Volcrian's Hunt (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) Page 13

  Silas didn't offer an explanation. She wondered how many of these things he had bought and how many he had salvaged from abandoned shipyards.

  Finally they reached the end of the room. The entire back wall was lined with bookcases carefully spaced apart, with each book given ample room. Most were delicately encased in wax paper for preservation. Lori felt her fingers itch. She longed to touch the spines of the books, run her fingers over the ancient pages. How much knowledge was stored in this warehouse? She was in awe. She had a humble library back home, an assortment of old books that may or may not have been from the War—but nothing like this.

  Abruptly, a small movement caught the corner of her eye. Lori turned her head, staring into the shadows. She listened carefully. She had seen something shift in the dark corners of the room. Or was it the flicker of lantern light? The back of her neck tingled. She glanced at the tall, burly sailors on either side of her, trying to reassure herself. They didn't seem concerned. It's just your imagination, she thought firmly. Nothing more.

  But the sense of unease remained. She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. She glanced around the giant room one last time. The walls and ceiling were curtained by darkness. They could have been surrounded by people; there would be no way to tell. It was an unnerving thought. And illogical. We're the only people here. She hadn't noticed any footprints in the thick dust. Even the air currents seemed undisturbed.

  She tried to focus her attention on Captain Silas as he browsed a bookshelf, occasionally pulling out a title, then putting it back. Now that he was in front of his collection, his entire expression had changed, turning from a solemn frown to a wondrous smile, his eyes bright with passion. She knew how he must feel. She felt the same way when brewing a tonic or salve—she would lose herself in the scent of herbs, the feel of the mortar in her hands.

  “Here it is,” Silas finally said, and pulled the book from the shelf. It was surprisingly small, not a grand tome as she had imagined. In fact, it resembled a diary, easily held in one hand, bound by thick leather. The Dracian winced as he held it. “It's a bit cold to the touch.”

  Just like the Dark God's weapons, Lori remembered. She took it as a sign that this was the right book.

  Suddenly, something launched itself from the side of the room. Lori gasped, turning. A shadow detached from the wall. It darted over the carpet so fast that she could barely make out its shape. It tackled Silas, who cried out, stumbling backward. The book was snatched from his hands, then the shadow dashed into the depths of the room, following the opposite wall.

  Ferran responded first. He charged after the shadow, reaching for it. He grabbed its ankle, stumbling to the floor. The shape twisted skillfully, turning in the air like an acrobat, breaking his hold. For a moment, the darkness seemed to slip and fade and she caught sight of a face—long black hair, a feminine figure, the glint of green eyes. Lori's mouth fell open. She recognized those features. An assassin. One of the Sixth Race.

  Lori shook herself into action. She turned and charged down the length of the room, running parallel to the wall, hoping to cut the figure off. It was difficult to follow with her eyes. The woman used the shadows as a cloak, flickering through the air like a ghost, moving faster than humanly possible. How had she gotten into the building?

  Silas roared to his men, pointing after the apparition. The sailors had been standing slack-jawed, but they leapt to action and chased after her, drawing their cutlasses.

  Lori's eyes followed the woman's path. She was heading to the far corner of the room, trying to escape. They said that the Sixth Race could transport through shadows, using them as doorways to separate lands.

  She dodged between chests and boxes, sprinting as fast as she could. Suddenly, a second shape leapt in front of her. She saw the gleam of a sword, the flash of green eyes in the lantern light. It was too late to stop her momentum, so Lori threw herself forward, down to the ground, rolling beneath the blade. She came up on the other side of the man, whirling, holding up her arms in defense.

  The man turned on her and raised his hand purposefully. His shadow lifted from the ground and shot toward her, creating a billow of darkness. Some sort of magic. Lori flinched backward.

  Wham! Someone slammed her to the ground. Ferran wrapped himself around her, shielding her small body with his own. He raised his left hand, his fingers clenched into a fist. There was a flash of brilliant crimson light, a sense of energy flooding the air, electrifying, powerful. Shhiing!

