Sora's Quest

by T. L. Shreffler

  The room grew dim. Sora heard a dull rushing noise. She stared at the place where her father had stood, her mind replaying the scene again and again within a matter of milliseconds. Was her father injured? Struck down by the falling glass? No, it’s impossible, how....?

  What are you doing? an inner voice screamed at her. This is your chance—run!

  Automatically, clumsily, Sora turned and fled. For the moment, her father was out of commission; it was the perfect time to slip away. She was certain he would be fine; after all, he had more than 100 servants at his beck and call who were far better equipped to handle an injury than she was.

  And so, boots crunching on glass, pandemonium ringing in her ears, she dove for the opening to the servants' hall. While the manor was vast with corridors branching out in several directions, she knew every nook and cranny. She sprinted into the hall and down the flagstone corridor.

  As she ran, she ripped off what she could of her skirts, freeing up her legs. She used a strip of cloth to wipe off the face paint. This dress was an ugly garment, anyway. She headed down another narrow hallway that was barely lit by a few candles. It would lead her out the back door and into the freedom of the night.

  Already Sora could see her travel bag up ahead, stashed in one of the servant alcoves. She had hidden it before the dance, on her way to the Blooming Hall. Her breath heavy in her lungs, she redoubled her pace. She could hear the servants stirring, alarmed by the calamity in the ballroom. Just what caused the skylight to break like that, anyway? she thought. And what did I see before it fell? It must have been someone on the rooftop. Was it possible her father had been attacked?

  Silly, of course not. Now was not the time to scare herself with vague questions. Her father would be fine; she had to focus on escaping. Sora passed the alcove where her bag was and grabbed it without breaking her stride. She had to leave quickly before someone discovered her absence. The red carpet seemed to lead on forever, though it was only a few rooms away from the back door. Gods, I’ll never make it outside. Come on legs, move!

  Without warning, a door burst open ahead of her, and a crowd of servants flooded the hall. Sora barely contained a yelp of surprise. Flinging herself into a broom closet, she slipped deep into the shadows and prayed that nobody had seen her. Breathless, nervous and quivering, she scanned the hallway with wide eyes.

  The entire kitchen staff rushed past, hurrying to reach the traumatized guests. Some carried lanterns, illuminating her hair and face momentarily, but no one noticed. No one looked. Sora let out a slow breath, then stripped off what remained of her dress and changed into her traveling clothes, doing her best to wipe off the rest of the face paint, even though she didn't have a mirror.

  When the hallways were silent again, she allowed herself a long, slow sigh of relief. She kicked the ruined dress into the far reaches of the closet, shouldered her bag, and walked carefully to the stone corridor, checking in both directions. Nothing.

  She launched herself onto the flagstone, gathered herself and turned.

  Wham!

  An unidentified something-or-other crashed into her, hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor. She hit hard and rolled several feet before slamming into the wall. A body was tangled on top of her. She felt the toe of a boot in her back.

  Without thinking, Sora did what any sensible woman would do: she screamed.

  Immediately whoever it was jumped off her. A hand grabbed her braid and yanked her to her feet. Sora screeched, but her cry was cut off by a smart slap to the face that stunned her to silence.

  She looked at the man holding her—by her standards quite tall, around six feet. She was stunned by green eyes so vibrant that for a moment she thought they glowed.

  Then she blinked and brought the rest of the man's features into focus. Black hair darker than a raven's wing swept across his brow in a short cut, exposing two neat ears. His skin was lightly tanned, but she could make out very little of his face. Most of his lower features were hidden behind a black veil. Once again, her eyes were riveted to his gaze, sharper than a knife, his expression terrifying.

  Suddenly she felt her throat close. Dear Goddess....Was this the man who had destroyed the skylight? With eyes like that, I wouldn’t put it past him!

  Before her imagination could run away with her, he whipped out a knife and pressed it against her throat. “Make a noise and it'll be your last,” he hissed. His voice was quiet and smooth, like a snake.

