Volcrian's Hunt (The Cat's Eye Chronicles)

by Shreffler, T. L.

  “Almost there,” a voice said from behind her. Ferran leaned over the railing at her side, a foot taller than she. He cast her an easy smile, his gray eyes glinting. “Don't worry so much.” He stretched out a long finger and poked her in the center of her forehead, pressing against an unknown knot of tension.

  Lori relaxed her brow, but she couldn't bring herself to smile back.

  “They'll be there,” he said quietly.

  “Aye,” she replied. “If they're not dead.”

  Ferran nudged her shoulder with his. “You always assume the worst. It's a wonder you can sleep at night.”

  She shrugged. “Bad things happen.”

  “Right,” he replied. “But no sense anticipating them. If you don't know, you don't know.”

  Easy for him to say, she thought. It wasn't his daughter risking her life, venturing to a strange island, isolated from the human world. “So many things could have gone wrong,” she murmured.

  He gave her a stern look. “If Sora is anything like you, then she'll be just fine,” he said. His confidence took her off-guard. “There are strong women in your family.”

  She wondered if that was a compliment. Perhaps. But he didn't know half of what she had gone through since she left Sora at the manor. No one did. And now wasn't the time to tell him.

  Suddenly, a glint of light caught her attention. She turned back to the island, squinting against the fading sunset. At first she thought it was a star, but it was too low on the horizon. She pointed. “What's that?”

  Ferran frowned. “Not sure....”

  The light grew at a rapid pace until she saw the vague silhouette of a body. A minute later, a man appeared in the sky. His skin glowed with a strange light, noticeable against the sunset. He hovered over their ship for a moment.

  Lori felt her heart quicken. A Harpy. Would he turn them away? It didn't matter—they would go to the island, no matter what.

  A series of shouts arose from the Dracians. Jacques and Silas appeared on deck, roaring to the crew, keeping the men in order. The two Dracians stared at the man in the sky.

  “Who are you?” Silas called, and pulled his sword from his waist; it had a short blade that was curved near the tip. “What do you want?”

  “Explain yourself, Harpy!” Jacques called.

  Silas elbowed him in the shoulder. “I'm the Captain,” he glared. “I'll do the talking.”

  The stranger landed on the ship and the sailors scurried away from him, giving him a large berth. Jacques and Silas took a step back. Lori could understand their reaction—the air hummed with a strange, completely foreign energy. She could feel the vibration on her skin, like music but with no sound.

  The man turned to look at her. His eyes brushed over Lori, studying her. When he spoke, his voice had the purity of a bell, swift and striking. “Do you know Sora?”

  Lori put a hand on her chest. It took her a moment to gather her breath. “Yes,” she said. “My daughter.”

  The man nodded. “She is on the island. If you anchor your ship a ways from the eastern shore, I will bring her to you. And her companions.”

  Companions. So the assassin and the Wolfy were still alive. Lori was shocked by this news—it had quite literally come out of the blue. “What of Volcrian?” she asked.

  “Dead,” the man replied.

  Lori's mouth gaped. Her memory of the mage was still sharp and disturbing. Sora had defeated him? But how? She couldn't imagine.

  “I will bring them tonight,” the man said shortly. “Anchor your ship and wait for me.” His voice hummed with power, commanding that they obey. Then he gave the Dracians a narrow look. “No tricks.”

  Silas stared at him. It was the first time that Lori had seen him speechless.

  Then the Harpy briefly turned, raising a hand in farewell, and launched off the boat back into the sky. She gazed after him. His figure quickly dissolved into a small light, heading back toward the island. His visit had been so brief, she could barely come to terms with it.

  “Who was that?” Ferran asked.

  Lori shook her head. “I don't know,” she murmured.

  From behind them, Silas let out a short, harsh sigh. “Harpies,” he grunted. “Imperious lot, aren't they?”

  “Not very friendly,” Jacques agreed at his side.

  “He said he would bring Sora to us,” Lori said. “Should we trust him?” She turned to look at the two Dracians.

