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

  Sora lay next to Crash on the narrow raft and found she could do nothing but pant and wheeze. Her muscles were cramping, shaking uncontrollably, and she felt sleep creeping up on her. It would be so nice to lay her head down, just drift away into slumber forever, rest away life's troubles....

  She caught herself before she was lost to oblivion. It’s death to fall asleep in a place like this, she reminded herself, thinking of the Catlins above them. What if she fell asleep and drifted right into their clutches? They didn't have much time. For all she knew, the lake could be already infested by the beasts.

  Besides, she was still naked. What if Crash woke up and saw her like this?

  That's definitely not happening. Dragging herself to her hands and knees, Sora grabbed one of the drier, rougher rags and scrubbed herself until her skin was pink with renewed circulation. Then she stiffly pulled on her clothes and wrapped her wet hair in a cloth so it was off her back. Hopefully she wouldn't get sick. Finally she turned to Crash.

  He was blue.

  Her breath caught. Oops. Maybe I should have checked that first. Sora hurried over to him, mentally slapping herself. She rested her fingers in front of his nose and mouth and found that he wasn't breathing. She opened his mouth slightly, looking inside, trying to see if there was anything obstructing his throat. Her chest constricted with the beginnings of a panic attack; she had to force herself to remain calm. Resuscitation, that’s what he needs... oh gods, oh gods, Crash! Sora looked down at the assassin — then glared determinedly. She had come this far — she was not going to chicken out now! There was nothing else for it.

  She prayed she was doing the right thing and that he wouldn’t wake up. With a deep breath, she tipped his head back slightly and closed his nostrils, then firmly set her mouth against his.

  His lips were freezing as she started, but they slowly warmed up as she continued to breathe into him, counting silently in her head between breaths. She had to repeat the process quite a few times before she felt him start to breathe with her; she was flooded with relief a second time. What, me? Happy that he’s still alive? No, of course not.

  He stirred beneath her and abruptly Sora sat up, wiping her mouth off on her sleeve. I hope I don’t get a disease, she thought wryly.

  “Ugh!” Crash shot up unexpectedly. He didn't even spare her a glance, but turned over and heaved, vomiting up water. He coughed violently, water gushing from his mouth, over and over again. Sora watched in surprise — it looked like he was coughing up half the lake. Then he collapsed backward, gasping, his breath wheezing in and out of his lungs.

  “Crash!” she leaned over him, frowning in concern, putting a hand against his face — his skin was dead white, like a corpse. He didn't respond. Had he fallen unconscious again? She checked his pulse in his neck — it was strong, steady. This, she assumed, was a good sign. But he had definitely passed out again.

  Sora suddenly wanted to laugh. She stuck her tongue out at the unconscious man. Not so useless now, am I? she thought. Who would have thought Crash didn't know how to swim?

  Abruptly the makeshift raft, which had been randomly drifting, came to a halt. Sora gave a start of surprise and looked around, blinking through the mist. She stared. The platform had bumped into the one of the giant trees, but that wasn't what caught her attention. Sticking out of the tree were two torches, alight with white flame — between them was a door. It was barely discernible in the gloom, blending almost perfectly with the curve of the tree trunk. Mouth dropping open, she reached out tentatively and touched the rough surface.

  Is it a trap? She gnawed her lip, worried, but now was not the time to be paranoid. With a silent prayer, Sora stood up and stepped carefully to the edge of the raft. Her hands rested against the carved surface of the door. She swallowed nervously, then gave the door a cautious push. The raft rocked gently at the force, and for a few perilous seconds she fought for balance.

  Once she had steadied herself, Sora looked back to the door and found that it had opened a few inches. Well, better than nothing. I don’t know how much longer I can take this freezing air, and Crash isn’t looking all that good....

