Viper's Creed (The Cat's Eye Chronicles)

by T. L. Shreffler

  As he spoke, a line of small cloaked figures marched past, hoods pulled low over their heads, eyes directed at the ground. They each held a thick rope with a large ornamental bell at the end.

  Sora stared at them skeptically. “Don't tell me those children are part of the clergy....”

  “Acolytes of the Goddess,” Burn explained. They watched as the line moved by at a slow, meditative pace. Sora wanted to laugh. Based on the size of the acolytes, they had to be even younger than Laina.

  “They are chosen at age five,” Crash explained quietly, as though reading her thoughts. His voice was low and soft. “Farmers and nobles alike bring their children from hundreds of miles around to be accepted into the Order. It’s a lifetime commitment.” His tone turned dry. “And a convenient way to get rid of an extra daughter.”

  “Or son,” Laina said.

  Sora gave a start; she hadn’t realized the young girl could hear them. Laina was staring at Crash with narrow lavender eyes, but she turned away before he could return her look.

  “Where do we go?” Sora asked. “Should we follow them to the Temple?”

  “That would make the most sense,” Burn replied.

  “Then what are we waiting for? I'm starving,” Laina said. “Let’s go!”

  Burn nodded and started forward, guiding his large gray house through the crowded streets. With a slight nudge of his leg, Crash led their horse after the line of acolytes and down the crowded city street toward the distant towers of the Goddess.

  The acolytes walked at an irritatingly slow pace, and Sora entertained herself by looking around the city. Men and women rode past in little buggies, each pulled by a single horse. Shopkeepers polished windows and laid out wares. Some nodded respectfully to the line of acolytes, or said small prayers in their wake, but most ignored them as if they saw this sight every day.

  Up ahead, she could see men in leather armor strutting back and forth, armed with cudgels and polearms.

  “City guards?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

  “Not quite. Street patrol,” Crash replied dryly. “Poorly trained fools in service to the Temple. Good thing they didn't see you throw that apple.”

  He was teasing her—had to be. She highly doubted he cared about littering. Sora rolled her eyes. “That's ridiculous, fining someone for throwing an apple core.... It's fertilizing the ground!” Why would rich people make such a law? Seems like more of an inconvenience.

  Laina stuck her tongue out as they passed. The patrol looked up and glared at them, his eyes cold and hard.

  Crash stared back as their horse strolled leisurely by. Eventually, the man looked away.

  Sora grinned at this. Not so tough now, are ya? She stuck her tongue out at the patrol too, then leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Crash's waist.

  * * *

  A commotion became apparent as they approached the Temple. They were a block away from the large chiseled doors, riding in the shadow of the tower, and the streets were packed with people. Suddenly it was impossible to continue on horseback.

  A few members of the street patrol milled around, hanging at the back of the crowd, not doing much. Sora and her companions dismounted and continued on foot, pushing their way to the Temple.

  When they reached the gates, the crowd opened up to reveal an old farmer and his wife kneeling on the ground. Their faces were tan and leathery from the sun.

  A woman stood before them dressed in long, purple robes, the white cowl around her head hiding her hair. From the emblem on her right shoulder, Sora guessed it was one of the minor priestesses, though she wasn't sure of the rank.

  The farmer's wife was sobbing, and Sora saw a small child no more than a year old wrapped close to her breast.

  The noise from the crowd was considerable, but Sora could overhear the farm wife speak.

  “Save her!” the woman cried. “Please, save my daughter! I can't lose another child....”

  “Pray over her, at least!” the farmer yelled roughly. “My entire herd has died this past month, possessed by some strange spirit. They attacked and killed each other! There is a curse on my land and we have need of the Goddess' touch!”

  The priestess looked on helplessly. Her lips were tight, her eyes large and watery. “I-I'm sorry,” she said, spreading her hands. Her voice was soft and high-pitched, like a cooing dove. “I've done all I can. We have no magic; we can only hope that the grace of the West Wind works through us....”

  “Then what's the point of prayer?” the man yelled. “If the Goddess can't save my herd and can't save my child, then who needs a Temple? We should just tear it down!”