  With a shudder, Sora thought it must be the voice of Death. She licked her dry lips, shaking with terror, her fingers curling up like dried leaves.

  Somehow she found the will to speak. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “No questions.” The knife bit deeper.

  “Please....” she shuddered, and the words slipped out like water. “Don't kill me. I-I won't tell anyone!”

  “Tongues talk. I should take yours.”

  “N-no!” Sora's thoughts spun helplessly, trying to think of a way to stall him. “If you don't trust me, then...t-take me with you!”

  Saying that shocked her. Her lips stayed parted, as though expecting more, her breath wheezing out in a hollow gasp. He gazed at her with those calculating serpentine eyes, traveling over her hair, her face, across her shoulders. Then his eyes lingered at her throat, close to where the knife pressed against her skin. Slowly he frowned, staring at the base of her neck. No reply.

  At that moment, a commotion broke out down the hall. There was a distant flicker of light. His eyes looked up and focused behind her.

  He grabbed her hand, turned and ran.

  Sora was so stunned, she couldn’t make her legs move. She found herself half-dragged, half-carried down the hallway. Then, with a surge of willpower, she forced her legs to work and launched into a sprint. Despite her fit condition, it was almost impossible to keep up with him.

  Dear Goddess, have I gone mad? Was she actually running next to this man? She had no answer to that. His hand on her wrist was like solid steel, but the rest of him was a shadow, a ghost flickering in and out of the lantern light, existing between two worlds. He could have been a dream, a nightmare, some corporeal spirit...she almost half-believed it. Who is he?

  They burst through a side door, one of the servants' entrances, and plunged into the freezing night. Sora felt that she'd been doused with ice water, suddenly awake. The stables were in the opposite direction and she still had her satchel. She could run for her horse...if this person would only let go of her hand.

  “Enough,” she grunted. She had joined him willingly, but she didn't intend to travel with him, not at all! When she tried to pull her hand away, his grip tightened.

  Her fighting instincts kicked in. With a jerk, she yanked hard, trying to free her arm. His fingers clamped down like iron, shocking her with their strength. She winced. That's going to bruise.

  “Hey! Let go!” she demanded, still pulling away from him, though it wasn't very effective. He moved her along at a rapid pace, half-lifting her from the ground, hardly sparing her a glance. “Where are you taking me?” She dug her feet into the gravel driveway, skidding across the loose shale.

  His fingers gripped a little tighter, but other than that, he ignored her. There was no one around; no servants, no lawn workers, no maids. Everyone had gone to the ballroom. She was caught, helpless.

  Then she had a terrible thought. Would anyone notice her disappearance? With all of the distraction inside the manor, she highly doubted it. The guests and servants would think she was hiding in her room, shamed by her deplorable performance. Ha! The Blooming hardly seemed like much of an ordeal now.

  The man in black continued to drag her up the driveway and then into a thick outcropping of bushes. He's going to take me to the middle of nowhere and kill me, she thought, something like an icy fist seizing her chest. I'm such a fool. She should have died in the manor by letting him slit her throat; at least then her corpse wouldn't be ravaged by animals.

  She dug her heels into the ground agai
n, tossing herself to one side, almost yanking her arm out of its socket...but there was no way she could fight his strength. He adjusted easily. With a light tug, she was sent stumbling forward, completely off-balance.

  Then, through the murky, leafy darkness, she saw a horse. An ugly, awkward animal by what she could make out; dull gray in color, like the gravel beneath them, and built only for speed. Before she could protest, a powerful arm snaked around her and forcefully threw her into the saddle. A yelp of shock and outrage came from her throat, but quickly stopped when he jumped up behind her, the knife still glinting in his hand.

  Now Sora really began to panic. All her nerve disappeared. “Help!” she screamed desperately. “Help me! I'm being kidnapped! Help!” With wild abandon, she tried to throw herself from the horse, but the dark man grabbed her as she started to fall. He jerked her back against him and the knife was at her throat a second time. She winced. Her shoulder ached and throbbed from the struggle.

  “Silence!” he growled, pressing the knife hard against her throat, enough to draw blood. “You can die now, if you'd like.”