  The darkness struck the light and split apart, like a wave against rocks. Then it was sucked into the red shield, quickly nullified and absorbed.

  Lori stared up at Ferran. She couldn't believe her eyes. A Cat's Eye?

  Then Ferran was off her. He launched himself onto the darkened figure, wrestling the man to the ground. Lori was surprised that he could hold his own. Assassins were highly trained—fierce warriors, even those without a Name.

  She scrambled to her feet, leaving Ferran to deal with the man, and sprinted toward the far corner of the room. The shadow-woman had been briefly waylaid by the pirates, but Silas' men were now groaning on the floor, and the woman continuing to run. If Lori hurried, she could still cut her off.

  Lori took a sharp right and ran toward the wall, cutting toward the fleeing woman. Her figure darted past, quick as a whip. Lori reached out her hands. The dark cloak was merely an inch from her grasp. She leapt, her fingers splayed out desperately.

  Wham!

  Lori slammed into the wall.

  Her face hit the granite. She stumbled backwards, dazed, then threw herself at the wall again, pounding the stone, scrabbling her nails against it. No! Not now! Sora needs that book! But it was too late—the shadow-woman had disappeared, vanishing completely.

  Lori kept pounding at the rock in frustration, trying to find the portal. “Dammit!” she screamed. “Damn damn damn!”

  Suddenly Ferran was behind her, dragging her away. “Get back,” he said, throwing her behind him. He placed one of his hands on the stone. It immediately glowed with a red light. She could see the source of the light now—a leather cuff that he wore around his wrist. She hadn't noticed it before—she wondered how she could have been so blind. Embedded in the cuff was a circular stone, gleaming with scarlet energy. A yellow swirl moved in its depths, turning in slow, lazy circles. Yes, she had guessed correctly, a Cat's Eye. But how? When? How long has he worn one?

  Ferran paused for a moment, his eyes closed, listening to some unheard voice. It was unnatural, like watching someone commune with a ghost. A chill passed through her. Then he turned to look at her. “The portal led to the City of Crowns,” he said.

  “But...but who?” she demanded. “Why take the book?”

  “My guess,” Ferran said, “is that the Sixth Race wants it as badly as we do.”

  Lori let out a slow breath. Well, of course. It made perfect sense. The Dark God was stirring, the sacred weapons had manifested—there were others who would want that power. Especially the Sixth Race. But for what purpose?

  Tears of frustration stung her eyes. She had been so close, inches away from stopping the shadow. “Now what?” she groaned, running a tired hand over her face. The one thing she could have done for her daughter—and of course, she had failed.

  “We'll get it back,” Ferran said, watching her. His confidence was reassuring. When she looked up at him, he had a cunning gleam in his gray eyes. “Don't worry, we know where they went,” he said. “They can't do anything without the sacred weapons. We'll find the book.”

  Lori nodded, still shaken. She hoped that was true. She took a deep, steadying breath and turned back to the room. Surprisingly, the large warehouse wasn't nearly as dark as before. The lantern light seemed stronger, bigger, more brilliant. She realized now that the shadows had been overly exaggerated, tainted by the assassins' magic. The air felt clearer, too, as though an invisible cloud had lifted.

  Silas approached them. His nose had started to bleed again, and he press
ed a stained handkerchief to it. “Well,” he said. “That was unexpected.” Despite his tone, there was a slight grin around his lips, a glimpse of excitement. Lori recognized the mischievous look of a Dracian.

  “Big help you were,” she muttered.

  He raised an eyebrow. “That's what lackeys are for.” He glanced at the two pirates, who were standing by uncomfortably. One had a black eye. “Though I'll admit, they're better sailors than fighters,” he concluded.

  “We caught one,” Ferran said. “All is not lost. We can question him.”

  Lori turned, surprised, to find an unconscious form slumped in the middle of the room. It was the second shadow who had attacked her—the male.

  “How did you manage that?” she asked wryly. She crossed her arms, impressed.

  “They might move like smoke,” Ferran said, “but they bleed just like any man.”

