Sora's Quest (The Cat's Eye Chronicles #1) Read online

Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Crash signaled for her to wait. It was a welcome relief. Sora's legs were shaking from the long, steep staircase. This corridor had been darker and dustier than the last one, perhaps a passage through an older tree.

  Turning his back to her, Crash started to take off his shirt. Sora's mouth dropped open, then she quickly averted her eyes. She turned toward the wall of the tree, staring resolutely at the wood grain, waiting as he undressed himself. “W-what are you doing?” she stuttered. It was silly, really. She had already seen him shirtless. But it was different when he was awake. You know, not drowning.

  “I'll be back,” he murmured.

  “What do you mean?” she asked. She waited a moment longer, but curiosity finally made her turn her head. When she looked, the assassin was gone, as though he had vanished into thin air. Only his clothes remained.

  She stared at the heap of black leather and linen. Shirt, gloves, cloak...pants. Her eyes widened. Then she ran to the doorway, gazing out at the cold, gray lake. She saw a ripple of water near the base of the tree, thin rings spreading outward. He had barely made a splash.

  Her eyes searched the mist, wondering where he had gone. He could have at least warned me. With a breath of annoyance, she sat down against the wall of the tree and stretched out her legs. She winced. Her muscles were terribly stiff and sore. She rubbed them as she waited.

  Her thoughts turned to the Cat's Eye, to the manor. She wondered what Lily was doing—whether or not the maid had found employment, or if life somehow carried on, unaffected by Lord Fallcrest's passing. She had the sudden, terrible urge to write a letter, though it was impossible. Her fingers itched to put pen to paper.

  Then she thought of the Wolfies and their impending death. It was pathetic, really. She was drained from the panic and excitement, but somehow, she still shed a few tears. First her father, and now this. Given the seclusion of the moment, Sora pressed her face against her knees and allowed herself a few exhausted sobs.

  Perhaps ten minutes later, Crash returned with another raft. If she hadn't been watching for him, she never would have heard him approach. The assassin swam behind an abandoned elevator, his arms holding on to the edge, pushing with his legs. She watched his powerful shoulders flex. They were broad and heavily layered with muscle. A few nicks and scars stood out against his wet skin.

  Sora wondered how many elevators had fallen over the years, plunging unwary passengers to their deaths. The thought made her shudder. She could remember the Catlin's body clearly, drowned beneath the lake.

  She turned away before Crash got too close. He was in the nude, after all. She waited for him to dress, focusing on her muddy knees. She had never been remotely close to a naked man before, nix the previous day. It was only a matter of time, she told herself. Even her thoughts sounded awkward. They had been traveling together for over a month now. Nudity was bound to happen.

  Once he was dressed again, they loaded their supplies onto the makeshift raft. She still found it difficult to look Crash in the eye. She wondered if he noticed. Probably.

  The raft was barely big enough for both of them. At first, she was afraid it would sink. It bobbed threateningly low in the water, but somehow held. Crash handed her a broad piece of driftwood to use as a paddle. She was careful to match his rhythm; she didn't want to overturn the boat.

  They passed several abandoned elevators and lumps of driftwood, lost relics of the Catlin colony. Trees loomed out of the mist, blocking the route forward, and several times they had to change direction. The air above the lake was icy cold, and her nose turned numb before long. She listened for any signs of a search party, but there were none. The lake stretched on and on, with no shore in sight.

  “Where are we going?” she finally asked. They had kept a stealthy silence, but she no longer saw the point. They hadn't seen another living thing in almost a mile.

  “To shore,” he said shortly.

  “Right. That wasn't my question,” Sora replied. “Well, not really.”

  “We're going to find the Wolfies,” Crash said. “I'll track them once we are on land.” He paused. “Or rather, in shallower water.”

  Sora raised an eyebrow. She hadn't thought of that. They were deep in the swamp—what if the lake never truly ended? They would have to make their way back into the trees. She couldn't fathom how he could track the Wolfies above ground. They could be anywhere, and tree bark didn't hold footprints.

  As though reading her mind, the raft suddenly ran up against an embankment. She could see black mud beneath them. Clumps of reeds and ferns grew from the thick paste, clotted with decomposing leaves. She wrinkled her nose. It smelled like rotten eggs.

  Crash leapt to shore...or rather, a nearby fern, then grabbed onto a series of thick vines that dangled to the ground. “I'll be back,” he said. “Stay here. Don't make any noise.”

  He shimmied up the vines like a squirrel. Sora watched, trying not to be impressed. Then he was gone.

  She pulled her cloak closer around her and took out a dagger, holding it in her lap, looking around at the thick underbrush. Her view was obscured by wide, flat leaves and silky mist. She tried to listen for anyone's approach, but all she heard was the gentle lap of the lake and the call of birds.

