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

by T. L. Shreffler

  Crash stared at him. An average man would have collapsed to the ground, entering his death throes. But not this mage. Blood magic, he realized.

  “First blood is spilled,” Volcrian hissed, then let out a breathy laugh. “Go on, stab me again. It will only make me stronger!”

  Crash paused. There were spells that could strengthen a mage's body, he knew that much. The blood lost to the mage would work as a sacrifice, and fuel his strength until he was killed. Dorian had described it to him once, long ago, when they had first met. It was simply called bloodletting.

  Then Crash felt a burning sensation. He looked down and saw a bloody gash on his forearm. The pain sharpened his senses, heightening his adrenaline. The demon slammed against its inner cage, knocking on his chest, eager for release. Crash took a steadying breath, trying to contain it. Not now, he thought desperately. Gods, not now!

  When he looked up again, the mage had raised his hand to his mouth and was sucking on his fingers. Blood graced his lips. “The Unnamed tastes like burnt ashes,” he said. “How very appropriate.”

  Crash's eyes widened marginally. It had been a ploy. The mage had attacked him in an attempt to get his blood—and it had worked. Clumsy, he thought. I'm too distracted. He needed to stop worrying about Sora and focus on the fight.

  Suddenly, his head swam. He felt a strange sense of vertigo. Crash dug his feet into the ground, unwilling to fall.

  Then something snagged his boot.

  He paused, glancing down. The very tail end of a tree root protruded through the grass, tightly wrapped around his ankle. He frowned, uncertain for a moment; several other roots had ripped out of the ground, tearing up the earth. Crash slashed at them, cutting down two on his left, but more rose to take their place. Another root grabbed his second foot.

  When he looked up once again, the entire clearing seemed to have changed. The large obsidian stones were taller, more menacing, spaced closer than before. The trees had grown darker, leaning forward with malicious intent. Clouds were gathering in the sky, pressing down above his head. He had the intense impression that everything was staring at him. It seemed like a thousand eyes lay hidden in the grass, in the black branches of the trees, in the rocks that littered the ground.

  “Did you think it would be that easy?” Volcrian crowed. His voice sounded different now, larger, echoing. “I've been preparing for this moment a long time. My magic is more than strong enough!”

  Crash swept his hand over his eyes, trying to regain his composure. He had been foolish to attack first. The mage had obviously planned it this way. Crash's anger had gotten the best of him. I need to step back. He was an assassin—he knew better than to rush headlong into the unknown.

  A sick grin spread across the Wolfy's features. "Any last requests?" he called.

  Crash looked at him coldly. “Just that your brother might be here,” he said, “so you can die in front of him.”

  Volcrian's facade slipped and his eyes filled with manic fury. He threw back his head and howled. Then the mage drew his knife across his own arm. Black blood spilled from his veins, falling to the earth and singeing the grass. Smoke rose from the mage's feet. The air thickened with an unknown magic, becoming dense and warm.

  The tree creaked at Volcrian's back. Suddenly its branches began to move, knocking together and bending forward like grasping arms. Crash ducked down, slicing through the thin tree roots that held his feet. Then he launched to one side and rolled away just as a massive tree limb smashed the ground exactly where he had been standing.

  The trunk righted itself and appeared to turn, watching the assassin run across the grass. What kind of magic is this? he thought, his eyes narrowing.

  Volcrian stood at the base of the tree, protected by its strong limbs. Crash gritted his teeth. The only way to reach him was to go through the tree.

  He sprinted forward, dodging the thick pine needles. Twice he almost lost his head to a whizzing branch. He ducked and wove, jumping, turning. The sky was blocked out by dense foliage and surrounded him in an inescapable net. He pushed on. He could avoid the larger limbs, but the smaller ones whipped at his body, drawing blood from old injuries. He shook them off, bearing the pain, racing toward his foe.

  And all the while, Volcrian's laugh rang maddeningly through the air.

  * * *

  Sora stumbled back, her brow dripping with sweat. She didn't know what to do. She could have killed twice as many men by now, but the corpses kept rising and coming back to life. They were tireless. Half of them didn't even have heads anymore, and still they came on.