  The rest of the crowd surged forward, taking up the cry. “Tear it down!” they screamed.

  Sora gasped as she was shoved forward. The weight of the crowd rushed up and struck her like an ocean wave. Crash grabbed her arm to steady her.

  “I've lost two sons this year to a strange sickness!” a woman called.

  “My crops won't grow! The fruit is rotten!” another yelled.

  “Aye! And the fish are dying in the rivers!”

  “The chickens are losing feathers! Their beaks turn black!”

  The priestess was backed up against the gates now, a panicked look on her face. There were no other priestesses in sight, and the crowd looked extremely angry, with red faces and glaring eyes. A few people carried swords or walking staves, and shook them at her threateningly.

  “I-I'm sorry,” the young priestess repeated. “Truly... we haven't heard of all this before. We must go to the High Priestess and consult her wisdom. Please, have patience!”

  “Patience didn't save my son!” a short, gnarled woman screamed from the crowd. Then she launched forward, whirling a large broom handle over her head.

  The woman lunged at the priestess, and Sora lunged too, swinging her staff outward. She caught the broomstick in its upward swing and swept it from the woman's grasp, sending it spinning over the crowd.

  The woman turned to stare at her.

  In fact, the entire crowd turned.

  Sora stood out clearly in front of the Temple, her heart racing, looking around. Everyone seemed focused on her. In truth, she was a little surprised. She hadn't thought before acting; it had been pure instinct. Now what? she wondered. Her eyes traveled helplessly over the stunned crowd, then she signaled Crash and Burn.

  At her cue, her companions stepped forward. All four turned to face the crowd. Burn unsheathed his massive greatsword and several people stepped back. It was a bulky blade, wider than an open hand and taller than most men.

  “Might as well wave,” Crash muttered next to her. “When Volcrian travels this way, we'll have a hundred people to identify us.”

  “Oh, hush,” Burn grunted. “What was she supposed to do? Let the priestess be killed?”

  Crash's silence was unnerving.

  Sora tried to shrug it off. If the crowd got angry again, she would be stampeded into the ground.

  “Wait!” she cried, throwing up her arms and addressing the onlookers. She thought back to her mother's house, to the farmer with the flaky skin and clear bile. “W-wait just a second! I can help!”

  The crowd broke into murmurs, whispering amongst each other.

  “How?” a young man yelled.

  “I... I've seen this sickness before!”

  Burn glanced at her, surprised, but she ignored him. Instead she turned to the farmer and his wife, who were still stooped on the ground, hunched over their baby girl.

  “Hand her to me,” Sora said, and held out her arms.

  The farmer looked highly suspicious, but the mother did as commanded, obviously desperate. She handed the baby over to Sora, who held her, running a hand over her small, chubby face. She recognized the dry rash on the skin, the fever, the shallow, painful breaths.

  Briefly, she called upon the Cat's Eye. She closed her eyes, reaching into her mind, asking....

  The Cat's Eye's presence surged inside of her, like a gasp of air, as though
it had been waiting. Now. She jolted, surprised, and heard the dim chiming of a bell.

  She touched the baby's nose confidently. With a flash of green light, the Cat's Eye sucked the curse out of the baby, drawing the magic into itself. It was a small pool of magic. There were no worms like before, but a bitter taste came to her mouth, as if she was drinking lemon juice.

  Sora staggered, momentarily dizzy, slightly winded by the exchange.

  The crowd gasped. The murmur grew to a rumble. Everyone craned their necks to see.

  Then the baby started crying.

  The little girl looked healthy. No rash, no fever. The farmer's wife scooped her from Sora's arms. It was a hearty wail for such a small baby, not at all the cry of a sick child. The father and mother stared, their mouths hanging open. Then, slowly, they both started crying, tears streaming down their faces.

  Finally, Sora turned to the crowd. She paused, her eyes growing wide. The people looked furious.

  “Liar!” a man screamed. “She hurt the baby! She's no Healer! She's evil!”

