Viper's Creed (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) Page 2

  Her mother nodded, slowly recovering. She finally dropped Sora's hands and climbed to her feet. Her eyes never left the bed. “Maybe... I've never seen anything like it.” She prodded Sora's shoulder. “You should touch him again, to see if the curse is gone.”

  Sora glanced up at her mother. Gross! “Really?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “Why don't you touch him? That was disgusting!”

  “I'm the one who got covered in worms!”

  “Yeah, well, I don't want to be next....” Sora sighed. She knew she had to do it since her mother didn't have a Cat's Eye. So she stood up and crossed the room carefully, wiping her sweaty hands on her pants, wary of the sleeping farmer. Finally, she reached out a shaky finger and touched the man's wrist. It felt warm, dry... normal. She closed her eyes and sank deep into her mind, where the bond with the necklace resided. Mentally, she nudged it. What is happening here...?

  Wwwhuumph! Instantly, darkness flooded her vision. Sora felt a jolt, but this time she resisted the urge to remove her hand. She let the Cat's Eye take her where it wanted to go.

  It was as though she had been sucked into the man's body. She could suddenly feel his laboring breath, the stab of pain with each inhale, the heaviness of the quilt and an overwhelming nausea. Hot, so hot....Her eyes filled with images: a swarming darkness, like legions of insects, and a nasty, crawling sensation in her gut. Then the sound of a voice, low and lethal, murmuring against her ears. Hushhh.

  And then—something burst in her chest like a red hot boil. She took a sharp breath. Hatred. So much hate....

  Fear stabbed her. The impressions were intense, close to overwhelming. She summoned the Cat's Eye and the light sound of bells met her ears—like a clinking in the wind.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw a green light surrounding her hand. Like cool water, the power of the Cat's Eye flowed from her fingers, stretching across the man's fevered skin. Then she felt the necklace draw the heat into itself... slowly suck inward... until it pulled the fever inside, like water into a duct.

  With a small burst of light and a final tinkle of bells, the Cat's Eye went silent.

  Sora looked up at her mother. She felt winded... but strangely exhilarated. When was the last time she had dealt with magic? A year ago, to be sure, before Crash and Burn had left. She could feel the necklace more firmly now in her mind. She had almost forgotten the sensation, as though another person sat just behind her eyes. She hadn't realized it had grown so quiet. The lack of magic over the past year had made it dormant, sleepy.

  “Well?” her mother asked.

  “His fever broke,” Sora said. She knew this for a fact, though she had removed her hand from the farmer's skin. “It was... strange. As though he had been possessed by hatred. I don't understand it.”

  Her mother nodded slowly, her brow furrowed. “I've been watching for something like this,” she said quietly.

  Sora looked at her, surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “Now is not a good time to discuss it,” she said, glancing at the door, and Sora was certain that the farmer's wife stood just beyond, listening with an acute ear. “But I have noticed many animals acting strangely. Those chickens from three weeks ago were not just sick. They were attacking each other. Last week I saw the same thing with a herd of cattle. Only last night I saw four hawks collide in a battle over our house. There is something dangerous afoot here. I need to return to my library.”

  Sora nodded, thinking of her mother's library back at the cabin, filled with thousands of books. She had only read a handful of them in the past year. The woman had spent her entire life collecting them; everything from children's stories to tales of the Wanderer, historical accounts of the War of the Races, alleged spellbooks, maps and geography.

  “Let's go,” her mother said, packing up her supplies.

  Sora nodded numbly, her hand traveling to the necklace under her shirt. The small, circular stone felt warm to the touch, as though she had dropped it in fire.

  * * *

  By the time they got back to their house, Sora felt like she had dropped her head in fire, too. The sun was high in the sky and harsh to her eyes; even blinking was a pain.

  She staggered off her horse and walked to the house, eager to get away from the sun. Once inside, however, the headache only grew until her temples throbbed. She paused next to the doorway, one hand on her head.

  “Are you all right?” Lorianne asked, worried.

