Sora's Quest (Cat's Eye #1)

by T. L. Shreffler

  The small circular room was jammed full of bookshelves, which were then jammed full of all sorts of books. Through the roof above, she could see the twinkling of a thousand stars. Tables were set up like a maze through the tiny shop and stacked with piles of dusty scrolls, yellow books and wrinkly parchments, and the air was heavy with the scent of paper. Sora had the sudden, intense urge to curl up in an armchair with an old book and maybe a nice cup of tea. She looked around, waiting for the store keeper to appear.

  "Hello?" she called after a long minute. "Is anybody here?"

  "A second! Just a second! Hold your horses!" was the immediate response, closely followed by the sound of a book closing. A small cloud of dust rose above a tall stack of papers somewhere to her left. A sneeze issued from behind the table. "Hearing ain't what it used to be," muttered an old, scratchy voice.

  Sora looked around, wondering where the owner of the voice was hiding, and saw a weathered brown hat begin to move through the maze of tables. I thought that was a decoration! she thought in surprise. Then out from around the table came an old man, stooped and weathered with stiff gray hair, which stuck out from under the hat like the bristles of a broom. He sneezed once more and looked up at her with vivid blue eyes. Sora thought he looked crafty, like a badger or gray fox. He wiggled a thick, white mustache at her and scratched his stubbly chin.

  "Well, what do ya want? Eh? I wouldn't be out this late if I were a pretty young girl like you. Getting dark these nights — darker than usual, even with a full moon, and all of those ruffians out on the streets...." He trailed off, blinking at her. Sora was too tired to reply. She shifted on her sore feet.

  "But of course, I'm not a pretty young lady like you, am I? Haha! And I certainly don't have my own bodyguard — eh young man?" he called over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, are you looking for something? I'm a bit scattered at the moment. Age catches up with you, you know — doesn't matter how far you travel. Just the other day I almost set this whole place on fire, spilled a candle, not very good for business... anyway, what is it you need?"

  "A - a map," Sora said. The man's rambling was a little hard to follow. Now that she was standing in a warm room, she felt the full force of her exhaustion; she could have taken a nap on the floor.

  The storekeep turned away and threw up his arms, making a loud sound of annoyance. He stalked off toward one of the back tables. "'A map,' she says, 'I need a map!' Well that's certainly a big request! A map of what, exactly? The world? Hasn't been made yet. The oceans? Mostly uncharted, except for the coasts. How about further inland? The King's City? A grand sight, to be sure. The Temple of the Goddess? You'll need to join their discipleship to go there, sorry if that spoils your plans.” He paused and glanced over her. Sora knew she looked a mess — her hair was relatively straight, but her clothes were muddy and wrinkled from her nights spent in the woods. The storekeep seemed to look right past the stains. “You seem like a well-off patron,” he said, and eyed their bags by the door. “Are you taking a vacation? A little getaway? I know of some great spots."

  At first Sora couldn't answer the strange old man. Her mouth was dry; she was overwhelmed by the possibilities. The silence stretched — get a hold of yourself! She swallowed with a force of will.

  "A-A map of the swamp,” she stuttered. “The full swamp."

  The man frowned at her; he appeared genuinely concerned. “The swamp that lies west of here? But why? It has never been traveled. They say it is cursed.”

  Sora rolled her eyes — she knew how this story went. Every adventure had a curse. “Right,” she said. “But do you have a map? Surely someone has crossed it.”

  The man bustled about, shifting papers and thumbing through large bins of paper. Then he glanced up at her and a slow smile spread across his face. “Well, you're in luck, young lady,” he said, a glint in his eye. “Nope, no one has crossed the swamp and lived to tell of it... except for me!”

  Sora hadn't been expecting that. She turned to glance at Crash, her eyebrow raised skeptically. Was the man crazy? The assassin didn't meet her gaze; he was propped up against a wall, arms crossed, distinctly unimpressed.

  She turned back to the storekeep to find a small, stormy cloud of dust rising in the air. He was scuffling from table to table, shuffling through parchment like a madman, stacking things and unstacking. Finally he pulled out a large paper from a barrel towards the back of the room. He opened it wide, unrolling it for her to see.