  Jacques glanced at her, then at Ferran. He shrugged. “I don't see why not,” he finally said, and sheathed his sword. “If that's Sora's plan, then we should follow it.”

  “Perhaps,” Silas murmured, “but it could be a trap.”

  Ferran shook his head slowly. “When he said 'no trickery,' I don't think he meant us,” he said quietly. “He must have been in a hurry.”

  “I wonder why,” Silas mused.

  It was a question left to be answered. Lori turned back to the horizon, gazing at the distant island, now more desperate than ever to see her daughter. Did they dare wait by the coast, anchored offshore by the will of some unknown stranger? She didn't know. Her hands tightened into fists, and she glared hard at the island. She wasn't used to this level of uncertainty, but they would have to wait it out.

  * * *

  Crash and Burn made camp in a small alcove on the beach. They had reclaimed the Dark God's weapons from a stash in the forest, then walked almost two miles from the sacred stones. He would have liked to go farther, but their exhaustion was too much, and he needed to tend Sora's wounds.

  She lay behind him now, breathing softly. He had cleaned her shoulder with salt water and bandaged it for the time being. Burn rested next to her, propped up against the far wall, his longsword in easy reach.

  Crash remained focused on the ocean, for any sign that the Dracians had arrived. But darkness was falling, and a ship would be hard to recognize. He didn't truly know if they would come, or if he would have to contend with the Harpies for the following weeks, until he found some other way off the island.

  He blinked his tired, dry eyes, trying to clear them of dust and sand. A few more hours and it would be Burn's watch. He was used to struggling through such long nights, but damn, it helped to have a flask of fresh water and a fire for company. His throat ached; his muscles throbbed. He hadn't felt this weary in a long time.

  Suddenly, a vibration passed over his skin, raising the hair on his arms. Crash shuddered instinctively and drew his dagger. At the edge of his hearing, he heard a distinct, high-pitched keening sound.

  Behind him, Burn sat up. He immediately turned to Crash, who held up his hand, signaling for him to remain silent. Harpies couldn't see well at night. If they were patrolling the area, they might pass by overhead and miss the small campsite.

  A moment later, a gust of sand kicked up on the beach, propelled by a new wind. A soft light illuminated the deep shadows, slowly growing with intensity. Finally, a tall figure landed on the beach. His wings were hidden, but Crash blinked, summoning his demon's eyes. A halo surrounded the man; the impression of six wings.

  His face turned grim. Bastard. He recognized the wide shoulders and long neck, the imperious tilt of the head.

  “Caprion,” Burn said quietly.

  Crash glanced over his shoulder. “You know him?”

  Burn nodded. “He had dealings with Sora.”

  Crash turned back to the beach. He scanned the sky, but didn't see any other Harpies. Had the man come alone? A vague smile touched his lips—he'll be that much easier to kill.

  Caprion walked quickly toward them. Crash stood and blocked the entrance to the alcove, his dagger raised threateningly. Burn exited the alcove behind him, his large sword in hand, its tip hovering above the sand.

  “What do you want?” the Wolfy called.

  Caprion paused a few meters away. “I've come to take you to your ship,” he said quietly. “Where is Sora?” he glanced around. Burn saw an expression of worry on his face. Caprion's lips turned down; his brows pinch
ed together. “Is she dead?”

  Crash glared. “What business is it of yours?”

  “She didn't tell you?” Caprion raised a brow.

  “She told me,” Burn replied. Crash turned to look at him, and the Wolfy shrugged uncomfortably. “It slipped my mind,” he murmured. “I was more focused on Volcrian.”

  “Told you what?” Crash asked softly, suspicious.

  Caprion laughed—it was not a kind sound. “So the girl kept a secret from her assassin?” he grinned. “I'm not surprised.”

  Crash turned back to the Harpy. “State your purpose before I slit your throat,” he snarled.

  Caprion ignored him, focusing instead on Burn. “The Dracians are approaching on their ship. I will take you to them.”

  “We're not going anywhere with you,” Crash said bluntly.

