Two huge balls of mud came flying at them. One hit Sora in her chest, almost knocking her off her feet, and the other smacked Crash in the face. She stumbled back several paces with a shriek of surprise, then looked at her mud covered clothes. She turned to the assassin, her face grim.
"This means war," she growled.
Crash spit mud out of his mouth. "My thoughts exactly."
The air erupted with battle cries and they all dove to the ground, grabbing fistfuls of mud. Before a minute had passed, the air was full of mud bombs and flying chunks of dirt. Burn dodged their missiles and ducked behind a large water trough, then sent a large ball hurtling at Sora. She dropped to the ground just as Crash stood up behind her, and the ball hit his chest, sending him staggering back several paces. Then he smoothly returned fire, hitting Burn in the shoulder. Sora leapt up again, dodging a blob of dirt before throwing one of her own. She missed Burn's head by inches.
"That was a close one!" the Wolfy shouted above the pouring rain, and Sora laughed for the pure joy of laughing. What a way to say goodbye!
Crash molded his cloak into a sling and packed it with mud. When the assassin had it full, he whirled it around a few times before letting the bomb fly. Burn, who had been throwing mud at Sora, didn't see it coming until it was too late. At the last moment he heard the missile and turned his head — the mud ball hit him squarely in the face. The Wolfy toppled over, momentarily out of commission.
Crash jumped up next to Sora and grabbed her hand. She didn't miss his roguish smile. "Charge!" he shouted, and dragged her into a run.
Sora was so shocked by the assassin's behavior that at first she almost fell. Then he pulled her, slipping and sliding, across the muddy yard. They practically collapsed on top of the Wolfy — and Sora landed straight in his clutches, his hands grabbing her by the waist, going to all of her ticklish spots. Once she realized what he was doing, she screamed; laughter fought its way up her throat, choking her. A tickle match! She would never survive!
Bodies were everywhere and after a while Sora wasn't sure which limb belonged to who. She tried to wiggle away but Burn grabbed her leg and dragged her back down. Crash saw her go sliding through the mud and dove after her, trying to save her from the enemy.
Letting out a squeal of surprise, Sora felt Burn run his hands up the sides of her feet. She thrashed like a caught fish and landed on top of Crash, who suddenly switched sides. His long fingers snaked up and attacked her stomach, slipping through her protective arms.
Now crying with laughter, Sora begged for them to stop. The rain was dripping form her nose and cheeks, landing in her mouth and eyes as it fell from the sky; she fancied that she would drown if they kept this up. Finally, Burn let go of her and she had to put up with Crash, who hadn't decided she'd had enough. His hands slipped lower, finding her sensitive belly, then the tops of her knees. Gods, I wish I had thicker clothes! she thought desperately; maybe then she would have some kind of protection. She curled up into a ball, her final defense, completely helpless.
Burn was laughing again and this time Crash joined in. Sora almost forgot that she was being tickled, and listened to the deep, husky laughter from the assassin. She had never heard him laugh before, or even truly smile — just what had changed? He seemed relaxed, open. Even... fun?
It was all too flustering, yet for some reason she found herself wishing he would laugh more often.
Finally Sora escaped the man's grip and ended up lying on her side in the mud a few feet away, panting for breath, utterly exhausted. Burn picked her up after a minute and set her on her feet, his face stretched into a broad smile. "Up we get," he said cheerfully. "I wonder what your mother would think of all this?"
Sora thought of that scenario and felt her face flush oddly, making her cheeks sting in the rain. Crash stood up with his back to her and brushed off his clothes. Sora looked down at her ruined nightgown and tried not to be dismayed. It was a very fine material. Her mother was not going to be happy.
Then Burn turned to Crash, who was trying to wring the water out of his cloak. "We should head out," he said quietly.
Immediately all the joy and laughter was forgotten, and Sora felt a gaping hole open in her chest. Her friends, the only two real friends she had ever had, were about to leave. She wasn't fit to go with them. Tears stung her eyes, but they were hidden by the rain. I'd beg them to take me, I would... but I know this is for the best. Of course it is, they wouldn't make me stay if it wasn't.
"Don't go," she whispered instead, almost against her will.
Burn turned to look down at her, his gaze unexpectedly kind. "Believe me, I wouldn't if I had a choice," he said quietly. "I'll miss you, you know I will, and I think Crash will too. He might not show it, but I think you've gotten through to him."
Sora let out a snort despite herself. "That man has the emotional capacity of a pack of wolves," she said bitterly.
"Is that so?" the dreaded voice asked.
Burn gave up a deep chuckle. Sora realized she had spoken just a little too loud, but she wasn't too concerned — she had kind of wanted him to overhear.
The assassin's voice sounded again next to her ear. "You have no idea how wolf-like I can be."
