Ferran's Map

by T. L. Shreffler

  He stole her life. He broke every promise he ever made. He couldn’t save her. Yet now, hearing the song, he could see her face clearly again. He could almost meet her eyes….

  Then the stone fell silent.

  He fingered its smooth surface. He had kept it out of pure sentiment, but it no longer served a purpose. He should have destroyed it long ago.

  With a deep breath, he released the stone from his hand and allowed it to fall into the forest. His heart quickened, and he fought against the urge to dive after it. He watched the small, shining rock plummet away—and then it was gone.

  It’s better this way, he thought.

  He continued toward the Dawn Seeker, which drifted like an acorn on the long shining expanse of the Little Rain river.

  * * *

  Sora awoke to a sharp twig jabbing her in the back. She opened her eyes, blinking in the harsh sunlight. Her head pounded. Her chest felt heavy, difficult to breathe. And yet joy rushed through her—the Cat’s Eye’s presence sang in her mind, purring in satisfaction. She felt unexpectedly rejuvenated, like drinking cool mountain water after a long day in the sun.

  She climbed into a sitting position and her vision swam momentarily. She tried to blink her eyes clear, holding her hand to her head, then pulled it away, her palm sticky with blood, and stared at it in confusion. Head wound? No…it took her a minute to realize the blood seeped from where the scar had torn open on her bandaged left hand.

  “Oh, good, you’re awake,” Ferran’s voice reached her. She turned and found him standing a few yards away, leaning up against a tree, whittling away at a piece of wood in his hands. His long river-reed had been replaced by a thin, carved toothpick.

  For the short time she had known him, Ferran always kept something in his mouth: a cinnamon stick, sweet-grass, hard-candy, ginger roots. She wondered if he used to smoke tobacco leaves. It was a rich man’s habit and he hardly looked like a rich man, his hair mussed from their fight in the village, a few cuts and bruises along his arms, his stained tunic torn down the front. He had once been the most renowned treasure hunter in all of the Kingdom, or so her mother said. In Sora’s opinion, he seemed little more than a drifter, someone with no roots and no destination.

  Sora could understand her mother’s attraction to him, though Lori never spoke of it. Ferran carried a daring sort of charm, an easygoing confidence and a certain disregard for rules that made him, well, exciting. He seemed younger than his age and full of boundless energy. He stood several inches above six feet. His physique wasn’t bulky, but taut and defined, like layers of coiled ropes. Lorianne acted as though the two were just old friends, and treated him as a nuisance at times—and yet Sora noticed how her mother laughed around him, and how wide she smiled. They were always together….

  Her thoughts felt a little strange, and she looked away, avoiding his quick gray eyes. She picked a few leaves from her shirt. “Where’s Crash?” she asked, glancing around. “What happened?”

  Ferran raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”

  “Well, yes, I remember….” The image of the garrolithe remained vibrant in her mind. As she slept, she felt the beast crouched nearby, looming over her body. But obviously, it was long gone by now. She shifted uncomfortably. “But…where did it come from? How….?”

  Ferran dropped his whittling to the ground and kicked it away with his mangled boot. A hound must have got hold of the boot, though he favored the foot only slightly as he crossed to her side. He sank down lazily next to her, settling himself among the moldy leaves. “I take it your Cat’s Eye hasn’t been acting right for a while?” he asked vaguely, shifting the toothpick in his mouth.

  Sora sighed. “No, it hasn’t. It’s been very hard to connect to.” She felt suddenly relieved to talk about it. Finally, someone who understands! Ferran wore a Cat’s Eye himself, but his friendship with Lori made her unexpectedly awkward around him. She wasn’t used to her mother spending time with a man.

  “I’m used to always hearing it in the back of my thoughts, but lately it’s been silent. Today is the first time it’s reacted to…well…anything, since the Lost Isles.”

  “And the more you worry about it, the worse it becomes.” Ferran squinted slightly at the trees, as though deep in thought.