  “Fine,” Sora said. “A headache... I think I need to take a nap.” Perhaps using the necklace had affected her more than she had thought.

  Her mother frowned and nodded. Then Sora dragged herself upstairs to her bedroom. It seemed like each footstep was twice as heavy as the last. For a moment, she thought she would collapse straight onto the floor, but she didn't want her mother fussing over her, so she forced herself up the narrow wooden stairs, down the long hallway and into her bedroom. She barely managed to close the door behind her, then slumped into a large, overstuffed armchair, too tired to make it to the bed.

  What's wrong with me? she wondered, pushing her head back against the soft chair and tightly shutting her eyes. Had she somehow caught the farmer's sickness? It couldn't be possible. Her Cat's Eye protected her from magic. It had been a curse, after all; not a disease. Certainly not contagious.

  But she continued to feel more and more sick until she finally gave up, allowing her thoughts to fade into swimmy darkness. Maybe she needed a nap. That was it. Just a nap and she would be fine....

  Chapter 2

  She was standing in the field, looking down at Dorian’s cold, lifeless body. His eyes were glassy, empty, gazing up at her. She had buried her good friend a year ago, but she could still conjure up every curve of his face, the slope of his nose, his pointed chin and silver hair.

  A peculiar shudder ran through her. She forced herself to look away, biting her lip until the pain made her concentrate on her surroundings.

  The field was dead. The earth torn up, like great hands had dragged across it. A dense haze covered the dream, as though the very ground was rotten beneath her. The air stunk with the residue of diseased bodies. Chickens pecked across the surface of the earth, clucking and bickering with each other, their eyes like gummy red beads, their beaks black with infection.

  She focused past that. In the distance she could see a figure moving, his form vague against the background of the swamp. She frowned, and as in the nature of dreams, lifted from the ground to glide smoothly over the fields, drifting steadily toward the strange figure.

  She had to hover quite close to get a good look at the traveler, floating just above his head, and then she grew confused. Was it Dorian again, this time creeping through the trees? No, she had just left his dead body. Then who...?

  A gust of wind swirled around the figure’s cloak, and a face turned in her direction. Sora’s eyes widened in fascination. His features were delicate, with the effeminate touch of a Wolfy mage. No, it wasn't Dorian, though the man was of the same race. His eyes were smaller, narrowed with malice and alight with cunning. His lips weren’t lush like Dorian’s, but thin and pale, set in a narrow line. His nose, though pointed, was obviously masculine, and his overall frame was broader and taller—still rather lean compared to most men. Sora felt an odd knotting in her gut at the sight of him, and some inherent dislike bloomed in her chest.

  Everywhere he stepped, the grass turned brown, and his shadow spread around him like a pool of darkness.

  He raised a delicate nose to the air and sniffed, his long ears twitching, then his head snapped around and his eyes looked right at her.

  "Who watches?" he called. He stared at her—pierced her.

  Then she was off flying again; the field disappeared in seconds. Acres of farmland swept by below her, the crops bent and withered, dying... then a small forest, then more dead fields until finally she crested a hill. Then she found herself overlooking a port city. She could hear the sound of people coughing, the moans of women and the cr
ies of children. It seemed like a dark cloud hung over everything, as though the world had been thrown into a permanent dusk.

  Sora got a good view of the houses and shops before she was soaring again, down through the streets, twisting and turning past flower stalls and brick walls, dirty cobblestones, the sun glinting off windows...then she arrived at the docks.

  Crowds, bartering, the dull impression of voices....

  A young man with aqua-colored eyes and red hair stepped off the plank of a giant merchant ship. A crow perched on his shoulder ruffled its feathers and squawked, perhaps annoyed by her presence. She didn't recognize the traveler's face, but he looked vaguely familiar.

  Then she was whisked away again, this time over the ocean, across waves and waves, endless waves. In seconds she had covered countless miles, heading swiftly toward a series of green islands.

