“Nothing,” Lori said quickly, and shoved the letter in her pocket. She was worried for her daughter, but it only made her own journey more urgent. Sora would need Ferran's book to deal with the sacred weapons. Killing Volcrian was only half of the problem. They would have to undo the curse, bind the Dark God back into the earth, and seal shut whatever terrible gate had been opened. Stay focused, she told herself firmly. You need to help Sora, not chase after her.
She looked to Cameron, searching his face. Ten years ago, the man was kicked in the head by a spooked horse. He had been brought to her cabin for healing, but the injury had been too traumatic to heal even for her formidable skills. Eventually the wound mended, but not his mind. Lori agreed to take him on as a stablehand, providing room and board in exchange for labor. He had lost his ability to read and write and almost the ability to speak. They used a simplistic series of hand signals to communicate.
She glanced at the note again, then at her stablehand's face, assessing the situation. Cameron had probably received the letter and panicked, uncertain of what it meant. Still, she was grateful for the news from her daughter. It was better than knowing nothing and imagining the worst.
“You did a good job,” she said, laying her hand against the man's cheek, which was icy-cold. “Thank you, Cameron.”
Her stablehand nodded, still wheezing with exhaustion. She reached into the pouch at her belt and withdrew several silver coins. “For your trouble,” she said. “Thank you for giving this note to me. Ferran and I are taking a quick journey up the coast. If Sora returns to the cabin during my absence, try to keep her there, all right? We will return soon.”
He nodded again, then made a few signs with his hand. Cameron spoke at times, but sign language seemed easier for him. It was difficult for him to pronounce certain words, especially with his jaw locked up by the cold.
“Aye,” she said, answering his silent question. “Two or three weeks, I suspect. I will write you if it takes longer. Have a farmer in town read the note to you. Will you watch over the land for me?”
Cameron nodded.
“Good. Now wait here for a moment. I'll take you to a nice inn.”
Cameron nodded again and grinned. He had a blunt, dopey countenance with large ears and a fragile chin. Lori watched as he climbed onto his horse. Then she turned and walked back down the narrow dock, raveling up the rest of the rope. She preferred that Cameron stay at an expensive place; it ensured his security. There were all sorts of hoodlums who would attack a simpleton on the docks. Best to avoid the poorer districts.
“What's that about?” Ferran asked as Lori returned to the boat. His expression turned wry. “Is that your husband? A lover?”
Lori smiled sweetly at him. “Yes, he came to say goodbye. We are very happy together.”
Ferran's face went momentarily slack. Lori laughed at his expression. “Oh please, I'm joking.”
“Of course,” he replied, glancing away. “I knew that.”
Lori watched him, the smile slowly fading from her face. “A letter from my daughter,” she said briefly. She needed to process the information, the instinctive fear that rose within her at the thought of Sora's journey. There was so much danger in the world; she couldn't protect her daughter from all of it. But that's what I'm trying to do, she thought, considering her journey to Sylla Cove. If she could just get her hands on that book, she would have answers. Answers that Sora could use.
“I'll be right back,” she said, dropping the bundle of rope into the boat. “I won't be long, just to get Cameron settled. We need to leave tonight. We don't have much time.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE NEXT DAY, Sora felt numb and empty, as though the life had been drained out of her. The grief stayed with her like a heavy cloak, weighing on her shoulders, dragging at her steps. She forced herself to scavenge for food, using that as a distraction, something simple and primal on which to focus.
She didn't recognize any of the plants on the island, which made things difficult. She stayed away from the red berry bushes, which she suspected were poisonous. Most of the trees had prickly fruit of different sizes and shapes. She tried a bright orange specimen; the shell was sharply spiked and had a green interior, similar to a cucumber. It was bitter to the taste and she tossed it away.
Then she ran across a tall tree surrounded by large, brown pods. She cracked open the husk of one pod, finding a white, fleshy substance inside. The juice of the fruit was sweet and creamy, like watery milk. The white flesh was chalky and crunchy. She wasn't sure if she liked the flavor, but she ate it anyway. It was not as satisfying as she had hoped. The moment the sweet juice touched her lips, her stomach let out a loud growl, and she was consumed by hunger.
