Sora's Quest (Cat's Eye #1) Page 9

  Startled, Sora pivoted sideways and landed on Crash's foot. He grunted and caught her shoulders, steadying her for the hundredth time that day. All of those nights spent sleeping in the woods must be getting to me, she thought, brushing herself off, trying to regain her dignity. Then she peered into the shadows where the voice had come from, her eyes narrowed.

  After a few moments, the darkness seemed to form into a man. He was tall, thinly built and very pale, his skin like alabaster — the last kind of person she would expect to see in a weapon shop. As he stepped towards them, she could see that he had soft, delicate features, with thin hair that wafted across his forehead and wide, sensitive eyes. It was the color that threw her off — they were purple, and his hair was a shade darker than white, like the color of moonbeams.

  He paused a few feet away and clasped his hands in front of him. They were very long and bony. He coughed lightly into them as if hiding a smile, and Sora felt a sense of disbelief, as though she were talking to a ghost.

  "So sorry," came his sweet voice again; his words were gentle and airy, like a lullaby. "I didn't mean to startle you. May I help you? Are you looking for anything specific?"

  "A good blade — if you carry any,” Crash sneered.

  Sora was unsurprised; as far as she knew, he was always rude. She looked over and saw that his eyes were hard, glaring. Turning back to the store clerk, she witnessed his expression change too, shifting from warm to cold; his face hardened and he glared straight back. The dislike between them was so strong that Sora wondered if they knew each other. But how could they?

  Then the clerk pointed a pale, elegant hand past her into the shadows.

  "That way. I hope you find what you're looking for. If you are in need of assistance, don't hesitate to ask." He smiled tightly at her, and the offer was obviously insincere. Then the store clerk turned away whimsically, as though carried by a slight wind, and disappeared into the gloomy shadows with a whisper of footsteps.

  With an impatient tug on the back of her cloak, Crash led her toward the rear of the store, his pace swift. Soon Sora found herself at the opening of a narrow aisle. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the lack of sunlight, and revealed a sight she had never expected to see.

  Both sides of the aisle were lined with blades: swords, sabers, cutlasses, and a number of others that she had never before imagined. Sora knew immediately that she would never be able to lift even the lightest and smallest one. She kept to the middle of the aisle, paranoid of bumping against the weapons, even though they didn't look that sharp. To her relief, Crash didn't stop at the sword section, but continued to walk until they were looking at a row of daggers, each laid out with explicit delicacy upon the shelf. They didn't look particularly sharp, either. In fact, they looked downright old, like they had been rummaged from abandoned houses or — perhaps — dead bodies.

  She decided to mention it.

  “What are these — butter knives?” she asked.

  “A whetstone should do the trick,” Crash murmured, and plucked two long, curved knives from one of the shelves. “Besides, we don't want you cutting off a finger.” He did a few fancy twirls with them and then balanced one on the tip of his finger. After a few seconds, he shook his head and put them both back on the shelf, moving down the aisle. He repeated this process several times with many other knives. They all looked the same to Sora (who stood a safe distance away), but she figured he had his reasons. She could easily imagine what the blades could do when put in the right hands — everything from slitting throats to removing organs. It made her slightly queasy. Crash definitely has the right hands, she thought, watching him twirl his eighth pair of knives. She didn't want to admire the assassin's skill, but she couldn't help it.

  Finally he turned to her and offered the handles of two docile looking daggers, almost twice as long as her hand. They looked blunt and bulky, but when she picked them up, she was surprised to find them almost weightless in her grasp. She had never held anything bigger than a steak knife before, but somehow the grip felt natural; she could feel the balance and shifted her hands easily. She saw, or rather thought she saw, a hint of a smile pass over Crash's face. Then he asked, "Have you ever handled a knife before?"

  "No,” was her only answer.

  “You’ll work with them well,” he murmured. “Though you'll need a larger weapon.”

  “Larger...?” Sora echoed in surprise. Weren’t these wicked blades enough?