Sora whirled, a tremor of alarm running through her, but the dark man was already walking away. He paused next to his horse and started searching through his bags. She felt oddly disappointed — what had she been expecting? Some sort of recognition? Confirmation of their friendship? She wasn't sure, but she wished for just a moment that the assassin would show the same amount of camaraderie that she felt.
Crash turned back toward her, a small sack in his hands. "Hold her still, Burn."
Sora blinked, wondering just what this was all about, then ducked as Burn's arms swiped at her. They closed on air — she was already behind the Wolfy, using his large bulk to shield herself from the assassin. Crash made a grab for her. She twisting to dodge, but the ground was slippery and she lost her balance. Crash wound up grabbing her just before she fell over, and by her hair, no less.
“Ouch!” Sora shrieked.
"Make sure that doesn't come off!" Burn exclaimed.
"Don't worry, old friend," Crash replied through gritted teeth, "I'll be quite gentle!"
Sora was thoroughly confused. Was this just a game? Then she was yanked backward and hit Crash's chest, a sensation akin to hitting a solid wall. Before she could pull away, he trapped her in the circle of his arms and gripped her to him, his chest scalding hot through the wet fabric of her nightshirt. First she was stiff against him, but some part of her admitted that it felt good to be warm, to be trapped like this against someone.
As long as that someone is not Crash, she told herself firmly. It seemed that he read her mind, for a moment later his breath touched her ear. He murmured, "For you."
A package was pressed into her hands. Then abruptly he let go, releasing her back into the rain and cold. Sora shivered, oddly bereft, and watched the assassin stride back to his horse. It seemed as though he had forgotten her completely, even after the way he had acted just a few minutes ago. Typical behavior. He was probably toying with her again, manipulating her, pretending that he cared.
"Burn, let's go," he called. His voice was no longer friendly and teasing. She watched as he dawned his cloak, then pulled his hood up. The cowl went over his face, hiding his nose and lower — soon all she could see were his eyes. She felt immediately alienated. He wasn't a man anymore, but the cruel assassin who had kidnapped her half a year earlier. It was as though all of those months between had been erased. She couldn't help but feel bitter, angry — for a moment she thought she had touched him, that she had reached the person he hid from everyone else. Now it all seemed like wishful thinking.
Then Burn swept her into a swift, fierce hug, leaving Sora winded and dazed. When next she focused, both men were astride their new steeds, settling into the wet saddles. Crash didn't acknowledge her again, but turned his horse and started down the road at a fast trot
, traveling quickly through the forest, away from her mother's house.
"Don't forget us!" Burn called, waving to her.
Sora managed a smile and a wave, but she felt sick. Her stomach sank. She watched as he also turned his steed away. Forget them? Never. She would probably think about them every day for the rest of her life.
With that, they were off, the two men already a ways down the soaked road, their horses moving into a canter. Sora watched them numbly as they grew smaller and smaller. Finally she allowed the tears to start in her eyes, and she took a faltering step forward. "Come back," she whispered, tear choked. "Come back!"
Starting to run, suddenly desperate, she yelled, "COME BACK!"
They were too far away to hear her, despite Burn's long ears. She came to a stumbling halt, her feet squelching in the mud. She had never felt so helpless before, so frustrated. Left behind. Unwanted. Alone. She watched until they were specks on the horizon, then no longer visible in the pouring rain. Then she looked down at the brown package in her hands. Her voice hoarse, she said quietly, "He didn't even say goodbye."
Sora traveled back up the gravel drive and opened the door to her mother's house, struggling not to look over her shoulder. They were gone, it was no use. She stopped by the closet in the front room to grab a warm blanket. A hot bath sounded good, too. Maybe she would call for Cameron to draw some water.
She looked at the package that Crash had given her, wondering if she dared to open it. She almost didn't want to, but natural curiosity got the better of her. Fingers numb and clumsy from the cold, she haltingly unwrapped the brown paper.
A red bundle fell out. Looking at it, Sora noticed that it was also wrapped around something, and picked it up. She unfolded the velvet cloth. Frowned. It appeared to be the hilt of some weapon, perhaps a sword, though the blade was missing. She stared at the black handle in confusion, a frown on her face, then abruptly she remembered. This hilt, this very hilt, was from the same sword that had almost killed her.
Why in the world would Crash give this to her? She ponderously turned the object in her hands. Her fingers traced the designs carved into the thick leather wrapping. Suddenly a small note fell out of the hole where the blade would have fit, landing on the desk. Sora blinked, surprised. Picked it up. Unfolding it, she made out what she assumed to be Crash's spidery handwriting.
For the first time I felt fear.
Clutching the note in her hand, Sora started to cry. The tears came suddenly, forcefully, unbidden. Her shoulders shook and she couldn't breathe. Her adventure was over — over, and nothing was finished, it was far too soon. There had to more, didn't there? Some bigger picture. Would they ever come back for her? Would she ever see them again?