  "Ah, here we are," he muttered. Sora got a brief look before he rolled it up again, tying it with a leather chord. "From my younger days, to be sure, but I can't imagine much has changed. Well miss, I believe this is what you're after. You know of the dangers of the swamp, yes?”

  No, actually, she didn't... and she would have said so, except Crash cut her off. “Yes, we know,” he said briefly. “The cost?”

  “Ah... well, let's see, it's one of a kind, the paper is heavy and durable, the ink is permanent and won't fade.... It can be easily folded, packed into small places for the bulky traveler.... Let’s say.... Twenty-five silvers?"

  Sora gasped — she had never heard such an exorbitant price for paper! Her manor could have bought a month's worth of fish at that same price. She wanted to complain, but Crash seemed to sense this and shot her a mean look, an obvious warning. She remembered his brief threat on the streets; his harsh voice. She still doubted he would sell her to a slave merchant, but... best not to tempt him. Her neck still bore the knife scratches, after all. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips, but she closed her mouth, swallowing her words. She watched him pay instead, her eyes following as the coins changed hands; somehow, she felt distinctly cheated.

  Crash paid. She watched him slip a few extra silvers into the man's hand. “For your silence,” he murmured. The old man nodded with a sly grin. Sora thought it didn't make much sense. The man was a rambler; she doubted he would stay silent for very long.

  Then he turned and started toward the door. Sora was eager to be out of the strange store and fell into step behind him, her eyes sweeping over the tables and shelves of books. A mapmaker, hm? And to imagine, one could make such a living! How hard could it possibly be to make a map? She was still sore about the amount of silvers they had paid. She wanted to complain, to berate Crash for agreeing to the price, like she would a stubborn, thoughtless servant, but she held her tongue – barely. Who does he think he is, spending all of my money as though he's earned it?

  Then, just as she passed the front window, she saw something move out of the corner of her eye. Her head turned and she stared out at the darkness, thinking she had seen a face peering through the glass. Then – th-thud! Chink!

  Sora jumped, taken by surprise. A good sized rock hit the window, not quite hard enough to shatter the glass. She ducked down anyway, a shriek slipping from her lips. Who was out there? She couldn't tell. “A rock-?”

  The old man cursed and ran to the door, shaking a fist over his head. He seemed to know exactly who was outside. “You bloody bastards, git off with ya! Git off!” This was followed by the hoots and hollers of a group of boys; Sora pegged them as young, perhaps her own age. “Damn kids! Off with ya! Back to yer mammies!”

  More rocks were thrown. Laughter echoed down the street. Sora snickered – she imagined that the old man had attracted the attention of a young gang of ruffians. Good riddance! The mapmaker deserved a bit of hassling. Hopefully next time they would break the damned window, and he would have to waste her silver fixing it. Glass was certainly not cheap.

  She and Crash slipped out the front door, picking up their packages on the way. The storekeeper left the porch and ran off after the boys, leaving the front door open. Neither of them bothered to shut it. They headed on their way, bags in tow. Sora was having trouble keeping the grin from her face.

  A few streets away from the shop, Crash paused in the dim glow of a window and unrolled the map. He glanced over it, eyes searching the scratchy ink. Sora didn't know what he was looking for and she didn't ask.
She paused and knelt down instead, trying to relieve her sore legs. She was more tired now than ever before, and even worse, she was growing hungry. She couldn't imagine traveling back to camp, where she would have to wait another hour for food to be cooked — if they even offered her anything. I skipped breakfast again, she thought, and the six gods take me if I have to eat another squirrel!

  She looked over at Crash, who was rolling up and retying the map. She scowled at him, hungry and annoyed. Should she ask to eat? Come now, Sora, her inner voice scolded her. If you act scared of him all the time, he’ll walk all over you!

  But I am scared of him all the time, she thought back.

  Oh hush! He's not really going to hurt you — he needs you alive! The worst he can do is sneer!

  Sora nodded to herself, though truthfully, Crash's sneer was pretty terrible. But she felt emboldened. She plucked up her courage and cleared her throat. “We should get a hot meal," she said loudly.