  He nodded and then turned, trotting into the darkness. Sora half-jogged to catch up to him. He made his way down the center aisle, checking the shelves on either side of them. They passed spears, ropes, archery, hooks, maces, and other rows of weapons that Sora couldn't identify. Still he didn't stop. She was now striding just behind him, thoroughly confused about what he was looking for.

  Finally, he stopped at the very back of the store where the shadows were the murkiest. Sora hesitated to follow into the gloom; she could hardly see. She stepped up to the nearest shelf and timidly ran her hands over it. Blinked in surprise. Both sides of the aisle were lined with wooden staffs of all different shapes and sizes.

  "Pick one," came Crash's voice in front of her.

  "What?"

  "You need a larger weapon. I doubt you can lift a sword, and it takes too long to learn archery.”

  “Why not a spear?” she asked.

  “You need to learn the staff first. Trust me.”

  Sora glared at him, and he raised a dark eyebrow. She sniffed indignantly – then stifled the urge to sneeze. She sighed instead and looked back to the shelves, rows upon rows of silent wood. There were no hints, no signs indicating what she should do. Finally, she shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know anything about weapons. How am I supposed to pick one?”

  “Well, I can’t help you,” Crash’s tone was scornful. “I don’t know what will balance for you. You’re quite... short.”

  “Petite,” she corrected in annoyance. “I’m petite!”

  He just stared at her. With another sigh, Sora gave up and turned back to the shelves, a peculiar sinking sensation in her stomach. "How will I know if it balances for me or not? I know nothing about testing for balance." It made her anxious - what if I pick the wrong one? And what good would a large stick do in defending herself?

  "You'll know,” was his only response. “It will feel natural.”

  Sora nodded in defeat. Well, there was a first time for everything... but she was pretty sure this would be hard, and she would probably pick the wrong one. Tentatively, she reached for the first to her left, a stout oak staff. Sora gripped it and turned to look at Crash to see if she was doing the right thing.

  He nodded. "Hurry up."

  Sora turned away from his scrutinizing gaze and hefted the staff off the shelf. It was so heavy that she almost dropped it. After fumbling for a moment, she placed it back on its perch. That definitely wasn't it. The next one was made out of willow, and she was attracted to its classy sheen, but it proved too tall for her to wield easily. She tried one made of pine that turned out to be slightly heavier on one end. With a small smile, she felt her confidence grow. Maybe this would be easier than she had originally thought.

  She repeated this process several more times, trying woods that she was familiar with and a few she had never heard of before. Most were either too heavy or too tall. Finally, when she was just about to give up, her hand bumped into a staff that was placed far back on the shelf, barely noticeable. Its wood was a dark, dusty gray, almost blue. Lifting the staff from the shelf, she found it had a sturdy weight to it, though not too much to tire her hand. It reached eye level, and there were the letters K. W. carved into the top, most likely the initials of some loving past owner. The wood appeared to have been shorn off at the top at one time or other and carved over; she could tell because it turned a bright yellow toward one end and the woodgrain changed. She gripped it in the middle and laid it crosswise. It felt comfortable. Familiar.

  Turning to Crash, she said, "This is it
, I found one.” She did her best to give him a smile, though she didn't like smiling at the assassin. “We can go now."

  He nodded and took the staff from her, feeling it in his own grasp. He seemed satisfied, and without a word, turned and started down the hall. Sora had to rush again to match his strides. Sometimes she hated being so small.

  When she caught up to the assassin, he was standing at a front counter that she hadn't noticed before. The counter was empty, but as soon as Crash reached for the service bell, the strange man appeared again.

  "I hope you found everything you needed," he said in his musical voice. Sora wanted to lean in closer, though she couldn't explain the urge; she could listen to that voice for days and days and not grow tired of it. It was truly like honey to the ears. She almost asked him to sing.

  "Yes, fine," Crash said, his own voice like brass.

