Viper's Creed (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) (31 page)

"Trust me, just do it!" Sora leapt as the spear whizzed past her, then dove as it came back around again. Then the wraith flickered, disappearing from in front of her, vanishing like smoke.
Damn.
It had shifted again. She turned, frantic, her heart racing. Where had it gone?

Her senses strained. She listened desperately, trying to see in all directions at once.

Then the spear came swinging out of nowhere, and she dodged. Barely.

The wraith was behind her now. She turned to face it, stumbling across the roof. She felt tired, weaker, the creature more fierce in its attacks.

This is pointless. I can't win like this.
Her Cat's Eye needed more power, and she was going to supply it.

Panting and sweating, Sora ducked another swing and leapt back a yard; the spear barely missed her magical shield, which now flashed and danced like a flickering candle. She was off-balance, distracted, suddenly overwhelmed by the wraith's attacks. The next blow hit the forcefield with a resounding
crack!

The Cat's Eye's defenses shattered, disintegrating into the air.

“Now!” she screamed. “Hit me now!”

Wham!
Sora didn't know where it came from, or from whom, but a force of magic suddenly struck her from behind.
Fire,
she thought.
It must be Tristan.
Red flames engulfed her, covering her body, racing over her skin—but none of it touched her. Instead, the necklace gave out a fierce, melodic chime, and sucked up the magic like water. It drank and drank....She felt life surge into the stone....

Whooosh!
She was hit from the other side, a blast of wind more than natural. Jacques was adding his own magic to the mix. Sora fell to her knees, stunned, her body overcome by the intense energy. The Cat's Eye buzzed at her neck, trembling as it absorbed the new magic, eagerly recharging.

Nothing left for it,
she thought, forcing herself to climb back to her feet. The wraith hovered a few feet away, observing her, put off by the sudden surge of energy.

Sora took a deep breath. "Come on, is that all you've got?" she taunted loudly. Her hair kept blowing into her face, obscuring her vision. "You're pathetic! I suppose Volcrian just made you out of weak blood, huh?" She tried to think of another insult for the wraith, but couldn't.

Amazingly enough, it worked—much better than she thought it would. The wraith threw back its head and screamed an ear-shattering note to the sky, then lowered its spear. The tip was inches from her chest.

A ray of black fire shot out of the spear's tip and hit Sora's outer shield. The force of the blow shattered the barrier like glass. Despite the cries of horror from the spectators, Sora had been prepared for this, and reached out, grabbing onto the end of the spear. She focused on channeling all of the magic into her Cat's Eye.

It was not clean magic. The power from the Dracians felt cool and clear, like spring water. The wraith's magic was like vinegar. Her muscles burned and a sour taste filled her mouth.

With a gasp, she whispered,
"Now!"

The Cat's Eye let out a burst of power, sending a bolt of energy up Sora's arms, through the spear and into the wraith.

She could feel the four magicks twisting, flowing through her, mixing like a torrential river. She was being sucked down by an undertow. The roof melted beneath her, the sky bled into the ground; all she could see was the spear and the wraith and endless streams upon streams of color.... She wanted to scream, but her voice would not work and her body... her body was... gone....

Then—a roar. Monstrously loud. Out of the corner of her eye, Sora saw something shooting toward her. It was a wave of absolute darkness, a pitch-black tunnel. It approached her like a charging horse, and she thought she saw the vague outline of some unknown creature... something with giant wings... and horns....

The tunnel engulfed her.

Spinning....

A loud screech, like the cry of a dying animal.

The ground rolled.

* * *

A raindrop hit her face.

More raindrops. Her eyes were wide open.

She blinked.

Had it been a second? An hour?

What was she staring at? The sky?

Voices were yelling, strangely dim, and then there were live bodies all around her.

Laina, crying and hugging her. Burn holding both her and Laina, and Tristan and Jacques down on their knees, patting her arms....

“We got the spear!” Laina was saying excitedly, a long piece of black wood in her hands. Sora vaguely recognized the creature's weapon; the shaft was gone, just like on the rapier, leaving only the spearhead behind. She wanted to feel relieved at this—two weapons collected, one to go—but really, she was just tired. She almost rolled over and fell asleep. Then another raindrop hit and she jolted back to herself, as though pulled down from a cloud. “W-what... what was it?"

"A wraith, you silly girl! Another wraith! What would we do without you, Sora!" Burn shouted.

"No, Burn, the magic.” She tried to grab his arm, but she felt heavy and awkward. "Didn't you see the blackness? What was it?"

"Ach, my girl, you're talking nonsense," said Jacques in confusion.

"No, there was something else...."

"Sora!" someone yelled.

The two Dracians were shoved out of the way. Crash took their place and grabbed her by the shoulders, running his hands down her arms. She felt warmth seep through her at the contact. “Are you wounded?”

"No,” she said, shocked at that truth. She was untouched, except for her exhaustion.

Crash leaned over her, looking more worried then she had ever seen him. Then Sora refocused her eyes. There was a... shadow around him, dark against the air....

Reaching up, she tried to touch the darkness, but her hand went right through it. Then the aura dissipated, as though it had never been there.

"Sora? Are you all right?" Laina asked, staring at her raised hand.

"Maybe not...." Sora frowned. "Sorry, my vision is still blurry." Crash was sweating. She had never seen him sweat before. And no, it wasn't drops of rain. "You're drenched," she said, trying to sit up, only to have both Burn and Crash push her back down.

"And you, Sora, are trembling like a man lost in the mountains in his undershorts...." Burn began.