  “And waste more money?” was his monotonous answer. “Not likely.”

  “That map was the biggest waste of money,” she said, a bite to her voice. “I've been following you around all day, and I'm starving! Please?”

  "No,” he snapped. “We’re returning to Dorian and Burn with the map." She thought he might say something more, but then his voice cut off abruptly.

  Sora frowned, wondering at his sudden silence, but then she heard a low, ominous gurgling sound. Could it... could it really be...? She got the sudden urge to laugh — the growl of his stomach! What perfect timing! She put a hand to her mouth, trying not to giggle. The assassin suddenly seemed almost human.

  His glare changed her mind, cutting off her laugh. He snarled at her, then looked away, studying the dark buildings. Sighed. “Right,” he said. And then, more slowly, “Where should we eat?”

  Sora tried not to crow in victory. Best not to embarrass him further; he obviously wasn't the teasing type. “How about right here?” she suggested, motioning to the bright window.

  Crash looked up. They were standing before a small pub, a sign hanging outside the door that read The Happy Spoon. Sora's mouth watered at the very thought of spoons. She couldn't wait to eat! Mutton! she thought. No, potatoes and gravy, roasted corn smeared in warm butter, baked salmon and a lemon wedge, oh gosh, fresh bread! She almost gnawed on her own hand.

  “Alright,” Crash said stiffly. “No friendly chitchat, got it? We eat, we leave. We need to get out of town as soon as possible.”

  Sora nodded, just as serious. “Yes, sir!”

  With that, he ushered her up to the door, and they entered the tavern.

  At first the bright light hurt her eyes, and she blinked like an owl. Crash followed her and shut the door behind them. More than a few people looked up at them, the men's eyes lingering, the women darting curious side glances. Sora tried to ignore them as she navigated through the room; it was a smaller establishment, but clean, and it appeared to be a popular destination as there weren't many empty seats. Crash led her to a small table in the back of the room, where it was thick with tobacco smoke and farmers, relaxing after a long day at the market. Sora tried not to put a hand over her nose as she shuffled past. She wished they could have sat next to an open window. She was already feeling lightheaded from the smoke.

  They finally sat down and Sora tried not to act as skittish as she felt; she caught herself hanging her head like an awkward child, stuck in a place she shouldn't be. She looked around at the various farmers and merchants, then back at Crash. What must he think of her, sitting all balled up in the chair, nervously clasping her hands? And why did she suddenly feel so out of place? She made an attempt to sit up and look tougher.

  “Relax,” Crash said.

  “I am relaxed!” she grunted. Grudgingly, she looked down at the table and began to trace the rough wood with her fingertips. Anything to distract herself from the curious glances. She felt as though the entire room was staring at them, though she knew that couldn't be true. She thought instead of the menu and wondered how much one could order in a restaurant. She would need three courses, at least.

  Sora was startled from her thoughts when the front door slammed. There was a slight commotion; many people called out greetings, and a ripple of laughter passed over the room. Looking up, she was surprised to recognize the street entertainer from the market that morning, the large crow perched on his shoulder. He was waving to a few people he obviously knew. Then his eyes landed on her from across the room and he blinked. Paused. A grin spread across his face.

  Sora didn't know what to think, and quickly broke eye contact. She looked back down at the table, a slow blush rising in her cheeks, remembering the flower he had given her that morning; she had dropped it somewhere, or perhaps it had been crushed by all of those heavy brown packages. She wondered if he would try to approach their table and speak to her. With Crash there, she didn't think it was a good idea.

  Then a shadow fell across her. An anxious knot formed in her stomach. Sora looked up, expecting the street entertainer to be standing next to their table, or perhaps a waiter – but instead she was met by a very unwelcomed sight.

  "Why, fancy meetin’ you here, little thing — and yer friend, too,” came a deep, guttural voice; the man sounded like he was chewing on a piece of meat. Sora's vision was filled by a massive belly, and she had to crane her neck to see the man's hairy face. She recognized him clearly from the marketplace, and just like earlier in the day, he was flanked by several weasel-like cronies. They lingered near the bar, casting lewd glances in her direction. “I'm the owner of this here establishment,” he said, jabbing a thumb in his chest. Oh, wonderful. “And we don't take kindly to travelers just passin' through. You best find yerself someplace else to stay the night.”