  “Sora, behind you!” The voice reached her a moment before Burn appeared, charging from the treeline, arriving not a moment too soon. He passed by her so closely, they almost collided. With his giant sword, he struck down three corpses at her back, cleaving easily through their bodies. They burst open under his blade, spewing out rotten pus and bile. Sora wanted to vomit. She could barely breathe through the stench.

  Yet even cleaved in half, the bodies still writhed on the ground, turning toward them, crawling forward on blind hands.

  “What are we going to do?” she panted, finding herself back-to-back with the giant Wolfy. They turned as one, looking around the clearing. They were surrounded by corpses.

  “I'll give you an opening,” Burn said. “Then you run up the cliff.”

  She didn't like that idea. “You can't take on this many,” she panted.

  Burn smiled grimly. “Watch me.”

  With a ferocious roar, the Wolfy lunged again, sweeping his blade through the air. Everywhere he swung, he sliced through flesh. Sora watched him, in shock. He moved swiftly, skillfully, wielding the massive sword with ease. Within a minute, the corpses had either fallen back or were chopped down to the ground, squirming on the grass like dying worms.

  “Go!” he yelled to her.

  Sora shook herself into action. She launched into a run, dashing between the bodies, yelping as a severed hand grabbed her foot. It clung to her ankle, but had no way of pulling her down. She smacked it off with the butt of her staff, then kept moving toward the hillside. She was close now. Almost there....

  Wham! Someone tackled her—the dead woman in the brown cloak. Her body was light and empty, the weight of a child. Sora twisted and threw her off, but the woman kept coming, scrabbling at her feet. She grabbed at her legs. Sora regained her balance and kicked the woman down to one side.

  Finally, she was at the base of the hill. She started scrambling up. The cliff was steep and tall, and toward the top it became almost vertical. She could already feel her muscles straining.

  The dead woman followed behind her, propelled by her bony arms and legs, scuttling like a vicious spider.

  * * *

  Crash had almost reached the trunk of the tree. With a burst of strength, he leapt over a swinging limb and raised his dagger in both hands. Volcrian turned toward him, his face contorting into a scowl.

  It all seemed to happen very slowly. The assassin flew through the air, aiming for the Wolfy's chest, straight for his heart. In his mind, he was already playing out his next attack, a thousand different parries and blows, depending on how the mage planned to defend himself.

  Yet Volcrian did nothing. He just stood and watched.

  Crash surged through the last of the branches and struck him fully in the chest.

  The mage's body crumpled beneath him, then vanished in a misty cloud of vapor and blood.

  Crash hit the ground hard and stumbled, regaining his feet in an instant. He hadn't anticipated the hard impact—the mage's body should have been beneath him. He whirled, staring at the ground, at the blackened tree trunk, at the deep shadows between the pines. It felt as though everything was moving, swaying back and forth, including the ground.

  “Nicely done!” Volcrian's voice called to him. “Beautiful form, perfect control! Only you missed.”

  Crash whirled toward the voice. Through the thick pine needles, he could catch a glimpse of the mage's
silver hair. The man stood several yards behind him, toward the center of the sacred stones, beyond the reach of the tree.

  His heart thudded—doubt entered his thoughts. How was it possible? Volcrian had been directly in front of him, solid flesh....An illusion? he thought, his mind racing. A double of some kind? He didn't know enough about Wolfy magic to understand how it worked. Mages tended to be tactical masters. Back in the War, they had kept to the fortress walls, far removed from direct combat. Their spells had served to strengthen and protect the mercenaries on the ground.

  Crash felt the tree creak above him. It was still groaning and twisting. He noticed that the limbs had begun to draw inward to the trunk, slowly shutting out the daylight. He cursed under his breath—he had hesitated too long. Another few seconds and the branches would enclose him completely, locking him into a suffocating prison. His body would be completely crushed.

  He leapt at a thin patch of branches and struck them with his dagger, trying to cut his way through, but the blade was too short. He couldn't cut fast enough. He fell back against the trunk, panting, his feet cushioned by dry pine needles. He was now surrounded by dense shadows. He could feel the weight of the tree pushing down upon him; a slow, shuddering moan as its wooden limbs contorted, closing the last of the space.

