leather and his boots were tall, encasing his knees, buckled at the heel.

  “Oh, good, you're here,” he said. It was an offhanded comment; he expected them to be there anyway. He took a large brass key from his belt and inserted it into the door. Lori and Ferran both got to their feet and watched the door swing open.

  The room beyond was filled with sunlight. After they entered, a maid swept in with a tray of food, leaving it on the bedside table before rushing out of the room. Lori paused, staring at the massive bed. Their visitor was tangled in a mess of quilts. Silas pulled up a chair to sit next to him, and the man stirred in his sleep, throwing his arm over his eyes.

  “Oh,” he groaned. “The sunlight is foul!”

  Silas reached out and tapped the man's arm. The gesture spoke of familiarity. “Jacques,” he said. “Jacques!”

  The Dracian moaned pathetically, then finally put his arm down, staring up at the pirate captain. Lori studied the man's face. He looked slightly older than Silas, perhaps because of the thick facial hair around his chin and jaw. They had identical blue eyes and similar noses, sharp and straight, aristocratic. Jacques' hair was a slightly deeper auburn, coarser, while Silas' was pure copper, smoothed back against his head. But Lori could see the resemblance now; they had to be related.

  “Silas! You scurvy dog,” Jacques muttered. His voice was hoarse. He reached for the tall glass of milk on the bedside table and took a deep swig. “Where am I?”

  “Sonora, the pirate city,” Silas said. “In the Aurora. You don't remember?”

  Jacques shook his head slowly, as though his skull was tender. Lori could imagine that he had quite a headache. He was probably dehydrated. “I flew for a week straight across the ocean. The winds lifted me....” He closed his eyes. “Damned if I ever fly again. There were storms. 'Twas terrible.”

  Silas nodded and helped the man into a sitting position. “What are you doing here, brother?” he asked.

  Ah. That explained one thing. Lori waited anxiously for Jacques' reply, her interest piqued.

  Jacques' eyes widened, as though the memory had just come to him. “Our ship sank,” he said. He grabbed Silas' arm in a strong grip, looking up into his brother's face. “You must come at once. Tristan and the others are stranded....”

  Silas pried his brother's hand off. “Slow down!” he exclaimed. “What about Tristan?”

  “'Tis a long story,” Jacques said. “A girl came to us in Delbar. Sora was her name, and she wore a Cat's-Eye stone. There were others with her, a small band of four. They needed passage overseas to the Lost Isles.”

  “Wait,” Lori said, interjecting.

  Jacques looked up at her, startled. He probably hadn't noticed her presence until now. The Dracian's eyes widened with a spark of recognition. She had never met the man before, but if he knew Sora, he must notice the resemblance. Many had commented on it.

  “What news of my daughter?” she demanded. “Where is Sora? What happened?”

  “Your daughter....?” Jacques asked. Then he sat back, the headboard thudding solidly against the wall. “Now this is strange indeed....”

  “Out with it!” Lori snapped. “What happened to your ship?”

  Jacques looked at Silas. “Then you know of the plague?” he asked swiftly. “Of the Dark God's weapons?”

  Silas waved a hand in Lori and Ferran's direction. “Aye,” he said. “These two have filled in the details. What happened to Tristan? And...to Sora?” He glanced at Lori, unsure of the name. She nodded.

  “Our ship sank,” Jacques repeated, addressing all of them. “We were stranded on a small island. It's connected to the Lost Isles, but not part of the mainland. There was no way to get back to Delbar, so I flew for help. We have need of a ship. They're still trapped there on the island. I doubt the Harpies will help them....”

  “Harpies?” Silas and Lori both said at the same time.

  “Aye,” Jacques nodded. “Sora and the others decided to travel through a cave, hoping to make their way to the main island, where the Harpies live. The others remained where I left them. The whole lot.”

  Silas sat back in his chair, quiet for a moment. His expression was one of intense thought. Lori had the sudden urge to punch something. Here she was, dallying around in a pirate city, while Sora risked her life on an isolated, dangerous island. She clenched her hands into fists to hide the fact that they were quivering.

  Ferran stepped next to her and laid his large hand on her shoulder. “We have to go,” he said. “We can't just leave them stranded.”

  “And my son is with them?” Silas asked. “Tristan?”

  Jacques nodded.

  Silas stared at him for a moment...then lunged out of the chair and grabbed Jacques by the throat, wrestling the man down to the mattress. “You bastard!” he roared. “You dirty scumbag of a brother! If anything's happened to my boy, I swear I will slit your throat!”

  Jacques choked and wheezed, trying to wrestle the pirate off him. He searched the bed and grabbed a heavy satin pillow, the only object at hand, then swung it at Silas, hitting him viciously on the head, the shoulders, wherever he could. Silas sat back, trying to protect his face. The two men yelled and screamed at each other.