  Sora wasn't sure how long Crash was gone. Only that by the time he reappeared, she was half-crazy with worry.

  “Well?” she asked, as he slid down the vines, appearing out of the mist like a panther from the dark. “Did you find them? Where are they?” She twisted her hands around her dagger. Were they already dead?

  “This way,” Crash said shortly. “Grab the bags, we have to hurry.”

  He led her up into the trees. If it had been a month ago, the climb would have been hard. But Sora was used to the swamp by now, clambering through branches and swinging on vines. She followed his lead into the canopy.

  They found an old tree trunk that was hollowed out inside, and hid their bags there. Then they continued on their way. Crash moved at a relentless pace, jumping from one branch to the next, using vines to swing across wide gaps. Sora followed as best she could. It was hard going. The wilderness was thick with foliage and they had to cut their way through more than once.

  After about ten minutes, she heard a faint pounding sound in the distance. Drums? She frowned, staring at Crash's back. She wanted to ask what it was, but she sensed that it was better to remain silent. If Catlins were nearby, she didn't want to be overheard.

  “Here,” Crash whispered, showing her a gap in the leaves. They perched on the large branch, gazing out through the thick foliage. Surprise jolted through her.

  Before her stood a giant tree, stretching well up into the sky. It glowed faintly with a strange, green light, clearly visible against the dark forest. The trunk was covered in moss and fungi so rich that it was hard to see the bark.

  At one time, it appeared that two great trees had grown together, meeting countless yards above ground and tangling upwards. The tree stretched up and up into the sky, disappearing through the canopy, dwarfing the trees around it. The space between the two trunks was shaped like a lopsided heart. The tree's roots arched into the air like coiling snakes, dozens of feet above the ground. She guessed this was the Grandmother Tree.

  Directly beneath the conjoined trunks, two poles had been erected with pyres beneath them. The poles were decorated with skulls and feathers.

  At the base of the tree was a circular clearing. She could see bones littering the ground, even at this distance. The circle was lit by white torches, planted in even intervals around its border. And beyond the ring of light—hundreds of Catlin eyes. The first row sat on the ground, large drums between their legs, pounding out a uniform rhythm. The rest of the colony stood behind them, yowling and hissing, jumping in excitement.

  Crash pointed. Far back in the shadows of the roots, she could see the two Wolfies bound and gagged, close to the central arch of the tree.

  The drums leapt to a roaring pitch. Then, fro
m the shadows, the Panthera leapt into the center of the ring. She recognized him by his sleek black fur and great height; he was far larger than the other Catlins. A wooden mask shielded his face. The Panthera continued to prowl and leap to the beat of the drums. It took Sora a moment to realize that it was a dance. He looked more like a great cat stuck in a pit, clawing its way to the air.

  Then three other Catlin warriors leapt into the fray, dancing and spinning, crouching and leaping. They whirled alongside him, mimicking some sort of battle. Each of their masks was ornately painted in bright red and yellow. The teeth of various animals had been hammered into the wood, warped into terrifying faces.

  As they watched, the Panthera bowled into one of the warriors. There was a great cry, the crowd was worked into a frenzy. The Panthera grabbed the head of the warrior and twisted it to one side, killing him in one blow. Then, he threw the body to the onlookers, who tore it to pieces.

  She and Crash stared. Sora was completely horrified.

  “What do we do?” she breathed. After the vicious demonstration, she felt utterly powerless. There were far too many Catlins to fight, even with the assassin's excellent skills. She doubted she would be much help. Besides one-on-one battle, she was inexperienced.

  “Go around,” he nodded. “Under the tree. Free the Wolfies. I'll distract the rest.”

  Sora was incredulous. “Distract them? How do you propose to do that?”

  “There are ways.”

  “You'll be killed!” Sora stopped there. She sounded terribly close to caring, and she didn't. Or at least, she told herself that she didn't. So what if the assassin was killed? Dammit, this is a matter of survival!

  “The Wolfies will be dead soon. We can't hesitate much longer. Now go!”

  “But what about afterward?”

  “Run back to our supplies. If I'm not there, leave without me. I'll find you.”

  She shook her head, still disbelieving his words. But when she turned to speak to the assassin, he was already slinking off into the brush toward the circle of ravenous beasts. She stared for a moment, wondering if she should chase after him, try to change his mind. But no matter how fast her thoughts raced, she couldn't think of any other plan. There were simply too many frenzied Catlins.

  I have to hurry, she thought. Soon they would move the Wolfies into the open, and then there would be no chance of a rescue.