  Probably staring at a bird, Sora thought wryly. She frowned. “Yes, actually. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “That’s happened to me before too.” He flashed her an easy, reassuring smile. “It’s not permanent,” he explained. “But in order to use the stone, you need to have strong mental discipline. If you’re overly stressed and worried, that clogs up the bond. Makes it hard to focus and communicate.” He waved his hand at the trees. “You were raised a noble, weren’t you? I assume you were privately tutored and took written exams?”

  Sora nodded, remembering her years of tutelage at the manor. Yes, she had studied arithmetic, history and literature. She took lessons in economics for a time, though eventually her father ordered her to study other things, saying such topics were for accountants and stewards.

  “Well,” Ferran continued, “no matter how well you prepare for an exam, if you’re too nervous, you can’t organize your thoughts and you won’t remember anything. You’ll forget details like historical dates, or the names of important people. It’s the same idea with a Cat’s Eye.” He tapped the red stone on his wrist cuff. In this light, it looked like nothing more than a large, ovular ruby. “If you have too much on your mind—too much worry and stress—you won’t be able to control the stone. The more you doubt yourself, the harder it becomes. Your bond with the Cat’s Eye should be a natural connection, taken for granted, like breathing.”

  Sora frowned again. “It used to be….”

  “My guess is that when you first wore the necklace, you were just learning about it, and you weren’t afraid of its magic yet. You were open to the stone’s power. But something happened to change that. I don’t know what you went through on the Lost Isles, but I think it’s weighing pretty heavily on your mind,” Ferran finished.

  Sora considered his words. The previous leg of her journey had been fraught with peril. First her ship sank near the Lost Isles and she thought her friends were dead. Then she fought the garrolithe in the Crystal Caves. Crash was imprisoned and tortured by the Harpies, and finally, they battled Volcrian. She was forced to create a bond with two different Cat’s-Eye stones in order to kill the mage. She had destroyed one of the stones and suffered the mental backlash of a broken bond. Luckily, it hadn’t killed her. She glanced at her blood-caked, bandaged palm.

  Beyond all of that—though it seemed pathetic—she had to consider the kiss. That unforgettable kiss on the bow of the Dawn Seeker when she and Crash left the Isles. She hadn’t quite been the same since.

  “I fought the garrolithe in the Crystal Caves,” she said quietly. “That’s where the problem started.”

  “I was getting to that,” Ferran replied softly. “Your Cat’s-Eye stone has been imprinted by powerful, ancient magic. The garrolithe is no simple work of sorcery. It is a war-spell called a mecha-animist.”

  “A mecha-animist?” Sora echoed.

  Ferran nodded. “Before the War of the Races, skilled sorcerers would make magical little pets called animists and keep them as companions, or sell them to wealthy families for a profit. But after the war started, sorcerers from different races would come together and unite their magic, creating terrible beasts of power. The mecha-animists are true monsters meant for battle. I’ve only seen one such creature before; they are very rare. And very dangerous.”

  “But how…?” Sora began.

  He didn’t wait for her question: “The beasts were created by magical energy, and therefore immortal, unless intentionally destroyed. The garrolithe, as you call it, is now contained inside your stone. Imagine wearing a lion around your neck—it won’t come when you call, and it won’t respond to your begging or pleading. It’s a wild creature—it wants to be free.”

&n
bsp; “Then how do I fix it?” Sora finally asked.

  “The only thing it will follow is your strength. You need to tame it.”

  Sora bit her lip with uncertainty. “You make it sound like breaking in a horse….”

  “It’s a similar process, but harder, because you don’t have any physical tools to work with. It all comes down to your strength of will.” Ferran gave her a pointed look. “To continue to use the Cat’s Eye, you need a greater level of mental discipline than you’ve had up to this point. More power requires more control.”

  Sora sighed and leaned back on her hands, wincing as a rock bit into her injured palm. “Great,” she muttered. “More complications.”

  “Don’t look at it like that,” Ferran said reproachfully. “You’re very lucky, you know. We all are. Without the garrolithe, we’d most likely be dead.”

  She nodded absently—true, but she was too distraught to appreciate his words. “So what now?” she asked. “How do I fix the stone?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the stone,” Ferran grinned. Then he reached up and prodded her forehead. “You need to fix your mind, my girl.”