  There was a short, loud tearing sound, and then the pillow ripped open. Hundreds of feathers exploded out of it, permeating the air, drifting across the room.

  Lori and Ferran watched the fight in bewildered amusement. Then she turned to look at her tall companion. “The book will have to wait,” she said quietly. “We need to rescue Sora.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Ferran replied.

  Lori was surprised by his firm tone. She blinked, wondering where this new Ferran had come from. He was hardly the man she had met a month ago, drunken and useless, lying on the floor of a filthy tavern. Now his jaw was set with determination, his voice full of purpose. She searched his eyes for a long moment. His words almost gave her hope.

  It was essential that they retrieve the book, but she couldn't leave her daughter on the Lost Isles. That was out of the question.

  The fight on the bed had died down. Jacques rolled Silas off onto the floor. Then he stretched out, splayed across the mattress, gasping for breath.

  Silas got to his feet. His hair had come untied and fell wildly around his shoulders, a silken mess. “It's decided, then,” he said firmly. “We leave in the morning. I have already prepared a ship to the City of Crowns, but it appears we are taking a detour.” He eyed Jacques with a modicum of distaste. “A long detour.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SORA OPENED HER eyes, groggy from sleep. Crash sat
next to her, alert and awake, staring down the length of the ravine. When she stirred, he moved to stand up.

  “Shall we continue?” he said.

  Sora sat up, wincing, and looked around. He stood a few yards away, ankle-deep in the white sand. She paused, memories rushing back to her—the ice bridge, the plummet, the demon....

  She tried to smile but failed. Their fall from the rock bridge seemed like a dream, a horrible nightmare conjured in her sleep. She stared up the side of the ravine, trying to put her thoughts in order. At this distance, she couldn't even see the thin bridge of stone that connected the two sides of the chasm. They had fallen a long, long way.

  “Burn and Laina,” she said suddenly. “What are we going to do about them?”

  “Nothing for the moment,” Crash replied. “We have no way of reaching them now.”

  Sora looked back at the ground. He was right, but it didn't sit well with her. Without the Cat's Eye, her two friends might become lost in the caves, wandering for an eternity. She had no idea how far these underground caverns stretched. But there's nothing we can do, she admitted to herself. There was no way back up the side of the cliff. They would have to continue forward.

  She stood up and brushed the white sand from her clothes. It sparkled against her hands like stardust, sticking to her skin, impossible to wipe off. Then she turned to Crash. Despite her acceptance of him, it was still strange to think that he wasn't human. It left her slightly unnerved—uncertain. The past two years seemed oddly false. Everything I thought I knew about him....The trust they had built, the nights they had shared by the fire, blanketed by stars, heavy with the smell of road dust and wind....Was any of it real?

  She looked away awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

  "We should see where this wind is blowing from," he said after a moment of silence. "Perhaps we can find a place to climb up.”

  Then he turned and started walking.

  Sora fell into step a few paces behind. After a short while, Crash stooped down and picked something off the ground.

  “Your staff,” he said, turning and offering her the weapon. Sora took it from his hands, surprised. True to its name, the witch wood remained undamaged, not even a scratch.

  “Lucky it fell this close,” she murmured. She felt much better with a weapon in her hands.

  They continued down the narrow canyon. Crash strode in front of her, blocking her from the majority of the wind. Sora found herself gazing after him. She thoughtfully considered the past few hours.

  "Crash?" she called, and he looked back at her, raising one eyebrow.

  With a deep breath, she said, “I need to know something.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “If we're going to travel together, I need to know that you're not keeping anything from me.” There, she said it. It was hard enough to trust him—he was a trained killer, after all, and now some sort of demon. She still didn't understand all of the details. But she had to learn more, to rediscover him. She couldn't let this get in the way of their journey.

  Crash looked at her calmly, giving thought to her words, then slowly nodded. "Alright," he said. "No more secrets."

  Sora was surprised that he had agreed so easily. Her lips parted, letting out a silent breath of relief. She had been braced for an argument, some sort of denial or justification. But none was forthcoming.

  “Is that all?” he asked.

  “Uh...yes.”

  “Alright.”

  They continued walking. Sora squinted as the sand blew up in her eyes. Wind and time had turned the stone to a fine chalk. It clung stubbornly to her clothes and hands, glittering mischievously, caking under her nails and coating her boots.

  She felt slightly disappointed. Despite her words, nothing had changed at all. He was still quiet, in fact, probably more so now than he had been for the past few days. What did you expect? her inner voice chided. If you have questions, just ask! The thought was still intimidating. For so long, she had respected his closed manner. His silence was like a fortress, an impenetrable wall that needed to be climbed. Silly, she told herself. Just say something.

  Sora blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Laina didn't see anything, did she?"

  “See what?” he responded.