  Using what grace she had, Sora dove in the opposite direction, shimmying down the trunk to the lower branches, then moving as quietly as she could around the opposite side of the circle. She kept the firelight in sight, avoiding the crowds of Catlins that huddled on the ground. Luckily, the great beasts were distracted by the Panthera's dance, and none of them looked up or even seemed to hear her pass.

  Once on the opposite side of the circle, she dropped to the ground and dashed into the cover of the massive roots. This close, the tree was impossibly large; she could have built a city amongst its branches.

  She wove her way through the giant roots, using hanging fungi to shield herself. Finally, she was almost to the heart of the tree. Two Catlin guards watched the Wolfies. They crouched on either side of the prisoners, ready to pounce, their sleek arms heaving with muscle. They both carried spears wrapped with twine and beads. Ceremonial masks covered their faces.

  Sora paused, just out of the firelight, slightly behind a large root. She wondered how much they could see through those masks. No time, make your move, her inner voice urged. She clutched her knife. No, too small. Shifting quietly, she sheathed the dagger and pulled her staff from her back.

  Suddenly, a great roar split the air, and the drums stumbled to a stop. Sora didn't waste time looking. She surged forward and hammered the first guard over the head, hitting him so hard that her elbows jarred. Then she turned to the next guard and smashed him in the face, the mask shattering. The Catlin fell back, stunned by the blow. She kept hitting him, unsure if it was enough, until she heard a sickening crack. Blood poured from the Catlin's nose. She stared, heaving, only a little horrified. I think that did the trick.

  Sweaty and shaking, she turned to the two Wolfies. Dorian's head sagged forward, unconscious. Burn watched her through wide amber eyes.

  “Well done,” he choked.

  She nodded, already reaching for the bone knife strapped to the dead Catlin's chest, and yanked it into her grasp. Then she turned and crouched behind Burn, working on his bonds. His wrists were tied by tough, old vines. The vegetation was thick and stringy, difficult to slice through.

  Finally, Burn was released. He grabbed the knife and dealt with Dorian's bonds much more quickly. Then he picked up the unconscious thief and put him over his shoulder.

  “But Crash....” she started, turning back to the ceremonial circle. Her view was blocked by tree roots. She couldn't see what was going on.

  “He'll find us. Let's go!” Burn said, and grabbed her arm. He dragged her back into the swamp. As soon as they cleared the firelight, she turned away from the Grandmother Tree, matching his steps, taking the lead. They had to go back for their supplies. And then...she touched her Cat's Eye, worry creasing her brow. She would have to find another direction.

  But her thoughts kept returning to the assassin. I'm not worried, she told herself.

  Yet she kept turning back, checking over her shoulder, hoping Crash was right behind them.

  The drums came to a stuttering halt. Silence fell over the arena like a dark cloud.

  Crash stood in the circle of firelight, his eyes keen in the shadows. He could see almost as well in the darkness as in the daylight. The white fire danced to either side, crackling with unnatural intensity.

  He held his dagger in his hand. He doubted he would need his sword.

  The ground was already littered with dead bodies. The Panthera had killed the second warrior, an integral part of the dance. The blood of the warriors would go to strengthen the Grandmother Tree, and the Earth Goddess who supposedly slept beneath it. According to Catlin lore, the right sacrifice would satisfy the tree and awaken Her. But not today.

  The third warrior backed quickly away from the Panthera, aligning himself with the crowd. He hissed, his tail lashing viciously. Crash ignored him. His main concern was the giant warlord that stood in the center of the circle, slightly crouched, staring through the slits of the mask.

  “You,” the Panthera hissed, raising a clawed finger. His voice was muffled by the painted wood. “You've tarnished our ceremony. The wrath of the Goddess will destroy you!”

  Crash didn't flinch.

  Then the Panthera grimaced, lifting the mask above his head, his eyes glowing bright in the darkness. “You've returned for the Wolfies,” he sneered. “Strange, for your kind.”

  Crash couldn't see beneath the roots of the tree, not with all of the fire in the way, but he was certain that the Wolfies were gone. Sora had done her work. Better than expected, perhaps.

  The Panthera snarled again, enraged by Crash's silence. “What do you want, Dark One? Have you come to bargain?” the great cat asked, standing up taller. His height dwarfed the assassin; the Panthera was almost twice his size.

  The entire colony watched, hundreds of Catlin eyes staring from the shadows. A low rumble shook the trees—countless growls, low in the throat.

  “I've come to challenge you,” Crash said.

  “What?” the Panthera grunted.

  The assassin raised his knife slightly. “Fight me.”

  The Panthera's lips cracked into a wicked grin, saliva dripping from his yellow teeth. “You make this easy for me,” he growled.