  Caprion spoke again to Burn. “Come with me,” he said.

  Crash heard the compulsion in that voice. The Wolfy took an automatic step forward, but he raised his arm, blocking Burn from approaching the Harpy. Humans and Wolfies were the most susceptible to the voice's power, perhaps because they couldn't use magic themselves. He pushed Burn back with one hand and tightened his grip on his dagger.

  “You don't trust me,” Caprion said, watching him. Then again, he asked, “Where is Sora?”

  “Leave, or I'll make you,” Crash glared.

  Caprion almost looked amused. His eyes swept over them, noting their exhaustion. “I highly doubt that. You won't catch me off-guard twice.”

  Crash shifted his stance, prepared for a fight. He didn't care how weary his body was—he would defend Sora to the death, if necessary. Killing the Harpy would be worth it.

  “He's a seraphim,” Burn said in warning, and gave the assassin a meaningful look.

  Crash didn't flinch. “Stay out of my way,” he said, his voice having dropped a notch. Lethal. He faced the Harpy, a deadly silence filling the air. He wasn't afraid of a seraphim. They might be bred for war, but the Named were trained to kill.

  Suddenly a female voice called out from behind him. “Let him be!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  SORA AWAKENED TO the sound of voices. She sat upright in the small cove, her muscles sore and stiff. Her eyes immediately traveled to the beach outside where Crash and Caprion faced off, staring at each other murderously. It took her a moment to register what she was seeing. She wasn't sure what was going on, but it didn't look very promising.

  “Let him be!” she called out, hoping her voice was strong enough to be heard. Thankfully, it was. She didn't know if she meant to caution Crash or Caprion—only that she had to stop the fight.

  Burn turned to look at her in surprise, his sword held tensely at his side. She saw Crash stiffen, not expecting her intervention.

  “He's here to help us,” she repeated.

  Caprion immediately approached the alcove, unperturbed by the assassin. She pushed herself up, struggling to stand, but the ground tilted under her. Her head began to throb and she sat back quickly, taking in a deep breath. Not quite recovered, I see.

  Crash backed into the shallow cave and stood in front of her, blocking the Harpy from coming any closer. He held his dagger at the ready, his expression grim. She sat at his feet, gazing at Caprion around the assassin's legs.

  “Crash,” she said softly. He glanced down at her. He looked as he did when she had first met him—strong, intimidating, filled with dark purpose. She shook her head slowly. “I didn't tell you before. I didn't know how,” she said.

  He frowned.

  “Caprion and I made a deal,” she continued. “He promised to set you free. He called the guards away from your prison. He made sure they wouldn't find us in the forest.”

  Crash looked back to the Harpy, his eyes narrowed.

  “He wants to travel with us to the mainland,” she said. “I promised him safe passage overseas if he guaranteed your life.”

  The assassin glared. “I don't need a Harpy's help,” he said fiercely. “He's not coming with us.”

  “Yes, I am,” Caprion interjected, “unless you want the Matriarch and all of her soldiers here in the morning. She still wants Sora dead. Now is the time to flee.” He stood there calmly, his eyes traveling from Burn to Sora, then to Crash again.

  “How do we know you won't take us straight to the Matriarch?” Burn called.

  “I have an agreement with Sora.” He gave Crash a narrow look. “Some of us stand by our word.”

  The assassin clenched his fist. “Keep talking like that, and I'll cut out your tongue.”

  “Wait. Don't fight.” Sora tried to stand again, but fell back onto the sand. She let out a breath of frustration. Why wouldn't her body obey? The will was there, but not the strength. She suddenly wished that she wasn't a human—that she was a Dracian or a Wolfy mage, with magic at her command. She needed more stamina.

  Her attempts to move drew Crash's attention. He abruptly turned away from the Harpy and knelt by her side, the dagger held out like a shield. He spoke without looking at her, keeping his eyes trained on the enemy. “Don't move,” he said quietly.