  He shut his eyes, his grip tightening on the dagger, trying to think of a solution.

  And in that darkness, a voice spoke to him. You need me. It slithered up from his gullet, writhing in the back of his throat. Let me out.

  No, he thought. He couldn't trust the demon. It had its own agenda, its own desires and needs. There was no way to know for sure that it would go after Volcrian. He could try to direct it...but he couldn't control it. What if it turned its sights upon Sora and Burn?

  You're going to get us both killed, the demon whispered. Then what will happen to her?

  Her. The word jolted him. Its only concern was Sora, and it disturbed him that the demon knew his deeper motives, that he kept hidden even from himself.

  But of course it would. It resided in that same place at the bottom of his skull, where the darkness pooled like thick, black water.

  You're not going to have your way, Crash said. Not like last time.

  The demon hissed. The sound was like fire running down his spine. He was losing his grip; heat coursed through his arms and legs, his muscles cramping, his heartbeat tripling in speed. He gripped the dagger harder, bowing his head, grinding his teeth. A vein throbbed in his neck. He could feel his shadow lift from the ground, coiling in the air, taunting him.

  You need me, the demon growled. You're nothing without me.

  No, Crash swore.

  Yes, the demon grinned. It's so easy. Just let go....

  Crash couldn't stay in control. With a strangled yell, he fell to his knees, panting and heaving. He felt the skin split along his back, bones and tendons thrusting up from his shoulder blades, creating his wings. Horns jutted from his neck and arms, tearing through flesh. The pain was intense, consuming his entire body. Blood spattered the tree trunk, dripping to the ground, burning all that it touched with toxic acidity.

  And then—rage. It poured from his mouth, his skin, his lungs. Igniting. Consuming.

  Dark energy rolled off his skin. With furious strength, the Viper rose to his feet. He reached out and scored the tree with his claws, rending the bark.

  The wood burst into flames.

  * * *

  The earth shook and Sora was almost thrown off her feet. She was just beneath the summit of the hill. She stumbled to her knees, her hands gripping the dirt for purchase, trying not to slide backwards.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the sacred stones below. Past Burn's figure and the struggling corpses she saw a dark cloud roll across the ground. Was it smoke? It looked like part of the forest was on fire. She squinted, her heart in her throat, looking for a sign of Crash and Volcrian, but they were obscured by mist. This isn't good, she thought. How will I know when to use the Cat's Eye?

  Something clawed at Sora's ankle and she jumped. The dead woman's corpse was just beneath her, struggling over a rocky overhang, her fingers scrabbling at her boots. Sora turned back to the cliff and started upward, pulling herself over the final ledge, huffing and heaving as she reached the top.

  The stone pedestal stood before her. It was old, worn down by wind and rain, barely standing. She stared at it, trying to catch her breath. Her muscles were exhausted from the long climb and it took a moment for her to recover. The Cat's Eye shifted on her chest, responding to the pedestal, humming with latent energy. Yes, this was the right place.

  She stood up just as the dead woman arrived behind her.

  Sora turned as the woman lunged. Her long, bony arms grasped for Sora's neck, the dagger swinging wildly. She easily caught the woman's arm and pulled, intending to trip her, but there was a terrible ripping sound as the flesh tore from her body. Sora stumbled back as the arm came off. Ugh!

  The skeletal hand stabbed down clumsily, gouging her shoulder with the knife. She gasped in surprise and pain. Then she dislodged the knife and held the arm away from her—it twisted in the air like a caught snake. She threw it away on impulse, sending it plummeting over the side of the cliff. It fell toward the ocean.

  Sora stood for a moment, her stomach rising into her throat, thoroughly disgusted.

  The woman attacked again, throwing her body on top of Sora, clinging with one hand while she attempted to bite her neck. No, not her neck—the Cat's Eye! The corpse was trying to yank the necklace free.

  Sora screamed, grappling with the lightweight body. The corpse was full of tireless energy and came at her like a frenzied beast, kicking and clawing. She dropped her staff and grabbed the woman by the shoulders, locking her in a vise-like grip, prying her off.