A Special Preview
Cat's Eye II: Viper's Creed
by
T. L. Shreffler
(Available Winter 2012)
Prologue
Volcrian looked down at the body and watched the crimson tears seep from the woman's wounds.
He felt no regret, no twinge of guilt. Instead he wondered if the family's dinner had grown cold on the dining room table, and whether or not they had a good horse for him to use. His every sense was attuned, his muscles tense, every breath quivering in his lungs along with the sweet smell of death.
His pointed ears twitched as he listened to the blood dripping through the floorboards. It was a scattered rhythm, pooling in the kitchen below where the heat from the hearth would dry it. Every nerve in him was aching to reach out and touch the precious water of life, the salty liquid that bore more power than any other magic — but he wasn't here for a sacrifice.
No. He was here for vengeance.
"That's the last time you house a murderer," he whispered to the woman's corpse, then his icy blue eyes flashed to the corner where an equally dead man lay. The smell of blood was so strong in the room that his nostrils flared; despite himself, Volcrian's thin tongue whipped out to lick his lips.
The power that he drew from the blood was energizing, invigorating, a heady rush that made his body sing. With a hollow laugh, he flicked his silver braid over his shoulder and turned from the massacred bedroom, shutting the door neatly behind him. He couldn't have any innocent wanderers coming through and finding the bodies until he was long gone.
You think you've covered your trail well, Viper, he thought in grim satisfaction. But I have found you again, and once more all those you touch experience your fate. One day it will be your neck I slit!
Volcrian walked out onto the landing and looked down at the sparsely decorated living room. It was a small family he had called upon that evening, middle-class and hardworking. They had been eating dinner, talking about the merchant husband's coming voyage overseas. The woman hadn't wanted him to go.
Well, safe to say he wouldn't be going anywhere. Ever.
The Wolfy mage chuckled to himself, unsure what had brought on this good humor after so many months of brooding. Maybe it was the fact that he had finally picked up the assassin's trail again, or perhaps the life he had drawn from the blood upstairs, or maybe it was that his belly was full and the future was looking bright for the first time in a long time.
Volcrian's smile faded slowly as he descended the steps and headed to the front door. For the last several years his quest for vengeance had consumed his every waking moment. Even in his sleep, the Wolfy mage dreamed of killing the monster who had murdered his brother, the soft-spoken Etienne. It was more than a personal quest; Wolfy law called for the death of the killer, and Volcrian was not one to turn away from tradition. He would let no one — even his own kind — stand in his way.
Floorboards creaked. He was not alone.
"Mister?" a small voice asked.
Volcrian paused, his thoughts interrupted, his hand on the doorknob. His eyes flickered around the room. Standing near a doorway was a small child in pajamas, probably close to four years old, a rather oversized stuffed bear in his grasp. Volcrian smiled again, this time indulgently. He loved children.
"Yes, little one?" he asked, stooping down to seem less threatening. He watched the child take a tentative step towards him.
"Where's Mum?" the boy murmured sleepily. "I'm thirsty."
Volcrian frowned again, then he held out one pale, long hand to the boy. "Your mum is asleep now, little one," he said softly. "But I'll take you somewhere you can get a drink."
The boy seemed to agree with this, and slowly shuffled his way across the room, still awkward on his feet. Volcrian felt his heart melt at the sight — what a sweet child, so innocent and young. That's what he loved about children: their purity. Vulnerability. They were untouched by the darkness around them, seeing with unbiased eyes.
Finally the boy was close enough to place his tiny hand in Volcrian's own, and the mage stood up carefully. "It's not far," he murmured, and opened the door into the night. The two stepped out into the darkness.
Then the mage took the boy to a water trough, sank him in, and didn't move until the child had stopped struggling. He couldn't have the child speaking of what he had seen. It was justice, after all — those who helped Viper deserved to die.
And to Volcrian's mind — the mind of the righteous — he had not sinned.
About the Author
T. L. Shreffler is a noblewoman living in the sunny world of Los Angeles, California, a mere block from Warner Bros. Studio. She enjoys frolicking through meadows, sipping Mike's Hard Lemonade, exploring the unknown reaches of San Fernando Valley and unearthing rare artifacts in thrift stores. She holds a Bachelors in Eloquence (English) and writes YA Fantasy, Paranormal Romance and poetry. She has previously been published in Eclipse: A Literary Anthology and The Northridge Review.
Feel free to connect online! She loves hearing from readers, reviewers, orcs, elves, assassins, villains, figments of her imagination and extraterrestrials looking to make contact. Her online accounts are as follows:
Email: [email protected]
Website: www.runawaypen.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/tlshreffler
Twitter: @poetsforpeanuts
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