  She glared at him. A bit of anger arose in her thoughts. She wasn't a weak child. “I'll move if I want to,” she said stubbornly. Except that I can't.

  Crash glanced at her. His look was firm, pointed. Don't argue.

  She turned her glare upon Caprion. “How far away are the Dracians?” she asked.

  “They're anchored about a league offshore. I can fly you to their ship.” Caprion nodded to Burn. “Perhaps I can take him first while you sort this out.”

  Sora nodded. “That might be best.”

  “No,” Crash said. “I don't trust him.”

  Sora sighed. She gave him a weary look. “He released you from the holding cells,” she said. “Isn't that enough?”

  The assassin paused, his look darkening.

  Then Burn drew their attention. “It'll be all right,” he said, and gave them a savage smile. His fangs glinted. “I'll risk it.”

  She could almost hear Crash's thoughts. But I won't let you. She touched his arm out of reflex. “Don't worry,” she said softly. “He's a warrior. He can handle himself. Let him go.”

  Finally the assassin looked down. It was the most agreement she was going to get. She motioned toward Caprion. “Go,” she said to him. Then to Burn, “We'll join you soon.”

  The Harpy wasted no time. He turned and made a brief signal with his hand. A soft glow illuminated Burn's body, starting at his boots and traveling up to the top of his head. The Wolfy glanced down at himself and gripped his sword close to his body.

  Caprion lifted off the ground, effortlessly gliding into the night. Burn rose up behind him, as though drawn by invisible strings, following in his wake. The Wolfy gave them one last glance over his shoulder as they flew out over the sea.

  It was a strange thing to watch. Sora felt her Cat's Eye murmur uncomfortably, provoked by the surge of magic.

  Once the two were gone from sight, she turned back to Crash. With Caprion gone, their small cave was consumed by shadow, hidden from the light of the moon. She waited for her eyes to adjust, then watched the assassin scatter the remains of their camp, covering their footsteps in the sand, destroying all traces of their campsite.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Crash cut her off. “Why didn't you tell me?” he asked. Then he paused, a strange expression passing over his face. “Why would you make a deal with a Harpy?”

  Sora tried to understand what he was feeling. He, more than any of them, had been demonized by the First Race. They had put him in a cell, burned his throat, bloodied him, scarred his body. The memory made her sick: the dark hole of the jailhouse, the sunstone collar around his neck. They had treated him as less than an animal.

  But Caprion had proved to be different. Right? Without his help, they would have been imprisoned too, perhaps already dead. The battle with Volcrian would have been impossible. And now he was fulfilling his final promise—to help them
reach the Dracians.

  “What else was I supposed to do?” she said defensively. “You asked me to get you out of that cell. There was no other way. The Matriarch was going to arrest us.”

  “There are always other ways,” Crash grunted.

  “Perhaps for you!” Sora tried to stand up again, ignited by anger, but fell back again to the sand. Damn! “We don't all have incredible combat skills and magical powers!” she exclaimed. “Caprion and I spoke for a long time. He wants to leave the island and see the mainland. He....”

  “Then why not fly?” Crash snapped, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse from his wounds. It made his words sharper. “You're too trusting. You don't know what their race has done, what they are capable of.”

  Sora rolled her eyes. “He wanted a guide. The mainland is a big place, Crash. He wants to unite his race and bring them home. That's all! Not all Harpies are evil.”

  He let out a short, irritated breath. “And not all humans are evil, not all Dracians, not all Wolfies—but the Harpies never admit to what they do.” He flung his dagger on the ground, embedding it in the sand. “They started the War of the Races, they caused their own destruction, and yet they blame the Sixth Race for all of the darkness in the world. Caprion might fulfill his half of the deal, but you don't know what he'll do once we reach the mainland. You don't know his true intentions.” Crash frowned bitterly and looked down at the knife. “A seraphim,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, his voice dripping with irony.

  Sora wasn't sure what to say to that. She hadn't realized that the Harpies had started the War, but she knew that they had once enslaved the humans, treating them like beasts of labor. The Matriarch was certainly arrogant.