  Lori nodded. She liked his show of humility, but she knew he was downplaying his skill. Those of the Sixth Race were notorious for their phantom-like abilities, their swiftness and prowess in combat. It wasn't every day that one was caught. It was like trying to trap vapor—they always slipped away.

  “Tie him up,” she said. “Before he can escape.”

  Captain Silas signaled his men, who stalked off across the room. One pulled a length of rope from his belt. Trust a pirate to carry rope at all times, Lori thought ironically. They lifted the prone figure by his arms and bound his hands and feet. The man appeared very young, now that Lori got a close look at his face. Practically a teenager, scraggly and unkempt.

  Once the sailors were done tying the knots, Ferran approached. She watched her friend carefully. He touched the Cat's Eye at his wrist and murmured, “Bind him.”

  The prisoner's ropes glowed faintly red, then faded. Lori's arms prickled again—she rubbed herself, staving off a chill. She had never seen a Cat's Eye used in such a way. She assumed that the necklace would counteract any magic that the boy could use to escape. At least, she hoped so.

  She stepped up to Ferran's side, leaning toward him so he could hear her soft words. “You never told me you had a Cat's Eye,” she breathed.

  He didn't meet her eyes. “I didn't want to worry you.”

  “How long?”

  He glanced at her briefly, then away. “Since I was eighteen.”

  Lori counted back the years. He must have acquired the necklace before his career as a treasure hunter. But how had he come by it? Dane had found a Cat's Eye in the same caverns where he had died; it was now worn by Sora. But she didn't remember Ferran ever mentioning such a stone—or using one.

  That meant that he had been wearing the Cat's Eye for twenty years. Just how much had he learned about it?

  “What now?” Ferran asked, turning to look at Silas and his men.

  The pirate Captain shook his head, appearing deep in thought. “The City of Crowns is more than two hundred miles away,” he said. “No sense chasing after them tonight.”

  “What of your sick men?” Lori asked, remembering their deal. She felt a new sense of confidence, knowing that Ferran had a Cat's Eye. From what she could tell, it was the only way to counteract the curse—though last time, the experience had been less than pleasant.

  “Aye,” Silas nodded, meeting her eyes. “I'll take you to them.”

  “And the assassin?” Ferran asked.

  Silas glanced at their silent captive. “Take him to the brig,” he ordered.

  Lori would have laughed if he hadn't sounded so serious. A brig! The Aurora wasn't a true ship anymore, though Silas was keen on treating it like one. The sailors leapt to attention and picked up their prisoner, heaving him easily off the ground, then started toward the exit. She watched them go, shaking her head, a small smile on her lips.

  Captain Silas turned back to her. He either ignored her bemusement or didn't notice it. “Follow me,” he said. “I'll show you to the sickroom.”

  Lori nodded. She and Ferran fell into step behind the Dracian. They left the room, following the same path as the sailors. Silas raised his lantern when they entered the stairwell, closing the door tightly behind them, sliding several locks into place. They climbed back up the staircase toward the upper halls.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THAT NIGHT, SORA and Laina camped inside one of the abandoned houses, a single-story building with no roof. It was damned eerie. The wind seeped through the rocks, keening wildly like the cries of a mourning woman, dipping and rising with startling intensity.

  Sora kept waking, staring out of the gaping, empty doorway. Sand gusted through the air, obscuring her vision. She could almost imagine the settlers who had once lived here, as though their ghosts still wandered the streets, peeking out of windows and from behind walls. She shuddered, shutting her eyes, trying to block out the noise. She focused on the roar of the ocean instead, letting it lull her to sleep.

  Laina slept by her side, curled close. The two girls huddled together for warmth against the brisk ocean air. At one point, a dense fog rolled through the town, dampening their clothes and streaking the walls with moisture.

  The next morning, Sora awoke to the sound of exotic birds. She blinked, staring up at the open ceiling, her eyes on a bright blue sky. The sun was warm, the air crisp, the breeze light and playful. It had to be close to noon.