  Picking up her makeshift paddle, she pushed the door open all the way. She tied up the raft with a length of rope, then leapt off. Once she was safely in the doorway, she turned and dragged the assassin’s heavy body after her — dear Goddess, he’s like a stone! It took several minutes of tugging and grunting before she had him fully inside the crawlspace. The area inside the tree was the size of a servant's bedroom, roughly ten by twelve feet, and it looked abandoned, dusty, forgotten. There was no obvious ceiling that she could make out, but a wooden staircase led upward into the trunk, carved out of the tree itself. It turned upwards out of sight.

  There was no time to marvel at her good luck. She went back to the raft and gathered some of the moldy cloth together. There were pieces of wood scattered around the abandoned room. They looked old and dry. She was so tired that she could have collapsed, but instead she forced herself to keep moving, and determinedly put the logs in a neat stack. Grabbed one of the torches. The damp wood lit immediately with the unnatural white flames, and Sora once again sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods. She then laid Crash lengthwise along the passage and pulled off his boots, gloves, cloak, and shirt, leaving him wrapped up in her own cloak.

  The fire was warmer than a normal fire, but it didn't smell like one. It had a light, metallic scent which was irritating her Cat’s Eye senses, and the smokeless flames unnerved her. Another piece of Catlin magic.... She tried to remember what other powers they might have, but her conversation with Burn was fuzzy — it felt like an eternity ago. She felt her eyes closing from weariness.

  Shutting the door, Sora let the room warm up, drying out their clothes. She wrapped herself in a large, dry piece of cloth, then sat with her back against the wall. Closed her eyes. The exhaustion she had been fighting off claimed her almost immediately, and she fell into a deep slumber.

  * * * * *

  Sora awoke from to the sound of someone moving quietly around her small camp. Automatically she reached for the dagger around her belt, but not only discovered it gone, but her belt gone as well. Silently, she scolded herself. Why wasn't her dagger there? Now what had she done with it? How many times had Dorian warned her about forgetting her dagger, reminding her of all the strange things that lived in the swamp? What kind of animals do live here, anyway? She thought groggily. And why haven't I seen any? Furthermore, why is the air so musty?

  With a shock, Sora was brought back to the present. All of her old aches and pains came back, and she couldn’t resist a groan. How were they going to get back into the colony and rescue the Wolfies? They had no weapons, no supplies; the Catlins would slaughter them for sure. Which reminded her — who was that moving about? Crash? Probably. She tried to open her eyes but found them glued shut by eye gunk, so took the time to rub them clean.

  As soon as her vision cleared, Sora sat up straighter and stretched out of her cramped position. With a jaw-cracking yawn, she looked around their small camp.

  The assassin was standing with his back to her, adjusting his belt, his shirt slung over one shoulder. Sora gazed at his back distractedly. The white firelight flickered across it and she was unable to stop herself from admiring the sleek muscles and lightly tanned skin. His back, like the rest of him, was void of body hair and perfectly, flawlessly smooth.

  Realizing her thoughts were more than a little odd — this was Crash, after all, the man who I’m terrified of, remember? — she averted her eyes and leaned over to poke at the fire with a piece of dry wood. The white flames burned steadily, but Sora felt more useful doing something normal.

  Crash turned around at the sound and looked at her, a strange expression on his face. His eyes sparkled emerald in the light. Sora met his gaze, then let her eyes flicker over his face. They caught on the edge of the scar near his jaw, and she felt a small gasp lodge in her throat. She followed the mark all the way down the
side of his chest and into his pants. It looked like it must have been a gruesome wound — she wondered how he had survived it.

  "A lesson learned," Crash murmured.

  She looked up, startled, to see that his eyes had followed hers. "What happened?" she asked, wondering if he would answer the question. This was the first time the assassin had offered any information about his past.

  "It was an accident," he snapped. Then he turned away and pulling on his shirt, tucking it in, then fastening his cloak around him.

  Sora was somewhat stung by his words, but she recovered quickly. This is Crash. He's a jerk.

  She tried to recover by asking the first question that came to mind. "What are we going to do?"

  "About what?"

  "About the Wolfies."