  “No!” the farmer's wife yelled. She stepped in front of Sora smoothly, holding up the child as evidence. “My daughter is crying! Her lungs are cured! She can breathe!”

  Another murmur passed through the onlookers.

  “Cured?”

  “A miracle....”

  “Who is she? What did she do?”

  “Did you see that light?”

  “The Goddess! It is a sign from the Goddess!”

  Sora turned quickly to the priestess, who stared at her with an unreadable expression. “Please,” she said. “My companions and I must speak to the High Priestess. It's urgent. And it has to do with this sickness....”

  The crowd continued to murmur behind them. A few people were already trying to get her attention, shouting out, begging for cures. Sora tried to shut her ears to the noise, tried not to feel the heavy press of bodies behind her. Her heart ached for the people. She wished she could help every single one... but there was no time.

  After a long moment, the young woman nodded. She unlocked the front gates. “The High Priestess only holds audiences in the morning,” she said. “But I think she will make an exception.”

  Sora turned to her companions. Laina's eyes were wide and confused. Burn kept his sword drawn. Every now and then, he pushed back the crowd with his blade, a reproachful look on his face. Crash watched her silently, expressionlessly, as he always did.

  She waved to them. “Come on!” she said. Then she started forward. The four entered the gates, the farmers pushing at their backs, trying to touch Sora. As they entered the Temple grounds, several city guards arrived on the scene, brandishing swords in an attempt to disperse the crowd. Sora watched the gates shut behind them, the mob swirling outside like a dammed river.

  Beyond the Temple walls, the four found themselves in a surprisingly serene garden, with citrus trees growing on either side. A stone path led through emerald green grass up to a broad, decorative set of doors. The Temple was constructed of a strange material whose shimmering colors were like that of an opal, or mother-of-pearl. It was truly a majestic building. Sora's eyes followed the spiraling towers up their full length, high into the sky. The monstrous central tower was connected to two smaller ones by arching bridges. She looked away before she got dizzy.

  “Please wait here while I alert the High Priestess to your presence,” the young priestess said, then lifted her robes a bit and shuffled off.

  As soon as she was gone, Laina turned to look at Sora. “What was that you did for the baby?” she demanded, her face scrunched. “That didn't look like a Healer's touch. That was magic!”

  Sora stared at the young girl, wondering what to say. She felt tongue-tied and a little embarrassed at making such a spectacle.

  Thankfully, Burn spoke for her. “A Cat's-Eye necklace,” he said briefly. “Sora is one of the few to possess one. I'll explain the whole thing once we see the High Priestess.”

  Laina's eyes narrowed stubbornly. Sora recognized the look; it meant she was about to ask a million more questions. But at that moment, the young priestess reappeared. She looked flustered, her brown eyes wide in amazement.

  “She is expecting you,” she said, breathless.

  “What?” Sora asked, unsure if she had heard correctly.

  “Yes, she says you are late. She wants to speak to you immediately... and alone.” The woman's eyes traveled over her companions.

  Sora didn't know what to think about that. She frowned, suddenly suspicious. “But how....?”

  “I will come too,” Crash said flatly.

  The priestess opened her mouth to protest, but the assassin stepped up to Sora's side. He didn't have to speak; his presence was enough. As soon as his shadow fell across her, the priestess shuddered, a doubtful look crossing her face. “I suppose... if you would prefer....”

  “We prefer,” Sora interjected.

  The young priestess nodded, turned, and paused. She glanced over her shoulder at Laina and Burn. “If you have need of shelter, the dorms are across that way, and the kitchens too. Ask for Marian. She'll take care of you.”

  Then the priestess led them into the Temple.

  Chapter 7

  They entered an expansive domed room with wide stone floors and large marble pillars. The walls were the same curious material as the outside, smooth and shimmery. Across the room, a large statue of the Goddess stood, reaching up toward the ceiling, a stone flute held to Her lips. It was a familiar statue; similar figures stood in all of the minor temples and shrines that Sora had ever seen. She could remember one in her garden long ago, back at her stepfather's manor.