  She moved in closer to the main island. A circle of gigantic stones rested amidst a field of green grass overlooking the ocean. Sora dove down to its center, then was pulled up a rock path to a strange marble pedestal atop a hill, mere yards away from a steep drop, straight into the crashing surf. The pedestal was shaped like a claw, as though meant to hold something small and round, like a rock or a small pebble, a marble, or maybe even... a Cat’s Eye.

  The vision changed, sending her into a whirl of chaos, the scenery spinning around her, flashes of woodland and ocean and rock. The Wolfy mage stood close by, staring at her, grinning. As she watched, he slowly raised his fingers to his mouth; they were covered in blood, and he licked each one clean, as though devouring a great delicacy. A dense, impenetrable darkness seemed to be spreading from him, oozing out of his pores, dampening his clothes and overshadowing his face, until all she could see were his eyes....

  There was an abrupt shout; she tore her gaze from the evil face. Next to her stood another figure, someone living and breathing whom she knew very well.

  “Trapped again?” the assassin whispered. He reached out to touch her hand. Her heart twisted at the sight of his dark hair, his green eyes.... For a moment, she felt relief.

  “You came back for me,” she murmured.

  “No,” he said. But it wasn’t his voice. No, someone else, a darker voice, impossibly deep and crusted, like rusted metal....It sent needles of fear through her heart.

  “You’re not Crash,” she whispered, stepping back, her pulse thudding in her ears.“Get away from me! Who are you?”

  “You mean... what am I?” the voice taunted.

  Abruptly her vision narrowed. She felt as though she were looking through a tunnel, the world focused solely on his face; then Crash’s face smeared, and in its place was a pair of glowing red eyes. Fire leapt in their depths—fire and darkness. The creature smiled.

  She screamed.

  She turned and ran, wind whipping around her, completely blind. A dull murmur reached the edges of her hearing, nagging, but she continued to run through the black space, glints of light all around her, stars or fireflies or something similar. A shushing sound grew in her ears... voices... rushes and whispers: “Who hast the nerve to light thy fire, to steal thy blade and risk thine ire....”

  The chanting continued, and Sora covered her ears, wondering how to escape from this nightmare. Somehow the voices beat through her defenses, speaking as one, constant and insistent. “Emotions powered in the fight—around thy neck, burning bright—when thou dost run, do not fall— hence the destruction of us all.”

  And finally—finally—the voices stopped, only to be replaced by a much more familiar sound, like the brush of wind chimes, but louder, ever more urgent. The clink of bells made her think of a galloping horseman, faster and faster, thundering in her direction. It could only be one thing....

  * * *

  "Sora! Sora! Wake up!"

  Sora sat up with a start, bursting from the dream like a wild horse, grabbing her mother with hands of steel. Her body was shaking, trembling, and she clung to the woman like a rope in a dark ocean. She still felt trapped by the intense dream, as though it would rise up at any second and consume her again.

  They stayed like that for a long moment, both women breathing, holding each other, until peace seeped back into the room. Sora finally let herself sag backwards onto the sweat-soaked chair. Her lungs shuddered in her chest.

  The two looked at each other. Sora realized her headache had gone; tears were streaming down her cheeks. Tears? Numbly, she wiped at them. She couldn't get the image of Dorian's dead body out of her mind, or Crash's evil, maniacal eyes. She could remember the dream clearly, vividly, like a poem or a song. It took her mother’s voice to bring her back to her surroundings.

  “And so it begins,” the woman whispered.

  “W-what?” Sora replied.

  “Dane had these symptoms. Nightmares. Visions from the necklace.”

  Sora nodded, still shaken. Her true father, Dane, had worn the necklace before her; in fact, he had died wearing it, which meant that his spirit could be trapped inside, still bonded to the Cat's Eye. But nightmares? No, this had been real, tangible; she had tasted the air and had heard Crash's voice as though spoken into her ear. It was a vision. She had never had one before, but she knew what it was instinctively. Something had transferred from that farmer; some residue of the curse. Her Cat's Eye had awakened—and was trying to tell her something.

  “I saw sick people,” Sora murmured. “The earth was barren. Dead crops. Disease. It spread over the land like a dark shadow....” She looked at her mother warily, waiting for an explanation.