  Sora could feel the sting of the blade. A thin, hot trickle of blood crept down her neck. She would have gulped, but she was afraid of splitting her throat.

  The man pressed against the horse, which had been pawing the earth impatiently, and the beast leapt into a gallop. Sora couldn’t see how fast they were going since she was surrounded by darkness. From the wind in her face and the feel of the steed beneath her, she figured it was a formidable pace. Her suspicions were confirmed when they passed the gates of the estate in under ten minutes.

  The night was bitingly cold, sinking through Sora’s clothes and into her skin. There was a cloak in her satchel, but no way to pull it out. Her captor was like a furnace behind her, she could feel his heat through the back of her thin shirt.

  The man turned off the front drive into a wide, open field, scattered with ferns and small bushes. The ground changed, now soft and muffled beneath the horse's hooves. Sora squeaked in surprise as the horse stumbled over a hidden rock, but the man righted the beast immediately. She clutched her satchel desperately and sent a silent prayer to the Goddess. How did this happen? I was supposed to be running away!

  And who was this intruder? A common thief? More than that—someone deadly. She thought back to Lord Fallcrest, lying wounded in the ballroom. Had the disaster been more than an accident? Had her Lord father been hurt intentionally?

  Was he even...alive?

  The thought sent her spiraling into panic. She had the sudden, horrible feeling that the birthday party had been sabotaged on purpose. Lord Fallcrest had been gone for quite a while at the City of Crowns. Who knew what enemies he had made...and in what kind of business he had been dabbling?

  The knife blade was lowered, though it stayed in her peripheral vision. She swallowed hard, tamping down her fear. No, she was overreacting. Her father was still alive—only slightly injured, like several of the other guests. This man was a thief, a lowly criminal. That's it. He just wants me for ransom!

  Her thoughts were strange, surreal. She felt oddly disconnected. Then a fragile calm settled over her, like fine mist. She had to think logically. Whether Lord Fallcrest was alive or dead, nothing changed. If she ran back home, she would still have to take suits, marry, start a family. Be realistic. You can't run an estate by yourself. If anything, that thought terrified her even more than the man behind her. There was no avoiding that life, not after tonight.

  No, she wasn't going home. She couldn't. Not after making it this far.

  Which meant she would have to escape her captor.

  She gripped the satchel before her, fingers cramped with anxiety. The ever-constant motion of the horse was almost soothing, the man behind her was momentarily silent.

  Well, she finally figured, I need a plan. Sooner or later they would have to stop. Simple is best. When her captor dismounted, she could knee him in the groin and run into the woods. It was the most logical thing to do. Then she would continue on her way to town. She didn't know the road, but she could ask anyone for directions....

  And she still had her satchel, her lifeline. She had enough money to buy a horse and be gone before anyone thought to look for her. She would leave this killer and her ill-fated manor in the dust. Then she would begin the hunt for her mother. Local house servants, newsboys, the county recorders might know something. A Lord's business was everyone's business, after all.

  It was admittedly a flawed plan, but the best she could do for the moment.

  She reached up and touched the necklace that dangled beneath her shirt. The stone felt warm, even through the thick linen.

  A line of trees appeared in the distance, a forest. Sora felt a sliver of doubt. She had explored much of her father's lands, but had never gone this far out. They had been galloping for almost an hour. This proved that she was thoroughly lost. The horse whuffed and panted, a sheen of sweat on its thick gray neck.

  They reached the treeline and entered the forest. It was dark and overgrown, menacing, far different from the acreage around her manor. The branches overhead blocked out the stars, obscuring all hint of light. Sora leaned forward in the saddle cautiously, hit by another wave of sickly terror.

  Without warning, the man grabbed her head and forced it down below a branch, drawing a muffled shriek from her lips. She thought for sure she would be beheaded. When she sat back up, she was not only breathing hard, but trembling and flinching at every small shift the horse made. Did he put the knife away? she wondered, still regrouping.