  The man nodded and then smiled charmingly at her. He took their items and checked them over, assessing the price. He stopped when he saw the initials on the staff and then looked at her, his eyes searching. "Are you sure you want this one? There are several other good staffs back there," he said.

  Crash snorted his opinion, but Sora ignored him. She was baffled by the question, and looked up at the store clerk in surprise. "Of course I want that one," she said. Why? Was there something wrong with the weapon? What could possibly be “wrong” with a stick of wood? The man nodded but she could see the disapproval in his eyes.

  "I'm not one to argue with a customer, but this is witch wood. It’s going to cost you a bit more. As a weapon, it has special properties. For instance, it is harder than normal wood, and it can’t be broken by a sword-"

  "How much does it cost?" came Crash's annoyed voice. He cut off the sales pitch and dropped her coin purse onto the table.

  Sora held up her hand to stop him. “Wait. What do you mean, witch wood?”

  The clerk looked back and forth between them. “You don’t know?” he finally asked, his voice calm and serene. “Well, it’s all but extinct. It comes from the Bracken, a land far to the east of here. Some say the wood has magical properties, but I can't vouch for that. This one has a certain history-”

  “Enough with the lesson,” Crash cut in. He shot Sora a firm glare when she tried to interject again. “Just give us the cost so we can be gone.”

  Sora wanted to scream in frustration, but Crash ignored her. Here was another man who acted as though magic was more than just a myth, and she had several questions about this supposed “witch wood.” But it was no use – Crash had dominated the conversation once again. With an angry sigh, she turned away from the store clerk and stormed toward the door, eager to leave the assassin's company and climb back into daylight.

  Crash bought the weapons and followed her swiftly. He overtook her on the last aisle and grabbed her wrist with enough force to hurt, dragging her from the store. The clerk’s eyes followed them, shadowed with an expression that Sora could not place. Then they were crossing the threshold and the door clicked shut behind them, the little bell muffled by the thick wood.

  Crash turned to her and glared, a threat spoken louder than words. Once again Sora was reminded about how little she knew about this man.

  "Don't undermine me, got that?” he hissed. “Not in the store, not on the street, not at a booth. You are to stay silent until I say so. We are not to draw any attention to ourselves. I am not Burn or Dorian and I don't find your little questions cute. You're nothing but a pest, understood? Annoy me too much and I'll leave you on the streets, or better yet, sell you off to a slave merchant and be rid of you. By the Goddess, I'll do it. Don't test me.”

  Sora had to bite her tongue. Flashes of heat swept through her; she felt fiery and cold all at once. How dare he speak to her in that tone! He was just some common thief, a ruffian, a criminal – dirt on her boot! The coin in her purse was probably more money than he had made in his entire life. If a servant or merchant had ever addressed her in such a way in her father's house...!

  But this is not my father's house. No, and it never would be again. Her father was dead.

  It leapt upon her suddenly and she almost choked at the thought. Dead. No one to vouch for her birthright. She wasn't a noblewoman anymore and out in the common world, she was no more than a piece of meat, a bauble to be bartered for. Her future was in the hands of this man and she was, quite literally, helpless do to anything about it.

  The realization made her abruptly sick. Crash had turned away and was staring at the streets, so he didn't see the confusing mess of emotions pass over her face. Evil bastard! she thought, watching him from the corner of her eye. Sell her into slavery? She highly doubted it... but the chance was there, and the thought of it terrifying. She blinked back hot tears, regaining her self control, angry for letting in that moment of weakness. Then she followed Crash back into the crowded streets. She was glad that she had the bags to carry because they hid her shaking hands.

  The two visited several more shops, and Sora stayed silent as she'd been told. She was trapped in her thoughts of the future and just where she might be at the end of this. Lost? Dead? Somewhere in between? There was certainly no going back now; no returning to her life of privilege. She had expected to be free by now, traveling the world, following the wind... but it seemed as though her new peasant life was just as constraining as her nobility. Was there no such thing as freedom? What had she gotten herself into? She thought of Kaelyn the Wanderer and tried to gain strength. Had all of the great heroes experienced what she was going through? The doubt, the fear, the frustration at feeling completely trapped? She wondered... would this journey become a story, too? A fancy, cheerful bard’s song or a tale for winter nights by the fire? Or would her story be a sad one, a tragedy?