  Lorianne sighed. “The Cat’s Eye isn't a dead rock. It's part of you now, just like your pulse or your breath. It knows your heart and mind,” she said slowly. “I think it's trying to warn us. The farmer's curse... is part of something much larger. Something that has to do with this....”

  Sora hadn't realized until now that her mother was holding a package. She watched as Lorianne unwrapped it. Her skin prickled.

  She already knew what was inside.

  A thick, dark sword hilt, wrapped in leather, no blade.

  Sora recognized what had been a true sword not so long ago—a rapier, to be exact—wielded by one of Volcrian's minions, a wraith made of powerful blood magic. The specter burst upon them shortly after they escaped from the swamp, catching them all by surprise. The sword had killed Dorian, and then the wraith had plunged it straight through her ribs.

  She almost died in the fields next to him. Sometimes she wished she had. It was strange, the guilt of a survivor. She spent more time than she wanted to admit visiting his grave, thinking about his death, wondering if she could have prevented it—and knowing she could have.

  Crash and Burn had left her the sword hilt as a strange memento. Neither had explained why.

  “So?” Sora asked. “What about it?”

  Lorianne held the hilt tightly, as though it could still hurt her daughter. She spoke quietly. “A bit strange, don't you think, that a creature made of blood and magic would wield such a weapon...?”

  Sora shrugged. In all honesty, she hadn't thought much of it.

  “Do you know much about Wolfy magic?”

  Sora shrugged again. “Only that they use blood to work their spells. They're supposedly the strongest of the races, though I don't know if that's true....”

  “It is,” her mother said shortly. “Blood magic is a tricky thing. It's not like elemental magic or nature magic. It crosses boundaries. The wraith that Volcrian summoned was powerful. It was a human spirit tied to a magical form, turned into something evil and soulless. The wraiths are not part of this world. They come from another place, the underworld, far beneath the earth. Where the Dark God sleeps.”

  Sora nodded. She had heard the lore of the races before. There was a god for each of the elements: Wind, Water, Earth, Fire, Light and Dark. But only the Wind Goddess was worshipped now. The races were all but extinct; some humans believed that they had never existed in the first place. They were slowly being forgotten, and their gods with them.


  “Each of the gods and goddesses has a sacred weapon,” her mother explained. “In this case, the Dark God has three: a rapier, a spear and a crossbow. I was reading this,” she said, placing a book in Sora's lap. It was a sizable tome, difficult to lift, the pages worn and dusty. “The spell that Volcrian used to summon his wraiths is forbidden. If the Wolfy race were still powerful, he would be imprisoned by now. It is strictly forbidden by the Wolfies, and all of the races, to raise the dead, because when things return from the underworld, sometimes they bring stuff back with them... like these weapons. The sacred weapons of the Dark God, released once again into the world of Wind and Light.”

  “All right,” Sora said, nodding slowly. She didn't know much about the old ways, the laws of the Wolfies or other races, but she could remember most of the lore of the Elements. “So the Dark God had sacred weapons. Why does that matter?”

  “If these weapons fell into the wrong hands, well....”

  “What?”

  “They have the potential to awaken the Dark God fully. To cause pain and suffering unlike any seen in thousands of years. This sickness that is spreading, it is not just a disease. It is a curse. Residue from the Dark God that is now seeping into the land. We need to destroy these weapons—and Volcrian—before it is too late.”

  Sora sat back, her mouth hanging open. She looked down at the rapier hilt, then back at her mother. She didn't know what to say. Finally, she cracked a smile. “Really, Mum?” she said cheekily. “Are you sure your eyes aren't tired? Maybe you need a nap, too.”

  “Don't laugh!” her mother replied, but she was grinning. “Sounds dire, doesn't it? These things were common once, back in the time of the races, when magic was an everyday occurrence. People knew these things and they respected the old laws. But with the races gone and magic all but a myth, it's a very dangerous time for Volcrian to invoke this spell. There are few who know how to stop him.”