  She heard distant shouting from outside. It sounded like the Dracians. They were already packing up camp. She ran a hand through her disheveled blond locks, wishing fervently for a comb.

  “I'll help you with that,” Laina offered briefly. The girl was sitting by the side of the door, eating an orange.

  “Thank you,” Sora muttered. Her injured arm was fast becoming a nuisance. I can't even tie back my own hair!

  Laina finished the last piece and wiped her hands on her shirt, then sat down behind Sora and pulled her hair back off her face. She wove her hair into a quick braid. Sora could tell that it was crooked, but at least it would stay out of the way. She stood up and adjusted the sling on her arm, then smiled at Laina, clasping her hand. “Let's see what all the commotion is about,” she said.

  Outside, a small party of Dracians had formed, carrying knapsacks and makeshift walking sticks. Burn waved her over. He was packing a large rucksack; she caught a glimpse of a black hilt and a dark spearhead inside. Beneath the sacred weapons were a series of tightly packed supplies, meat wrapped in large waxy leaves, nuts and roots. She glanced around for Crash but didn't see him.

  “We're heading into the forest,” he told her. “Are you coming? A small band will remain here to look after the wounded.”

  “I'll come,” Sora replied. Her eyes swept over the buildings, low and hunched to the ground. A mining town. She wondered what minerals could be found on such an isolated island.

  As she approached, Burn reached into a large chest that she recognized from the ship. The Dracians must have carried it with them down the beach. Burn unlatched it and opened the heavy lid; Sora sucked in a quick breath. Her staff was lodged crosswise against the length of the chest, her daggers wedged beneath it.

  It was a welcome sight. Sora eagerly removed her weapons and slung her staff across her back, fitting it into the sling. The daggers fit in her belt. She felt stronger now. More confident.

  “We're ready,” Burn said.

  Jacques, Tristan and the rest of their group all turned toward the opposite end of town where the mining tracks disappeared into the jungle. They walked through the settlement in under ten minutes. The Dracians spread out in search of useful items or weapons, though most everything appeared to be decayed.

  Sora observed the buildings closely. Over here was evidence of a fire; some of the rocks were scarred and blackened. Over there was an especially large structure that may have once been a tavern or a meeting hall. A patch of berry bushes existed behind the rear wall of the settlement, separating the town from the thick leaves of the jungle. She paused, taking a handful of the dark, juicy morsels.

  The steel tracks began at the fa
r side of town, winding inland through the forest. They were so thickly covered in vegetation, the Dracians had to use their knives to cut back the brush. Countless birds squawked in offense, taking off from their nests, watching the travelers from nearby branches.

  In one place, a tree had sprouted between the rails, its roots entwining around them. Part of the trunk had grown into the metal itself, binding and lifting it into the air, forcing the tracks off the ground. The group walked around the large tree, gazing at the entangled roots, a testament to how long it had been since the settlers had perished. Sora was unnerved by the thought. What happened here? Where did they go?

  After close to an hour, the party came to a halt before the mouth of a cave, perhaps twenty feet wide and fifteen feet tall. The tracks led downward, swallowed by blackness. A few mining carts lay to one side, rusted metal boxes half-buried by dirt and plants. Sora stared at the carts, then back at the tracks, then at the cave's mouth.

  “Now what?” Tristan asked, leaning against the rocks. “These people were probably mining for coal or gemstones. Hardly any use to us here.”

  Jacques bowed his head in thought, the crow settling on his shoulder, mimicking his position. The rest of the group hovered around the cave, uncertain of what to do next. No one moved to enter. It seemed almost too dark, as though the sun shied away from its depths. Sora took a tentative step inside and immediately shivered. It was icy-cold in the shadows.

  Suddenly, Laina's voice reached them from the other side of the tracks. “Look over here!” she called. She was several yards from the rails beneath a fringe of eucalyptus trees, half-obscured by foliage. Sora followed the sound of her voice.

  The young girl pulled back a curtain of vines, revealing a large metal slab that was rusted and worn, fastened to the side of a large rock.