  At that moment, the Cat's Eye stone let out a fierce chime and a burst of green light exploded from the necklace. It pushed the corpse back, toppling her over. She would have gone over the cliff, but she grabbed the stone pedestal at the last second, clawing her way again to safety.

  The necklace died down, returning to the back of Sora's mind. Then she heard a voice—guttural, rasping, barely intelligible.

  “Kill me,” the corpse gasped.

  Sora took a step back, surprised. “What?”

  “Too long...too long I have been trapped in this body,” the corpse groaned. “I cannot let him control me anymore. You must kill me!”

  “But....” But you are dead, she wanted to say. How did one kill a corpse? “I don't know how....” The woman was still clinging to the pedestal, but this time, it was as though she were holding herself back. Resisting some inner force.

  “The necklace!” the woman gasped. “Quickly, I can't hold back much longer! Use the necklace to rid me of this curse! I beg...I beg you....” The corpse's eyes rolled wildly in her head, and then she let out a fierce scream, like the cry of a banshee, lunging over the pedestal, gnashing her teeth, leaping at Sora with murderous intent.

  Sora ran to meet her. She grabbed the woman's outstretched arm and sent a quick command to her necklace. She didn't know if the stone would work very well against Volcrian's magic. The corpse was solid, after all. But she had to try. “Free her!” she screamed, forcing the command through her entire body.

  There was a brilliant flash of light—the sound of countless bells clanging. The Cat's Eye let out a ferocious burst of white energy, unlike anything Sora had seen before. She felt the energy burn her skin, scorching her chest.

  The light intensified, capturing the woman's corpse, lifting it from the ground, obliterating it in a matter of seconds. The flesh crumbled beneath her hands, burned away, turned to ash. The woman's skull melted before her eyes, disintegrating into the air.

  In its place was a white, misty substance. For a moment, Sora saw another person standing before her, hovering at the edge of the cliff. By her blue robes, she knew it was a priestess of the Goddess.

  The woman rose into the air, a sm
all smile alighting on her lips, serene. For a moment, she looked at Sora—then turned and opened her arms. A great wind gusted over the top of the cliff, and she was carried away.

  Sora fell to the ground. She felt as though her body had been squeezed dry. She gasped brokenly, struggling to breathe, unsure of what had just happened. Usually the necklace absorbed magic, but she had never felt it expel energy before, especially with such force. What did I do? she wondered. What was that...thing? A human spirit? Could it be?

  Then she heard a loud, vicious roar from the field below. It echoed through the air, carrying far out over the ocean. She crawled to the edge of the hill, looking down at the battle. Burn was still fighting the corpses, though it wasn't much of a contest, since most of the bodies had been hacked to gory pieces.

  Beyond him, though, was a terrifying sight.

  Sora's body turned cold with fear—dark, instinctual fear that rose from her stomach, paralyzing her limbs. She stared, unable to look away, a scream lodged in her throat.

  * * *

  Viper charged from the forest into the center of the stone circle. He could hear the trees screaming behind him, consumed by black flames. Large branches crashed down around him, still reaching for his body, swinging at his head—but he broke through them easily. His strength was immense, and before him—his prey.

  Volcrian stepped back as the demon came on, the fear naked on his face. Viper relished the expression. He could smell the Wolfy's sweat, feel it on the back of his throat, taste it with his tongue. Yes. Yes. Yes.

  Volcrian raised his hand, and a flurry of bats appeared in the sky, diving at Viper's body. He leapt up to greet them, catching one in his mouth and crunching it between powerful jaws. The mage kept waving his arms, summoning roots from the ground, ripping apart the earth, sending stones flying through the air. But still the demon came.

  Crash observed, trapped in the heated depths of the demon's body. Through his new eyes, the mage did not appear like himself. No, he saw a dark energy surrounding the man, seeping into the air—a tainted aura. The Dark God. He recognized the way it smelled, how it pierced his nose like ice. Yes, the Dark God was possessing Volcrian, worming into his mind. Crash grimaced inwardly. No wonder his magic was so strong.