After an hour of wandering down the coast, she found an orange tree. Her eyes grew wide. When she had lived at the manor, oranges had been an exotic affair, served on special occasions and highly coveted. She hadn't eaten one in at least four years.
She gathered up the fruits and made a feast of it, peeling off the skin and biting into the pulpy, juicy interior. The oranges were warm and overwhelmingly sweet. Nectar dribbled down her chin and stained her clothes. Their smell attracted bees so she moved closer to the ocean to finish her meal, washing the juice from her hands in the shallows.
When she was done, she looked around the island, gazing at the slope of the mountain. She entertained the thought of searching for her companions, but the grief returned, splitting her heart, and she shuddered. She couldn't give herself hope—that would be a cruel joke to indulge in and she knew better. If there was one thing Crash had taught her, it was to be honest about her situation. One could deal with reality. Fantasy was much more difficult.
She grasped for another distraction. I wonder if anyone else lives here. The beach was obviously isolated and she hadn't seen any ships pass by on the horizon, but perhaps a town or village existed on the opposite side of the island. She pondered the thought, then wrapped as many oranges as she could into her shirt and tied the garment tightly around her waist, exposing her midriff. It might look a little strange, but she had no other way of carrying the fruit.
Sora walked along the beach for almost a mile, but it was hard-going in the sand. Eventually she returned to the shade of the treeline where the ground was firmer, entertaining herself by counting the plants she didn't recognize. There were vines of bright magenta flowers, far more saturated than a rose. Wide yellow blooms that smelled of exotic perfume, dense enough to make her sneeze, their stamens as long as her forearm. Countless species of trees, some of which sat low to the ground, trunks as fat as barrels, leaves sprouting in wide fronds. Others stretched high into the air, their branches jutting out like parasols. There was a large mix of ferns and bushes. Some resembled lizards' tails, twisting up from the sandy ground, thick and spiked. Some were green, some purple, others a vibrant red.
She saw several animals. Black snakes that curled through the rocks, small spotted frogs and large scabby insects. A flock of bright green birds passed overhead, screeching horribly. A family of small pigs trotted past, covered in dark brown fur. And, to her astonishment, monkeys. They sat high in the trees, chattering amongst each other, with their sleek black fur and white-masked faces. She had only seen one monkey before, in a cage on the docks of Delbar.
Toward mid-day, she saw a strange sliver of gray smoke against the sky. She blinked twice, staring at it, uncertain if she were dreaming. The thin trail drifted across the beach. She was hardly able to believe her eyes. A flurry of emotions passed through her—hope, fear, uncertainty. She had seen no sign of a shipwreck, but maybe...maybe she wasn't the only survivor. Maybe a few Dracians had made it out alive. She couldn't wish for more. What's if it's Crash? Guilt rose up inside of her. She hadn't made amends; no, they had still been arguing when the ship had gone down. No apologies. Only anger.
The guilt stifled her, a hard lump solidifying in her chest. The thought that her companions might be sitting in the forest, perhaps dining o
n pork or fish...was too much to bear.
Sora changed course and plunged into the jungle. She kept one eye to the sky, following the thin trail of smoke. Its origin couldn't be too far away.
The forest was thick and overgrown, untouched by human hands, almost impossible to walk through. The air was humid and heavy with pollen. She ducked under several spider webs—giant, glinting strands that wove up into the trees. She couldn't imagine the size of their makers, and she prayed that none of them dropped on her head. She kept a careful eye on her feet, hesitant to step on a snake in the brush.
It took her almost an hour to reach the source of the smoke. Finally, she stumbled out of the forest into a cleared space of land. She stood there for a moment, staring in awe.
The clearing was roughly an acre in width. The brush had been tamed back, hacked by a blunt blade. Wooden posts outlined the border of the trees. The grass was thin on the ground, torn up until nothing but dirt and rocks remained.