"Why are you sweating, Crash?" she asked softly.

He looked at her strangely. “I had to hurry, Sora. I saw the wraith, and I knew...."

“Knew what?”

"That... that I might be too late,” he said, his voice quiet.

He let go of her arms, beginning to close off. The other men in the group shifted uncomfortably. Had she embarrassed him?

She grinned. “I thought you'd have more faith in me by now."

Crash nodded, though her vision was getting worse and she could feel her body starting to drift away, pulled towards sleep. She let a weary sigh escape her lips. "So why weren't you here sooner?"

"I...."

"Are you two quite done?" Jacques cut in loudly. "This young lady needs rest!"

Crash leaned down, and Sora felt herself already losing consciousness. "I came as fast as I could," he whispered into her ear.

Then she dropped into a deep sleep.

Chapter 15

Lorianne raised her eyes to the top windows of the brothel. It was well past midnight, but of course the windows were still lit.
What am I doing here?
she asked herself for the third time.

Ferran stood next to her, his thumbs hooked in his belt. He swaggered up to the front door with a stride that she remembered.

“Really?” she called after him. “This is where you sold the book?”

He shrugged. “Had to pay the woman somehow.”

“You're a complete mess.”

No response. She wondered if he had heard her.

They had spent the last day in the small fishing village of Pismo. She explained her situation to him—the plague, the Cat's Eye, the sacred weapons, her daughter....

“
So you have need of my... services?”
he had said in a low voice, leaning across the table toward her, sobering up over a mug of tea.

She raised an eyebrow.
“You're still a treasure hunter, aren't you?”

“
All my life,”
he had replied.

He knew about the sacred weapons. More than once, he had entertained the thought of searching for them. He had owned a book a few years ago, salvaged from a burned library, that outlined how to find and destroy the sacred weapons.... It had included a map, too. Priceless—if accurate.

But nothing had come of it. He had finally given up that life—
lost faith, you see, grew tired of it all
—and had sold the book to a good friend.

Yeah, a good friend,
Lori thought, staring up at the brothel. She eyed the back of his head distastefully. The past day, they had sailed up the coast in his small boat to the slightly larger town of Cape Shorn. The brothel was a large red building, right on the docks. She really shouldn't have been surprised. They were quite common in port cities; sailors were eager customers.
I wonder what other kind of friends he keeps....

“Not many,” he said over his shoulder, and put his hand on the door of the brothel.

Lori's mouth opened in surprise. “What?”

“Friends,” he replied. “I don't have many.” Then he opened the front door.

Lori shook her head. She must have spoken her thoughts aloud. Right? He couldn't
read
her thoughts, that was impossible.

He glanced back at her, saw her expression, and grinned. “Come now, Lori. Your silence is an open book. You haven't changed that much.”

Her cheeks flushed and she glared. “Sure,” she said. That's what he thought.

They entered the brothel. It smelled strongly of incense. The inside was richly decorated in deep purple carpet with elaborate wall hangings, everything from floral paintings to tapestries of men and women, tastefully—or distastefully—posed next to each other.

With all the brash colors, Lori didn't expect the soft, low music that permeated the air. It was almost pleasant. Then her eyes landed on the harp in the corner, and she changed her mind. A naked woman sat behind it, softly plucking the strings, dressed only in a large gold necklace that dangled provocatively between her breasts. Lori stared, slightly jarred by the sight.
Oh, come now, I'm over thirty, this shouldn't be shocking,
she scolded herself. But she hadn't spent much of her life in these places. No, she had stuck to the country, to small towns and quiet ways.

Ferran walked past the harp and the harpist without glancing at them. He approached the front desk, which was made of beautiful dark rosewood. The woman who stood behind the desk was probably the only clothed employee in the entire building. “Is Beatrice in?” Ferran asked.

The woman glanced up. She had piles of black hair clipped messily atop her head. A large, dark mole kissed her upper lip. Her makeup was so thick, Lori thought it might be outright paint.

“Hey, Ferran,” she said casually. “Haven't seen you around in a while.”

Lori frowned.
How long is “a while?”

Ferran shrugged. Shrugging seemed to be his favorite response to any sort of question. “Is Beatrice in?” he asked again.

The woman looked at him for a moment, then glanced at Lori, arching a black eyebrow. A mischievous smile twisted her lips. She pointed her long, feathered quill at a staircase to their left. “The pearl room,” she said. “Upstairs. Door 24... but I'm sure you remember.”

Lori wondered what that look was for.

Ferran nodded briefly, then turned, following her directions. Lori fell into step behind him. They started up the narrow staircase, the air around them heavy with perfume.

“A year,” he said.

“What?”

“A year since I've been here.” He glanced over his shoulder, surprisingly close to Lori in the cramped space. His eyes glinted wickedly. “You were wondering, weren't you?”

Lori sighed. “Stop this, Ferran. I get it, you fell in love with a whore.”

“Who said anything about love?”

“Please don't make me think any worse of you,” she said in exasperation.

Then he threw back his head and laughed. “And you haven't had a lover since Dane passed?”

The question shocked her—it was unexpected. She hadn't heard Dane's name from anyone in almost ten years.

“I've... I've met some people,” she said evasively. Honestly, Lori didn't want to think about it. She had given up Sora when she was twenty. For a few years, she had tried to rebuild, meet someone new, but....

They reached the second floor and headed down a narrow hallway. Doors were evenly spaced on either side.
21... 22... 23....
Room 24 was a small, ovular white door with gold letters painted on the front. Despite the thick walls, Lori could hear soft laughter and deep groans coming from the other side.