  The walls were painted to mimic the wind, a myriad of swirling colors, but in the deep shade, they were barely visible. The wall sconces were not lit.

  “In summer, we only light the building in the mornings,” the priestess explained. “When the Temple is closed, we douse the fires to keep it cool.”

  They headed toward a staircase on the right, which led upward into the tower. As they climbed the spiral stairs, Sora exchanged a glance with Crash. She was reminded of the Catlin swamp where giant hollow trees spiked into the sky, filled by similar spiral staircases they had climbed for hours just to reach the top. It all seems so long ago. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing, but when she met his eyes, she couldn't be sure. His gaze was eerie in the calm shadows.

  They reached the top of the tower's staircase and entered a circular chamber, directly on top of the Temple's main room. It was broad and empty. The floor was a swirling mosaic of tiny tiles, each the size of Sora's thumbnail, a rainbow of purples, greens and reds, as though someone had spilled candy across the ground. There were no windows. The only light came from a series of sconces on the far wall, which shimmered with pearlescent light.

  In the center of the room an old woman sat on a large, dark-blue pillow. Her silver hair, intricately braided down her back, was woven with small gold bells and purple ribbon. A veil made of soft gold cloth covered the lower half of her face. Sora looked above the veil at the woman's eyes. Old eyes. Wise eyes. Was that a hint of recognition?

  The young priestess bowed slightly and opened her mouth to speak, but the old woman cut her off. “Thank you, Clara.”

  The girl's eyes widened and she bowed again quickly, then turned and hurried away back toward the staircase. Sora watched her go, wondering at the brief dismissal.

  “So you have arrived,” the High Priestess said, remaining seated on the large cushion. Then her light blue eyes gazed at Crash, and she said, “Why are you here, Dark One? I did not summon you.”

  Crash remained slightly behind Sora, lingering at the doorway. “I wonder why,” he said stoically.

  Why indeed? Sora echoed. Her curiosity was piqued. Dark One. She could remember her mother calling Crash by a similar name.

  The High Priestess and Crash shared a long, tense look that stretched on into silence. Then she frowned and turned back to Sora, as though
Crash didn't exist. When she spoke, her words resounded off the chamber walls, amplified by the domed roof. “It has been some time that I have dreamt of a girl with a Cat's Eye,” she said. “It is a rare stone that you bear.”

  Sora nodded. Dreams? She waited for an explanation, but the Priestess didn't speak again. Finally, she said, “You've dreamt of me?”

  The Priestess nodded. “I have, child. Many who enter the Order are graced by visions from the Goddess. It is not magic... but Her will.”

  Sora nodded, still uncertain. She snuck a glance at Crash. Again, unreadable.

  “I... I've had a vision, too,” she said slowly. “From the Cat's Eye.”

  The woman nodded, her bells jingling slightly in her hair.

  Sora continued, “There is a plague coming, a supernatural one. The Dark God's weapons have entered the world.” It felt strange to say that; she wondered if the Priestess would understand.

  But the Priestess' reply was unexpected. She spoke in a dry tone. “Do you know much about our Order, child?”

  “I... uh, not really....”

  “I am the High Priestess of the West. It is the duty of a High Priestess to commune with the Wind... to receive, in essence, visions. Every night I dream... and most nights, the Wind tells me things. I have heard of your Cat's-Eye necklace... and I have heard of the dark hilt that you carry in your bag.”

  Sora blinked, surprised. She shifted the satchel on her shoulder. To be honest, she had almost forgotten about the hilt. It seemed almost silly—just an old chunk of metal wrapped up in rags.

  “Yes,” the Priestess continued. “I know of this plague. Those who are sensitive to the balance in the world know that there is a rising darkness, something tainted in the land.”

  “My mother said it is the essence of the Dark God,” Sora offered.

  “And so it is,” the Priestess replied. A look of speculation came over her face. “Not many know of such things. Your mother must be knowledgeable, indeed, to have come to that conclusion.” The old woman stood up. To do so, she had to use two canes, one in each hand. Sora hadn't noticed the canes lying next to the pillow.