A building resided in the center of the clearing. Solid wooden beams were roped together with vines; the roof was covered in dry yellow grass. Smoke poured out from ventilation holes in the top of the roof. On one side, a rough door had been fashioned out of driftwood. Sora stared at it, surprised. A house? Was it on fire? She couldn't imagine why so much smoke would be coming out.
She paused, wondering what to do. There was no immediate way to put out the fire, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. The hut looked like it had been standing there for a while, not something the Dracians could have constructed overnight. A cold chill moved through her belly. That only left one other explanation.
She wanted to hide herself in the trees, but curiosity won out. With tentative steps, she crossed the clearing and paused next to the building, reaching out to touch the door. Dare she go inside? This close, she caught the scent of roasting meat. It made her mouth water. It smelled...good.
But where were the owners?
As though answering her thoughts, she heard distant voices to her left, the hubbub of conversation. She whirled, wide-eyed, and stared at the treeline.
Two men emerged from the jungle.
She didn't recognize them. Their hair was long and tangled, full beards down to their chests. One had brown hair, the other blond. They were dressed in animal skins, their feet wrapped in fur and leaves, deerskin cloaks over their shoulders. One carried a walking stick and limped heavily on his right leg. The other had a stone ax in hand.
They froze in their tracks and stared at her, eyes widening beneath their bushy brows. The blond's jaw dropped. Their expressions could only be described as awestruck. It was as though they looked upon the Goddess Herself.
Sora reached up and touched her hair subconsciously. She hadn't even thought about her appearance in the last day.
“Um...hello?” she called, unsure if they would understand her.
The brown-haired man reached out a hand, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Now we've truly lost our minds,” he said.
“Aye,” the other replied, his expression hardening.
“Oh, good,” Sora muttered in relief. She started across the clearing toward them, walking easily through the dirt. “I'm so glad I found you. I thought this island was deserted.”
“Halt right there! State your name!” the blond man with the ax yelled. He waved the ax at her. After an uncertain moment, he called, “Are you a ghost?”
Sora paused a dozen feet away, put off by the ax. Were these men dangerous? Startled, perhaps.
She held up her hands cautiously. “No, not a ghost,” she said. Ironic, since she felt like one. She pointed over her shoulder, back toward the beach. “My ship was caught in a storm. I washed up on shore. Is there a town nearby?”
The man's ax dropped back to his side. They stared at her for another long moment, then his brown-haired companion let out a deep laugh. “The Goddess has finally shined upon us!” he yelled to no one in particular. “How long I have prayed for a woman!”
“I saw her first!” the blond man growled, and shoved his friend away. “She's mine!”
Sora shifted uncomfortably, her eyes combing the jungle. Maybe it would be better to leave. She had fought off Catlins, wraiths and bandits before. She could probably handle these two—but she had no weapons and no easy route of escape. The forest was thick on all sides, tangled with vines and plant life.
The two men continued to argue. The blond man swung his ax haphazardly at the cripple, who dodged with startling ease. The cripple lashed back with his walking stick.
Sora turned and started back across the clearing, searching for a place to enter the trees. She would have run, but she didn't want to draw more attention to herself. The two men were suitably distracted for now.
Then, abruptly, a third man dashed out of the trees. It took her a moment to recognize him as human—he was covered in animal furs and vines. He ran directly in front of her and threw out his arms, blocking her way forward. He held an old, rusty saber in one hand. His face carried less facial hair, though he was still grimy and dirty. His chestnut-colored hair was tied back in a leather thong.
Sora stared at him, taken aback. Now she didn't know what to do.
“Sorry,” he said, panting. “But you can't leave.”
Sora frowned at the stranger, keeping a close eye on his sword. He was just as shaggy as his fellows, only his face was easier to see. His beard was thin and stringy, not bushy. He tried to smile at her, but that was an alarming sight. His teeth were yellow and crooked, his lips split, his skin creased by sun and dirt. He looked absolutely wicked.