  "Rescue them." Crash finished dressing and turned to her, his eyes shadowed. He bowed his head in thought, then started pacing. "Do you know where those stairs lead?"

  Sora shook her head wordlessly.

  “Well, then we're going to find out.” He started toward the staircase.

  Sora was still tired and didn't really feel like getting up, but she also didn't want to be left behind. So she started to stand, but a sharp pain abruptly made her stop. She winced and sucked in a breath. A painful throb began in her side, just below the ribcage. She hadn't felt it before because of all the adrenaline and ice water, but now that things were calm, she could remember the Panthera's claws digging into her. She looked over to where Crash had stopped at the base of the stairs. His eyes flickered to her shirt. He hesitated, staring, then started toward her.

  “W-what are you doing?” Sora asked in surprise, backing up. He wasn’t looking at her face, but at her torso. She wanted to look down too, but her eyes were glued to his intense expression.

  He stooped before her, his broad shoulders blocking out the light of the fire. His hands went to her waist where the pain ate at her side — he touched the spot with surprising gentleness. Sora stared down at the top of his head, too shocked to do anything else. She watched as he inspected the wound. She could see now that there was a bloodstain on her shirt, leftover from yesterday. But she didn't think the wound was still bleeding.

  “The Panthera did this to you?” Crash asked quietly.

  Sora swallowed, “Yeah.”

  Crash stood up, picking up a discarded piece of cloth. “It's not too deep. All we need to do is bind it,” he told her, tying the cloth securely around the wound. “You cleaned it out when we went for that swim earlier." Crash met her eyes. The words hung between them, silent, a shade awkward. Sora couldn't look away. He seemed troubled. Conflicted. “I... well, thank you, Sora.”

  She was shocked. Speechless. Thank you? From this assassin? Not bloody likely, she thought, and yet there it was. Loud and clear. Definitely not what she had expected. She suppressed the urge to smile and tried to act serious. Obviously he wasn't used to this sort of thing. There was no point to embarrassing him further.

  “Any time,” she said solemnly.

  To her surprise, Crash let out a quiet chuckle, then gave her a hand up, helping her stand. He picked up her cloak and threw it around her shoulders. "Come on."

  With that he started up the steps, not waiting for her to follow. Sora blinked after him, still surprised, momentarily frozen in place. Then she hurried to catch up. Some things never change.

  Chapter 10

  The stairs seemed to go on forever, and it wasn't long before Sora could feel the strain on her legs. A month ago I never would have made it this far, she thought smugly. Her legs were much stronger now and she could feel her muscles straining against her snug pants. The stairs were not evenly cut; the next step tended to be shorter or higher than the one they were on, and she almost tripped several times. Luckily she couldn't fall far because the stairwell was extremely narrow, hardly the width of a broom closet. It was fine for her since she was so small, but Crash wasn't as lucky; he had to crouch and keep his arms close to his body. After a while she took the lead.

  Every couple of turns there was a white torch to light the way. Being magic, it was able to light quite a distance. Crash had to move sideways to get past these, and more than once Sora almost knocked one over. The torches went out as soon as they left their wall sconces, snuffed like candles, with no sign of ashes or sparks. As she climbed, she wondered what kind of power had created such a passage. Nature magic, some part of her whispered, and she quickened her step.

  The two kept silent on the long climb, neither in the mood to converse. Sora was pushing herself mindlessly forward. With no thoughts, she forced her way up the stairs, her legs moving without conscious effort. She didn't even look at where she was going, keeping her eyes on her feet so she didn't trip. Her breath grew heavy in her lungs. These stairs go on forever, she thought. When will they end? It's been an eternity since we were at the bottom.

  Her question was answered abruptly when her head bumped into the ceiling. Thunk! The stairs leveled off abruptly and there was nowhere else to go. Grimacing and rubbing her sore head, Sora looked around. She was at a dead end: no doors, no windows, no corridors, no ladders to climb, just a solid wooden ceiling. She had to sit so she didn't bump her head again.