  “And how do I do that?” she asked. She rubbed her temple and gave him a disgruntled look.

  “I’m going to teach you,” he replied. “It will take time and commitment, but seeing as we won’t reach the City of Crowns for a little while, I think you can manage that.”

  Sora nodded. She recalled how he had used his Cat’s Eye in the plague-ridden building. His control was effortless, like watching Crash with his swords, or her mother with her healing. She knew she had a lot to learn from him, and the more she considered it, the more eager she became. She desperately wanted to reclaim her connection to her Cat’s Eye. It wasn’t like losing a tool or a weapon—she felt, somehow, as if she had lost a very dear friend.

  “You’re right,” Sora said abruptly. Hope bloomed. Finally, a sense of purpose, a way to make herself useful. “I need to be productive. I need to get better at this. All of it.” She smiled at him, surprised that she felt like smiling at all. “When do we start?”

  Ferran glanced up at the sky, then suddenly yawned; his toothpick started to fall out of his mouth, but he caught it in time. “Well, I promised your mother I would fish with her tomorrow. We’re heading into catfish territory, and I’ve heard that some catfish in the Little Rain grow seven feet in length and weigh over 200 pounds….” He stopped, perhaps realizing his digression. “The day after. Evening is the best time. I’ll meet with you on the Dawn Seeker.”

  Sora nodded eagerly.

  “Feeling better?” Ferran asked, sticking his toothpick back in his mouth.

  “Much better,” she sighed. “I’m ready to go back to the ship.” She couldn’t wait to get out of this forest, with its blighted trees and blackened berries.

  Ferran nodded and stood up. “We’re ready!” he called.

  At first she didn’t know who he was speaking to, and then Crash appeared between the trees. She stared at him for a moment, tall and dark against the late afternoon light. Had he heard their entire conversation? Of course, she thought.

  She expected him to ignore her as he had been doing, but his eyes skimmed over her before he motioned to Ferran to take the lead. The treasure hunter strolled into the forest at a leisurely pace, backtracking through the woods as he followed a visible trail of trampled brush and broken twigs.

  Meanwhile, Crash fell into step beside Sora. She glanced sideways at him, staring at the sharp line of his jaw, his tousled black hair. He seemed distracted, his thoughts as distant as his gaze. She was suddenly reminded of his short battle with the villagers, how the shadows had surrounded him in a dense cloak, how he had manipulated the darkness like it was an extension of his body. She hadn’t thought he could wield magic. But of course he can, she winced. He’s one of the Sixth Race. What kind of magic did the Sixth Race use? The question was on the tip of her tongue, begging to be asked. But that also scared her. He had a demon inside him—did she truly want to know more?

  “Have you seen Caprion?” she asked instead. “He didn’t follow us back from the village.”

  Crash shrugged, not meeting her eyes. “He flew off over the woods. Maybe he found something of interest.”

  Sora could tell he was lying. He’s hiding something, she thought. Her brow darkened. “Maybe he’s in trouble,” she said. “It’s not like him to vanish on his own.”

  “Then maybe he went back to the ship,” Crash said shortly. He changed the subject. “Your hand is bleeding; you should have Lori look at it when we return.”

  Sora stared at him. If he meant to distract her, it worked. His words annoyed her, though. Weeks of silence; why now a sudden show of concern?

  “I’ve had worse injuries,” she glared.

  “Wounds can fester.”

  “So can feelings.”

  Crash gave her a searching glance, then slowly raised a dark eyebrow. “Are you festering?” he asked pointedly.

  She frowned. “That’s not what I meant,” she muttered. In fact, Sora wasn’t quite sure what she meant. For weeks he had kept his distance; it seemed unfair for him to suddenly swoop in and care about her again. Or pretend to care. She just wanted him to explain himself.

  “I miss it, I guess,” she finally relented. “I thought we had…something different between us, I don’t know.” Well done.

  Crash let out a slow, thoughtful breath. They walked in silence for a minute more. Then he said, “This is really my fault.”