  But Crash saw something else glimmering in the Panthera's eyes. Hesitation? Fear? He hoped so. It was hard to tell with Catlins; they were more bestial than humans. But fear would be a wise response.

  Then, abruptly, the Panthera yowled with laughter. An act, performed in front of the colony. The beast wouldn't back down. Of that, Crash was certain.

  “If you wish to die, so be it,” the Panthera said. Then he
pulled the mask back down over his face.

  The drums started again, first one, then ten, then fifty, pounding out a fast, syncopated rhythm. The Catlins began to yowl in excitement, shifting from paw to paw, climbing on top of each other or taking to the trees, to get a better view. Crash fervently hoped that Sora and the Wolfies were long gone. He had given them as much time as he could.

  The Panthera leapt towards him, like a charging bear. Crash waited, watching the beast's momentum, the roll of its paws in the dirt. At the last second, he leapt forward, rolling beneath the warlord's legs, missing his claws by fractions of an inch. The assassin regained his footing on the other side, behind his opponent. Then he leapt up on the Panthera's back.

  The crowd of Catlins began wailing and shrieking. Their high-pitched keens split the night. The drums grew louder. He knew the spectators would not intervene. He had initiated a challenge, and the Catlins were bound by their own laws. The Panthera would defend his rank—or be killed. It was their way.

  The warlord tossed himself to one side, rolling in the dirt, but not before Crash buried his dagger in the beast's back. His wooden mask flew off, tumbling across the ground. The Panthera crushed him backwards, but Crash held on, clamping his hands around the creature's throat.

  The Panthera leapt to his feet and twisted, throwing Crash off with a mighty heave. But not before Crash could reclaim his dagger, dragging it out of the beast's back, causing as much damage on the exit wound as on the entrance wound.

  The Panthera let out a ferocious roar, seething in pain. He shook himself, blood spattering to the ground, matting his fur. Then he stooped down and picked up a spear from the ground, whirling to face the assassin.

  “A worthy opponent,” the Panthera growled. “I would expect nothing less, Dark One.” Then the giant lunged at him. The spear whirled and jabbed, left and right.

  Crash recoiled like a snake. He deflected the spear with his dagger, sparks flying in the air. Then he grabbed the shaft and pulled the Panthera towards him. The beast let go of his weapon, stumbling backward, off-balance. Crash swung the length of the spear into the Panthera's head, connecting with his left cheek.

  The Panthera staggered for a moment, shaking off the blow. Crash was somewhat surprised by the beast's endurance; he was certainly formidable.

  Then the Panthera leapt at him again, lashing out with his claws, trying to rip the assassin in half. Crash dodged the giant paws, blocking with the spear. It would have been easier to just kill the beast, but he was trying to buy more time. Sora and the Wolfies needed to get as far away as possible—at least back to where they had stashed their supplies.

  The Panthera's claws gouged his shoulder, a lucky blow. Crash hissed in a sharp breath, leaping away from his opponent, breaking off the close combat. They circled each other briefly, regaining their breath. The Panthera's tail lashed back and forth. He showed his teeth, growling low in his throat.

  “I have killed creatures three times your size,” the Panthera hissed. “To me, you are a darting gnat.”

  Crash smiled slowly. He didn't waste words while fighting. It was useless to taunt the dead.

  “I'll kill you,” the Panthera groaned. “And I'll flay the bodies of your companions, drain them of blood and burn them before the eyes of our wrathful Goddess....”

  Enough of this. Crash's grip tightened on his weapon. He had stalled long enough.

  The assassin charged the Panthera, the spear held in front of him. He feinted left, then jabbed to the right. He struck the Panthera in the face, plunging the spear into his eye.

  With a yowl, the beast fell back, stumbling around the circle, his hands clamped to his face. Crash approached his opponent methodically, backing him into the corner of the ring, against one of the torches. The Panthera screamed in rage, clawing the air, unable to anticipate the assassin's moves.

  Crash picked up a second spear from the ground. Taking full advantage, he plunged the weapon deep into the Panthera's chest, snapping through bone, puncturing the heart. Blood spurted around the shaft, gushing to the ground, turning the dirt to mud.

  He released the spear and stepped back, allowing the Panthera's body to fall, gurgling, to the dark earth.

  The drums stopped.

  Crash didn't hesitate—he could sense the shock that ran through the colony like a lightning strike. The Catlins stood in silence, staring at their fallen leader.

  He didn't give them time to respond. With a few swift steps, he launched into the roots of the Grandmother Tree, immediately swallowed up by shadows, then dashed to the other side, leaping onto a curtain of hanging fungi, pulling himself up into the tree. He jumped from branch to branch, moving as swiftly as possible, careful not to catch his clothes on any twigs.

  Within seconds, he was gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN