Ferran's Map (34 page)

Perhaps that was the only way to win.

The coach arrived at the silent docks.
Slipping aboard the
Dawn Seeker
was easy at this late hour,
as most of the crew were asleep or exploring various pubs along the
riverfront. He tied a black scarf around the lower half of his
face, and pulled his hood down low. He didn’t want to be recognized
if he were seen. Then he scaled the side of the ship and pulled
himself onto the deck.

He walked stealthily to Sora’s cabin without
incident, and found the small wooden box beneath her cot. It sent a
tingle of energy through his hands, and he felt a stirring deep in
his gut, just beneath his lungs. With a slow intake of breath, he
removed the sacred weapons and tucked them securely under his
cloak. Their freezing energy seeped through his shirt, and made his
skin prickle like static.

The demon moved closer to the surface of his
skin. What are you doing, little snake? it whispered.

Crash didn’t reply. He waited for its
presence to fade. Then he turned to leave.

Caution, the demon murmured, but he ignored
it. He walked halfway down the narrow hall when a white light
suddenly flared behind him.

He paused. Painful vibrations crossed his
skin. Damn.

“Halt!” Caprion’s voice rang with authority.
The word struck the assassin’s back like a gust of wind. “Show
yourself! Who goes there?”

Crash didn’t hesitate. He took off running
silently on the wooden planks. He heard Caprion curse and give
chase. Another searing vibration rolled across his skin, and
Caprion called out in authoritative command, “Stop!”

His body shuddered, wanting to obey, but his
demon’s strength flared and he shrugged off the compulsion. He
reached the deck, but Caprion was following closely.

Crash ran directly for the railing,
intending to jump into the midnight waters of The Bath, but he knew
no matter how far he ran, the Harpy could fly and follow him. Now
what? he thought in frustration. He needed the weapons to save
Burn’s life. He wouldn’t let another friend die at his expense.
Caprion couldn’t understand that; he already thought Crash was
allied with the Shade.

White light surrounded the assassin's feet.
With a crack of power, the Harpy brought him crashing to the deck.
The light engulfed his body and made his legs and arms heavy, his
breath labored. The bright sheen burned his eyes. He found himself
pinned to the floor, but managed to get onto his knees, resisting
the Harpy’s power, although his attempts were nearly futile.

“Give back the weapons,” Caprion repeated.
His words echoed as though he stood in a domed chamber, not on the
icy deck of the
Dawn Seeker
.

You’ll have to kill me, Crash thought, but
didn’t speak aloud. His voice would betray his identity.

Then, unexpectedly, a dark shadow pooled
beneath him. It seemed to counteract the light, and for a moment,
the two forces strained against each other with a crackling
intensity. Then the darkness continued to spread. Crash glanced
down, unnerved by the sight, though not entirely surprised. He knew
the Shade was watching him.

A body climbed out of the wooden deck—out of
the portal. He recognized the man immediately.

Cobra leered at the Harpy. “Surprise!” he
laughed. Then, to Crash, “What are friends for?” He wrapped his
arms around Crash’s torso and dragged him down through the portal.
It felt similar to sinking in quicksand. Disorienting black mist
enveloped him; he saw nothing, heard nothing. He no longer smelled
the river, or felt the snow pelting his skin.

When Crash next opened his eyes, he lay
underground, on a cold stone floor.

His head spun. He wasn’t used to traveling
through portals, and his stomach churned for a long minute. He took
several deep breaths to steady himself, then got back on his
feet.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he became
aware of Cobra standing before him. The assassin wore a splint on
one arm where Burn’s mighty sword had cracked his wrist. His face
was covered by a ragged black cowl.

“Come,” Cobra beckoned in his wheezing
voice. “The Master expects you.” He turned and walked away through
a long corridor of heavy gray stone.

Crash hesitated before following him, but he
didn’t have much choice. The only path lay forward.

They walked in silence. The air was musty
and stale. Cobra led him through a series of dark tunnels and
half-built chambers. He noted exposed wooden beams along the
ceiling of each room. It appeared that their location was still
under construction. The sound of churning gears echoed faintly
through the rock. He tilted his head, trying to identify the sound,
but could not discern it.

Eventually, they arrived at a central room
where many different tunnels converged. The ceiling expanded
outward into a wide, cavernous dome. A distant trickle of water
echoed through the chamber. He couldn’t tell which tunnel it came
from. He suspected they were somewhere in the sewer systems beneath
the City of Crowns, but he wasn’t sure. They could be in an ancient
mountain tomb, or the basement of a long-forgotten temple.

Then a shadow moved at the center of the
room. His eyes detected a misty, evanescent figure. Suddenly, he
recognized the third wraith.

Crash's body stiffened, and his skin
prickled in alarm. The wraith floated back and forth, hovering in
the air. A tattered cloak covered its vaporous body. The creature
seemed to continually dissolve and re-form out of mist, as though
it only half-existed on the physical plane.

Then the specter took notice of him, changed
course, and hurtled across the room with a sudden, piercing
shriek.

Crash stumbled back and drew out his dagger,
from reflex, expecting the wraith to barrel into him. But it
abruptly stopped in mid-flight. A keen of frustration split his
ears. The thing raised its arms, skeletal hands clenched, as though
pounding against an unseen door.

Crash slowly lowered his dagger and glanced
down. On the floor, a circle of white powder kept the wraith
contained. At first he thought it was salt, but it was too fine.
Sand? Powdered bone? What kind of sorcery is this? he wondered.
What magic could imprison a creature from the underworld?

“Don’t look so surprised,” a low voice said.
The familiar tone sent a shiver down his spine. “This spell is but
a single page in
The Book of the Named
.”

A tall figure uncoiled from the shadows
across the room. Crash’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to
remain calm. He knew the man’s stride before he saw his face.

Cerastes approached him with a slow,
deliberate step. He seemed to glide rather than walk, as darkly
ethereal as the captured wraith. He paused a few yards away, and
the two men stared at each another. Crash observed him closely. He
was a tall man, his muscular physique visible through his layers of
robes. Long black hair trailed down to his navel. His cheeks were
thin and gaunt, his eyes like hollow lanterns. Deep lines around
his lips marked his age, yet his aura permeated the room like black
smoke.

Crash recoiled instinctively. No, this is
not a man. The Grandmaster’s demon had grown so strong, its
presence bled into the air like a toxic cloud. Cerastes’ skin
looked paper-thin, merely a costume, to be worn as the demon’s
guise.

“I take it you’ve come for the Wolfy?” he
prompted.

Crash nodded. He didn’t trust his voice
yet.

“Then you’ve brought me the weapons.” A thin
smile twisted Cerastes’ lips, utterly meaningless.

Crash felt numb, somehow paralyzed. He
wondered if he had made a mistake…but it was too late to change his
mind. If he showed any sort of weakness, any sort of hesitancy, he
would be killed.

“Release the Wolfy,” he said directly, “and
you will have your weapons…if he’s still alive.”

Cerastes’ lips quirked. His gaze traveled to
Cobra. “Bring him out. Let our snake see for himself.”

Cobra bowed. Shadows gathered at his feet,
and a second later he disappeared. Crash gazed at where the
assassin had stood. The fifth gate. He was sorely reminded of his
own shortcomings. He might be renowned in the Hive for physical
combat, but his other skills were limited.

Cerastes folded his arms and turned back to
him. “Now, Viper,” he said, “why are you really here?”

Crash shifted. He knew Cerastes had
carefully planned this confrontation. His Grandmaster was cunning,
above all else. He wanted something more than just the weapons.

Crash wondered if he could use that to his
advantage, and if he could learn more about the Shade’s plan. He
would surely need to choose his words wisely.

“You offered to continue my training,” he
said, drawing from Cobra’s original message.

“I did,” Cerastes acknowledged.

“I wish to join the Shade.”

Cerastes considered him for a long moment.
“You gave me your answer long ago. I already know where your
loyalties lie.”

Crash expected this. His Grandmaster was not
a fool. “I was prideful,” he said quickly. “And I allowed myself to
develop sentimental attachments. But now I see the error of my
ways. I want to unlock the fifth gate. I wish to join your side, if
you will have me.”

Cerastes studied him. “No,” he said. “I
don’t believe that’s true.”

Crash paused. He didn’t know how to
reply.

“You wish to kill me,” Cerastes said.

The words surprised Crash, but he kept his
face composed. True, he thought. Now what?

After a long moment, Cerastes’ cold smile
returned. “I can read your silence, little snake,” he murmured.
“You wish to kill me, and you think you might succeed. But what
I’ve built, Viper, extends far beyond me. You have no idea what
I’ve become.”

Crash gazed at him quietly. “Then show me,”
he said. “If your power is so great, you have nothing to fear. I
brought you the weapons. Have I not earned a modicum of trust?”

Cerastes smile broke into a laugh, like a
dry gust of wind. “Fear and trust?” he rasped. “I fear no one, and
I trust no one. I will confide in you, little snake, if that is
what you wish. But you might regret it.” Cerastes fixed him with a
piercing stare. “I know who you are, Viper, and I know what you
truly want.”

Those words resonated in Crash’s bones. He
shuddered, and his demon rippled through his mind like an eel
through black water.

Cerastes turned and with a wave of his hand,
summoned a portal. He beckoned Crash forward, and as one, they
stepped into the darkness.

Crash felt a familiar sense of vertigo.
Suffocating darkness enveloped him. Then sudden red light pierced
his eyes. He squinted against the unexpected glare and raised his
dagger, prepared for an attack, but none came.

After a few seconds, his eyes adjusted. The
light came from a burning, vibrant sunset. Hot, dry wind rippled
his hair, carrying flecks of grit and sand. He looked down,
realizing he was standing on the edge of a steep cliff. Rusty red
rock stretched hundreds of feet below him into a vast desert. He
saw a large encampment with endless fires and pitched tents spread
out at his feet. At this distance, the occupants looked like tiny
ants marching to and fro.

He immediately regretted stepping through
the portal, with no assurance that Cerastes would return him from
this place.

His Grandmaster stood behind him, his arms
crossed, his hands tucked into his billowing sleeves.

“Where are we?” Crash asked. “What is this
place?”

“Here is where your brethren come to train,”
Cerastes replied. “See for yourself all those rejected by the Hive.
Here, they have found a new home.”

Crash looked back at the tiny ants below.
“You brought them here,” he said.

“They came of their own will.”

“Why?”

Cerastes raised an eyebrow. “Why? Can you
really not imagine? To find a higher purpose. To stand in the Dark
God’s shadow, and enact His will upon the world. Is that not the
true purpose of our kind?”

Crash frowned. “The Hive does not teach
this….”

“The Hive is weak, and our race’s knowledge
has been diluted.” Cerastes swept his arm out, as though to
encompass the entire desert and all the lands beyond. “This world
has been stolen from us. The humans have destroyed our history, our
heritage and that of all the other races. Why should we allow
ourselves to quietly vanish? Why should we let the humans keep what
is rightfully ours?”

Crash shifted. “The war ended centuries
ago,” he said. “They won.”

“No,” Cerastes said. “We gave up the
fight.”

Crash turned to face his Grandmaster. “You
intend to start a war against the humans?” he asked incredulously.
“We can’t win. Even with all the races united, there are too many
humans to kill on a battlefield.”

An empty smile pulled once again at
Cerastes’ lips. “Not a war,” he said. “Something more final. A
complete and total ending, if you will.”

Despite the harsh heat of the desert, Crash
felt his hands growing cold. He looked back at the rows of tents
far below, hundreds of them, perhaps thousands. The Shade’s numbers
were far greater than he imagined. Cerastes was forming an army,
that much he could tell.

His Grandmaster watched him. “Why do you
think I am showing you this?” he asked quietly.

Crash thought he knew the answer. “Because
you intend to kill me,” he said.

“No, Viper,” Cerastes murmured. “Because I
intend to save you. I intend to bring you home.”

Crash flinched at those words, as if he had
been struck in the face. Home. It should be meaningless, and yet he
wondered what it would feel like to have a place to return to, a
place to belong.

Don’t listen. These are not your people.

“And the Dark God’s weapons?” he finally
asked.

Cerastes’ eyes glinted. “They are the key to
everything,” he said softly. Then he turned abruptly toward the
cliff face, waved his hand again, and another dark portal appeared.
“Come,” he said. “Let us return to the snow.”