  Sora waited for further explanation, then she winced. “Don’t act like I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I kissed back.”

  Crash hesitated. “I recall that.”

  “I didn’t mind it at all.”

  “I see.”

  “In fact, I enjoyed it.” There. “Not that you asked. Or cared to ask.” She tried not to sound bitter, but it was impossible to hide.

  Crash caught her wounded hand abruptly, holding it up between them. Sora almost tripped. They came to a halt. She turned to face him, trying not to show her nervousness. She could handle his rebuffs, his cold shoulder and even a mean word or two. But staring him in the face…this was hard.

  “I know you enjoyed it, Sora,” he said, firmly holding her wrist. He glanced briefly around the forest, as though someone might be watching them. “But you understand that nothing can come of it.”

  “Yes, I do understand that,” she said reproachfully. Another lie. “But I don’t understand why you have to avoid me.”

  “I’m not avoiding you.”

  “Yes, you are! The whole ship notices. And the rumors—”

  “I’ll handle the rumors,” he cut her off. Then he added more gently, “I’m still here, Sora.”

  She looked up, meeting his gaze. He sounded stern, but a softness entered his eyes, a slight glimmer that she recognized. Some of the tension drained from her shoulders. As she hesitated, he swiftly undid the bandage from her hand.

  “I haven’t left your side,” he repeated. Then he turned her hand over, inspecting her palm, pressing slightly on the reddened skin around the wound. “Does this hurt?” he asked.

  “I…uh….” she muttered, struck dumb by his simple touch.

  He grinned slightly, a wry quirk of his mouth. “No infection, then,” he murmured.

  The wound looked like a popped blister. Her blood had burst through the fragile new tissue. Sora recalled the excruciating heat that had consumed her body when the garrolithe appeared. She chewed her lip in thought. Will it be this way every time I use my Cat’s Eye? More questions for Ferran once they began training.

  Crash reached into the pouch at his belt and withdrew a strip of clean linen, then began freshly wrapping her hand. She wondered if he had brought the linen just for her, anticipating that she might open the wound. Her throat closed at the thought, and she took a deep, steadying breath. Yes, this was what she missed—his closeness, knowing she could lean on him...and that he wanted her to.

/>   When he finished wrapping her hand, he continued to hold it, looking down at it thoughtfully. He seemed to be wrestling with himself for a moment. “Are you fond of him?” he finally asked.

  Sora frowned, taken off-guard. “Who?”

  “Tristan.”

  “Really?” she asked, with a slow, wide grin.

  Crash grimaced.

  Now she wanted to laugh. “Not at all. In fact, I rather detest him at the moment.”

  “Good,” he said after a brief pause.

  Sora blinked. Is he jealous? Could a man like him even be jealous, and over a clowning Dracian, at that? The thought caused a small sense of satisfaction. She smiled, showing her teeth.

  Crash’s expression remained darkly ironic, his thoughts turned inward. Then he adopted a slow, secretive smile.

  A sense of foreboding crept over her. “Why do you ask?” she prompted.

  He didn't reply immediately.

  “What are you planning?” she asked again.

  “Why does it matter?” he hedged. “I thought you weren’t fond of him.” His eyes glinted when he looked at her, and her heart stuttered momentarily. He’s teasing me, she thought. He has to be.

  “I’m not fond of him,” she repeated, flustered. “I want the rumors to end, but…not violently.”

  “And you assume I would do that?”

  “Well….”

  Crash shook his head. His mouth twisted as he said, “I’m wounded you would think that of me,” he murmured.

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come now! Don’t play innocent. I know how you are, Crash!”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  He suddenly raised her hand and blew softly against her palm. The brush of air sent chills all the way down her arm. Sora’s mouth dropped open.

  “Then don’t worry about it,” he finished. He released her hand and continued along the path through the forest.

  Sora stared after him, at a complete loss. Confusion swirled inside her as she watched his retreating figure, trying to regain her voice.

  Crash glanced back before disappearing into the trees. “If you don’t know what to say, at least keep walking!” he called.