She took a slight step back. “Don't come any closer,” she said, shifting into a fighting stance, hands up, knees slightly bent. She glanced behind her. The two men had stopped arguing and were watching the confrontation. The blond one looked infuriated.
“My name is John Witherman,” the third man drew her attention. “Perhaps you've heard of me? Captain Witherman of the Strongarm Pirates. I am quite a well known treasure hunter on the mainland.”
Sora shook her head wordlessly. Pirates? That didn't bode well.
The man's grin widened, twisting his face into a wrinkled map. “Then I will educate you, my dear. Join our fire tonight and I will share my story.”
Sora gave him a tight smile. “I'll have to decline,” she said bluntly.
“She's mine!” the blond man yelled behind them. “I saw her first!”
“Idiot!” the cripple said. “She's the Captain's now!”
Sora balked at that. It was time to run. She turned on her heel and dashed for the trees without a second glance. The forest was several dozen yards away—a towering wall of impenetrable leaves. She emptied the oranges from her shirt as she ran, leaping over the round fruit, moving as fast as she could. The men shouted behind her and gave chase.
A second later, something hit the back of her head. Thwak!
It was hard enough to cause her to stumble. Then a body slammed into her from behind. Sora was tackled to the ground just before the fringe of trees.
John Witherman rolled her over, a second orange in his hand. He tried to smash it into her face, but she twisted to one side, trying to break his grip. They scrabbled for a moment, wrestling, Sora gaining the upper hand—but he was too strong, and her left arm was starting to throb. She didn't want to dislocate it again.
Then, suddenly, a second man landed near Sora's head. It was the blond one with the ax. He pinned her with one hand and pressed the dull blade to her throat, effectively stopping the fight. Sora spat at him and glared. He licked the fleck of spit from his mouth.
John Witherman pulled a length of rope from his belt while holding her down. The rope appeared to be woven of plant fiber and vines.
“Tie her, Benny!” he ordered, and passed it to the blond man.
Benny flipped her onto her back, dragging her arms behind her. Sora grunted in pain. She wanted to fight back, but she was outnumbered and weaponless. He tied her wrists firmly, then stood up, rolling her ove
r.
Sora's heart hammered. Her vision narrowed with panic. Would they kill her now?
“Pick her up and take her back to camp,” John said. Then he nodded to the crippled man who stood behind them. “Help me gather the catfish from the shed, then douse the fires. We don't need any of her crew finding us.” John Witherman gave her a wide smile. “Not until we're done with her.”
Sora's body went cold.
Benny happily obliged, throwing her over his shoulder, putting a firm hand on her buttocks. Sora tried to squirm away, struggling as hard as she could. “Help!” she screamed, on the chance that someone else might hear her. “Help me!”
“Gag her,” John said with another disturbing grin. “Your crew won't find you. We're the only people on this island. Been that way for the past seven years.” Then he turned to his companions. “Let's go.”
Sora kicked and writhed, trying to break free, but Benny's grip was like iron. Of course he wouldn't let her go. He probably hadn't seen a woman since leaving the mainland.
Goddess. The thought made her sick. She had to get away somehow. If only she had her staff and daggers, she could have made short work of these three. There's still time, she tried to calm herself. As long as they thought she was helpless, they might get clumsy, overconfident. In fact, she was certain of it.
Sora went limp and laid against the man's shoulder, awaiting a chance to escape.
* * *
Crash looked up. The sound of wings met his ears—giant, leathery wings of emerald hues that glowed in the late afternoon light. The sun shimmered against their outstretched skin, dancing across their scales. A group of five Dracians emerged from beyond the treeline, headed slowly toward their camp on the beach.
They were not so strange in their natural forms. Still humanoid in shape, their limbs were longer, more powerful than humans. Their jaws and foreheads had become pronounced, their mouths extended into short muzzles, long tails stretching from their backs. They were clumsy fliers, not like the Harpies, who could glide gracefully through the air like eagles on an updraft. No, the Dracians were heavy, bulky, and flailed against the wind with exhaustive efforts, dragged down by their own weight.
Volcrian's Hunt (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) Page 6