  “Your...uh...?”

  "Transformation," he interjected. "No, I believe she fainted." She heard the distaste in his voice.

  “That's fortunate,” she said helpfully.

  Crash shook his head. “I should have given it more thought...but there wasn't time.”

  Sora frowned, thinking back on the horrible experience. There had been a sound...a strange howling noise. She shuddered. Had it been an echo of the ravine, or something more? Something alive?

  She glanced upward at the massive cliffs. She hated to think of what might have happened if Crash hadn't dived after her. She would be a bloodied, flattened mess on the ravine floor.

  She remembered his wings. His strange, hardened skin, black as night. Claws....

  “What if you hadn't come out of it?” she asked suddenly. “Your transformation? That...creature? What if you'd remained in your other form?”

  Crash paused. “Then you would have been in danger.”

  His blunt answer took her off-guard. Sora stared at his bare back, the firm muscles and broad shoulders. She was speechless for a moment. “You mean...you would have attacked me?” she asked softly. A bit of fear bloomed in her. She could remember the intensity of the monster, its dark aura, the way her body had shuddered and convulsed.

  He shook his head. “I knew who you were, I knew what I was doing, but....” his words hung in the air.

  “You can't always control it, can you?” she asked.

  “No, I can't.”

  “Are all of your people like that? Barely containing this...this thing....?”

  He shook his head again. “Most, maybe. But there are those who embrace the demon and learn to summon it, to use it. It's a long and difficult process. For some, it takes a lifetime.”

  Sora frowned at this. “Why don't you?” she asked. It seemed like a worthy cause, if it would make him safer, more in control.

  He shrugged. “There are other dangers in using one's demon.”

  There it was—the half-answer she had expected. She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. She pushed on. “What kind of dangers?”

  He was definitely growing uncomfortable. She could tell by his quickening pace, the set of his shoulders. She hurried until she was directly behind him, almost at his side. She reached out and touched his arm. “Crash?”

  He flinched slightly. When he looked at her, his expression was hard, guarded. “We are not like the Dracians,” he said. “Our other form is not ourselves. It is a separate creature.”

  “I don't understand,” she said cautiously.

  He sighed, irritated, rubbing his hand across his face. “So many questions!” he suddenly growled.

  Sora paused, but she didn't retreat as she once had. Instead, she glared at him. “We agreed—no more secrets.”

  “I know,” he said harshly, giving her a cold look. Then he went back to walking, focused on the trail in front of them. “You're not going to like what you hear.”

  “I'm prepared,” she said immediately. Am I? She pushed the thought away.

  When Crash spoke next, he sounded angry, impatient. She had seen him like this before—but not for a long time. “Inside each of the Unnamed, there is a shard of the Dark God,” he said. “Some of us suppress it, others of us embrace it. Those who embrace the Dark God, who learn to summon and use its power...the demon takes over their minds. They become...twisted.” He looked at her as though he truly wanted her to understand—as though his words carried a terrible weight. “They become the demon, and the man is lost.”

  Sora felt the hair prickle on the back of her arms. “Forever?” she finally asked.

  He nodded.

  She frowned. “And this can happen to you?”

  C
rash turned back to the path ahead. “Yes.”

  It felt as though something had just slid into place. She understood, suddenly, why he had left behind his home, his traditions. And she understood the darkness she saw in him, the moments when he turned away, when he seemed like an untouchable force.

  An awkward silence enveloped them. She ran her hand down her staff anxiously, in search of something to say that would bring him back.

  “And what of your life in the Hive?” she asked. She remembered the word he had used from the day before. A colony, he had explained. “Did you have a family? Brothers or sisters?”

  “We are all brothers and sisters in the Hive,” Crash replied. “We are raised communally.”

  Sora's brow furrowed. “That must make marriage difficult,” she said, trying for humor.

  “We don't marry.”

  “Ah....”

  “We have seasonal festivals where men and women can join,” he explained.

  Sora felt the conversation take a different turn. She hesitated, wondering if this was truly worth knowing about—but curiosity got the best of her. “Join...? You mean...make love?”

  An odd expression passed over Crash's face. “You could call it that.”

  A blush crept up from her neckline. She had very little experience in that arena. Lily, her handmaid, had given her all sorts of bawdy details about young men and haystacks. But as a member of the nobility, she had been expected to wait for marriage. Which, of course, had never happened.

  Occasionally she thought about it, but since living with her mother, the subject hadn't come up. Which was probably a blessing. She couldn't imagine how that conversation would go.

  “And the women of your race...prefer this?” she asked with a sideways glance. “Not to be married?” It was a foreign concept. She had been raised with only one model for a family, one way of rearing children. Everything he was telling her seemed wrong, somehow cruel.

  “They do.”

  She fidgeted with her staff. “And have you participated in these...festivals....?”