  Crash arrived behind her within a minute. He didn't make a sound; no words, no grunts of annoyance, only the heat of his body in the cramped space, his hot breath on the back of her neck. Why did he always seem so warm? It made her want to move away even though there was no room.

  "Dead end," she whispered.

  Then she heard the sound of footsteps, not directly above her but a few feet in front. Crash put a finger to his lips and slowly moved next to her in a crouched position. Sora shifted to make room for him and ended up cramming herself further into the small space. Crash's knee pressed against her as he slowly reached up and placed his hands on the roof, where Sora noticed something odd flickering in the firelight. A latch. It was a trap door.

  Stretching upward, Crash placed his ear to the door and listened, then opened it up a few millimeters. Sora could hear voices, but they were speaking in another language. Catlins. Tension ran through her body, anxiety curling in her stomach. Had they heard her bump against the ceiling? What if, at this very moment, they were discussing the best way to trap them? Her eyes flickered to the assassin nervously. She took one look at the expression on his face and was hit by a realization.

  He knew what they were saying!

  She wanted to ask him what was going on, but she bit her lip instead, waiting. The minutes stretched on and her knees began to ache from the position. Finally he set down the door, carefully latching it again, then turned to look at her. He actually appeared pleased.

  "They seem to think that we died in the fall,” he told her. “They've sent some search parties to scan the area for us, but Catlins are horribly afraid of water.... That's why they put lakes beneath their colonies, to protect from other tribes. I doubt they'll look very hard.” Crash smiled faintly, and Sora was surprised again. “We are a few trees to the left of the Wolfies. No time to lose. Let's get your raft and break them out, shall we?”

  She nodded wordlessly, assuming they would travel by raft to another tree, hopefully one with the Wolfies inside. She wasn't very enthusiastic about having to climb up a whole other flight of stairs. It had taken a long, long time. She turned to follow Crash back down.

  “What else did they say, exactly?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

  “Nothing of importance,” he said nonchalantly.

  Sora’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I don't suppose you could tell me if they were talking about our escape. What did they say about us-?”

  “Nothing of importance,” Crash repeated firmly, and glared at her. Despite their moment of camaraderie just an hour back, Sora was still frightened by that look. She decided to drop it. She didn't really want to hear about the Catlins' plan to kill her friends — or their ideas on protectors and providers. Did she?

  “We’ll travel to their c
ells immediately. There's no time to waste. They'll kill the Wolfies soon,” Crash said over his shoulder.

  “What if there are traps?” she asked.

  “We’ll just have to be careful.” The assassin dismissed her idea. Sora was about to protest, but he cut her off. “They’re not expecting us, they think we’ve drowned. It will be fine."

  Sora still wasn’t happy, but nodded anyway. She didn't like the plan. Not that she knew anything about breaking people out of jail, but she felt like they were rushing in too soon. "How will we get Burn and Dorian out without a key?"

  Crash reached into his cloak and drew out a curved piece of metal. It took Sora a moment to realize what it was. Then she blinked, surprised. Of course — the key he had pulled off the guard back in the cell! She had forgotten all about it; impressive that he hadn't lost it in the fall.

  Crash dangled it in the air for a moment before putting it away, not saying another word. Sora frowned after him. She couldn't help but feel like everything had been thrown together at the last minute — but maybe that's just how things worked on an adventure. He had probably done this countless times before, and besides, she didn't have any better ideas. No use arguing.

  "I didn't know you could speak Catlin,” she said casually. She glanced at him, waiting to see his reaction.

  His answer was guarded enough. "You do now."

  His tone was hardly inviting; she decided not to ask any more questions. She wondered what else she didn't know about the assassin — far too much, to be sure. It was frightening to think about. Who knew what he else was hiding from her... what deeds he had committed, what demons hid beneath that black cloak. He may be a man on the surface, but she couldn't forget the insides. He was rotten to the core. Diseased. A murderer.