  Sora looked ahead, peering between the darkened trees, as though they held an unseen solution. She was determined to be prepared for whatever came next.

  She squinted. It seemed that there was a slight flicker of light ahead, the telltale signs of a campfire. A nervous grin came to her lips. What kind of idiot leaves a fire burning untended in the middle of a forest? Maybe this would be easier than she had first thought.

  They reached the fire quickly; her captor halted the horse just outside the circle of light. Then the man dismounted smoothly, then grabbed her with firm hands and lifted her down next to him.

  Sora found herself standing on a soft cushion of pine needles. She looked up at her captor, trying to see him clearly in the darkness, though he was almost invisible. Finally, she made out his shadowy, intimidating face.

  Gathering her wits—here it is, my chance!—she launched herself at him, trying to attack him as she had planned. She fumbled, attempting to knee his unprotected groin.

  He caught her easily and held her hands up by the wrists, barely concerned by her sudden action. Her lips parted, the air taken out of her, shocked by a sudden sense of failure.

  That went well, she thought sarcastically. All hope left her and Sora sagged in his grip. Her strength seemed to have drained out through the soles of her feet. She was lost.

  Then she noticed the rope he was carrying. She watched numbly as he tied her hands in front of her. When he was finished tying her, he shoved her into the firelight without ceremony.

  She looked around the camp, truly unsure of herself. The clearing was small and neat, a mere pocket of light and warmth amidst the trees. A rabbit was roasting over a modest fire, the delicious smell of cooking meat rich in the air. A heap of saddlebags rested to one side of the fire. She let out a breath. A dangerous-looking sword leaned against a tree, glinting in the firelight, and several other weapons were laid out alongside it. Next to that were two bedrolls.

  Sora’s breath caught. Two bedrolls?

  Then her eyes saw a figure sitting on the opposite side of the fire, half-obscured by shadow. In this light, she wasn't sure if it was a man or a woman. The fire danced, casting peculiar shadows. The person's nose was small and pointed, the lips not overly generous; there was a thin jaw with wide, exaggerated cheeks. Feminine. Yet a thicker neck, muscular shoulders and a flat chest. To her mind, the stranger was completely androgynous. He or she looked youthful, only six or se
ven years older than herself, and yet the hair was at odds with the age. The locks were pure silver, pulled back in a thick braid that trailed to the ground. Sora had never seen such a brazen color, like concentrated starlight—not even on her most elderly servants.

  The figure shifted, scratching its back against a tree, then said wryly, “Bringing home stray pets, Crash? You know we can’t keep it.”

  “Quiet, Dorian,” her captor said, still the voice of Death. “I ran into her in the halls...couldn’t just let her go, could I?”

  The silver-haired Dorian snorted in response. “Couldn't you have killed her?”

  Her dark captor remained silent.

  “I see,” Dorian murmured. Sora guessed it was a man by the name and his wide shoulders, but the voice was evenly pitched and could have gone either way. There was a slight accent to the words. It reminded her of the North, thick and rounded. “I trust that the job went well?”

  “It did...though unexpectedly,” Crash murmured. Sora thought it was a strange name. Crash. Perhaps not his true name at all.

  “So what are we going to do with her?” Dorian asked.

  Crash left the fire to unsaddle his horse. Sora stood awkwardly, wondering if she should sit.

  Dorian spoke again. “This doesn’t make our position any better, you know. We should just cut her loose, let her go.”

  “Volcrian will find her,” the dark man replied. “And...she might be of some use.”

  “Right,” Dorian replied. A lopsided grin split his face. “But I don't share my women.”

  Crash cast a cold, pointed look at the silver-haired man. Sora shuddered, catching the gist of their conversation. She knew she was in a vulnerable position—they could do whatever they wanted to her, and she wouldn't be able to stop them.

  Then Crash spoke again. “Her necklace,” he grunted.

  “What's that?” Dorian cocked his head to one side, then looked back to Sora, a curious glint in his eyes. His gaze fell to her neck. “Is it worth much? Let's see it, sweetness. Where is this necklace?”