  Sora glared up at the man, her tongue loosened by hunger. “As though we'd spend a night in this place! It stinks like a barn! We're just here for dinner.”

  The man stared at her, shocked, obviously not expecting her reply – then he slammed a giant hand down on the table. The wood creaked under his weight, and Sora jumped at the noise. “Maybe ya didn't hear me right,” he growled. “Go dine somewhere else.”

  To be quite honest, Sora was tired of being pushed around. She wasn't a nameless commoner to be dismissed at the wave of a hand. If she couldn't fight back against Crash, then she would certainly stand her ground against this brute. “Is that so?” she said, raising an eyebrow. She leaned slightly toward the man, glaring up at his face. “Make me,” she snarled.

  That might not have been the best idea. Sora knew she was being a little belligerent, but she hadn't truly expected the man to retaliate; she was a girl, after all. But then the brute reached down, grabbed her by the shirt, and hauled her out of her chair. She kept going up and up – he lifted her until her feet dangled off the ground.

  “Eep!” she squeaked, surprised.

  “Git. Out.” He spewed the words into her face.

  Sora felt dizzy, panicked, her heart flitting around in her chest like a trapped bird. And then — wwwhump!

  She wasn't sure what happened, but just as suddenly as she was grabbed, she was dropped to the ground, the man releasing her without warning. Thud! She hit the table, hard. The air whooshed out of her lungs, and she rolled in pain; her arms went to her ribs where she had struck the wood. Tears stung in her eyes. She couldn't breathe.

  It took a long minute for the pain to subside and Sora's lungs to start working again. When she was finally able to drag in a breath of air, she realized that the room had gone silent. At first she thought her ears were playing tricks on her, but then her eyes turned to the giant man, and she stared in amazement. She felt her blood run cold.

  Crash stood in front of the giant, staring him down although the assassin was a mere sliver in comparison. Sora saw the glint of a wicked knife in his hand, though he held it low, hidden by the table. The giant was holding his arm where apparently the knife had gouged him, forcing him to drop her to the ground.

&nb
sp; “Crash?” she said hoarsely; the word wasn’t even a whisper from her lips. She couldn’t tell if the assassin had heard her.

  Then two other hands grabbed her elbows and pulled her away from the table. At first she struggled, but a soft, friendly voice calmed her down. "Easy, honey, it's not wise to get in the middle of a fight — especially if yours is a losing battle."

  She turned around and recognized the bright eyes of the street entertainer. His crow flapped awkwardly on his shoulder, then settled. Something about his words and the tone of his voice pricked at her; she felt suddenly insulted and more than a little prideful. She glared, inexplicably angry. My side? A losing battle?

  "You don't know what you're talking about!” she hissed viciously, surprising even herself. Was she defending her captor now, the one who had bullied her around all day? Her sudden loyalty was confusing and more than a little troubling. Sora turned back to the confrontation, her face pulled into a tight frown.

  Crash and the large man were still staring each other down, and the tavern keeper said in a low, threatening voice, "I'd move outta the way if I was you, skinny. This here is a fine establishment. You gonna make trouble with me?"

  The patrons in the room all leaned closer to the scene, eager for some trouble, avidly awaiting the outcome. Crash continued to stare the man in the eye, looking the bully square in the face. Then he said quietly, "You will leave this girl alone. She's with me."

  Crash's voice, if possible, scared Sora even more than the giant's. She recognized that tone. It was the voice of Death, of something else in the room, something lethal and unseen. She suddenly felt as though Crash was far larger than his own body, stretching up towards the roof, filling the space with his presence. Her hands grew cold. She had the sudden urge to hide under a table.

  Then she heard the entertainer behind her curse, followed by an odd statement. “Dear Goddess, it’s one of them.” Then he, too, slowly inched away.

  The tavern keeper glanced around, like he was looking for a way out. Crash casually raised his dagger — a sharp blade, curved to a vicious point — and held it out for all to see. Then, faster than her eyes could follow, he slammed the man up against the wall — wham! The room gasped. Sora flinched.