  It was an unnerving thought, with no obvious answer. Disgusted with her existence, she bumped into Crash again as he came to an abrupt stop.

  "Watch where you're going," he hissed.

  Sora looked around and noticed that the afternoon had slipped past her, and the sun was sinking in a gory mess across the sky. The crowds had thinned down to a few scattered people and even as she watched, they seemed to slowly melt into the surrounding streets. As though by magic, the square was empty. She looked around in wonder; she hadn't noticed before how big it was. The streets were scattered with scraps of cloth and paper, the only remnants of the busy market. She saw a large fountain in the middle of the square with water splashing quietly down its sides, and wondered if it had been there before. The buildings around the square were closed, the windows dark, shut down for the day.

  Then she noticed that Crash was counting on his fingers, ticking off items on a mental list. "All we need now is the map," he muttered to himself.

  Sora sighed; one more item to add to her already sore arms. Even an extra piece of paper sounded too heavy to carry. All she wanted to do was sit down and rest.

  "Girl,” he turned to her unexpectedly. Gods, why can’t he call me by my name? “You’ll be buying the map.” He tossed her the bag of coins.

  “What?” Sora asked in confusion. “Why do I have to buy the map?”

  “Dorian said to let you buy something. Enjoy.”

  Sora glared at his back, knowing that the Wolfy mage had meant for her to buy something for herself. Crash was purposefully misinterpreting him. Did she dare to correct the assassin? And what about my sun hat? Or hair brush? But Crash had already turned away and walking down the street, towards the sunset. With a force of will, Sora stood up straight and raised her head. She would let the assassin play his little game — I'll get even later.

  She dashed after him, juggling the bags in her arms. “And we’re searching for a map of the...?”

  “Swamp,” Crash replied, and turned down another street.

  Of course. She nodded and followed, her bags teetering precariously. It's just a map, she told herself, but she was still nervous — she had never bought anything on her own before, and she didn't know how to barter. She let out a br
eath of annoyance. Well, if she made a fool of herself, it certainly wouldn't be the first time.

  It was beginning to get cold. The wind picked up and the sun sank lower on the horizon, now just a vague rim of light. The stars had crept into the sky, and she looked up; several were twinkling at her, winking merrily as though laughing at her predicament, as though all of her worries were a big joke. She picked out the constellation of Kaelyn the Wanderer and wondered if the lady warrior was looking down at her, somehow sharing her troubles. She grinned suddenly at the thought, still staring at the stars. When she was younger, her astronomy teacher had told her that all of the stories of the world could be found in the heavens. Each constellation had a history, a piece of lore. If one listened closely, the stars would share their stories, telling of years long past, of places long lost to the world, of secrets unknown to man. Sora didn't know if this was true, but they were certainly pretty to look at.

  The streets were now lined with small, shabby shops and pubs set low to the ground. She could hear noises coming from a few alleys they passed, grunts and hoots and bottles breaking, and she quickened her step. She felt no safer with the assassin; he seemed to fit in with the shadows, into the crooked sounds from the alleys, as though he came from some underworld, a place of smoke and darkness. She didn't like the idea.

  He stopped in front of a small shop with a large domed roof. It was situated on a corner next to a wide intersection. Light glowed from inside the dome like an ovular lighthouse, illuminating the streets in the immediate vicinity. Sora gawked at the strange building until Crash yanked her toward the door. He opened it and took her bags, then motioned her to go inside, a very chivalrous act for such a man.

  Sora stepped inside and immediately reveled in the warmth that flooded her body. Cheery lanterns were lit on either side of her, framing the walls. With a small click, the door swung shut and Crash paused next to her. She looked around the room in wonder, never having seen anything quite like it; not even in her father's library, which had been one of her favorite places.