For a moment, she and Crash were alone. The assassin paused by her side. “Will your Cat’s Eye protect you?” he asked directly.
Sora’s mouth felt dry. “It should,” she finally said, though she wasn’t all that certain. The bond with her necklace wasn’t broken, just clogged, somehow dormant. But she knew the Cat’s Eye would protect her in a real emergency, if anything, for its own self-preservation. That was simply the nature of the stone.
Crash nodded sharply, then turned away. Without another word, he started silently into the forest, following the woman’s trail through the underbrush toward the village. Sora started after him, fingering her necklace in thought, her brow furrowed. She felt a strange chill on the back of her neck. Who knew what they would encounter in the village?
But it was too late to argue. Caprion summoned his white magic and lifted smoothly into the air, soaring above the trees. She, Ferran and Crash continued through the woods toward the plague-ridden village.
CHAPTER 3
It took them almost an hour to reach the village. Crash followed the woman’s trail swiftly through the woods. It was easy to pick out. Even Sora could see the half-footprints in the damp soil, torn leaves, broken branches and strands of snagged clothing. She knew how to walk softly in the wilderness, but Crash’s steps were completely silent, as though she followed a ghost and not a man. Ferran brought up the rear. The tall, lanky treasure hunter chewed idly on his reed from the riverbank, making little attempt at stealth.
As they walked through the forest, the smell of decomposing vegetation grew stronger, and Sora began to see evidence of its source. Small berry bushes close to the ground were bare of leaves, their fruit rotting from emaciated branches. Countless blighted tree trunks sprinkled the forest, covered in black splotches. They leaned haphazardly against each other, a sign of slow decay. The deeper into the forest they traveled, the worse the trees became, until they entered a grove of toppled oaks with deteriorated roots twisting into the sky.
None of her companions spoke, but continued through the devastated grove, climbing over the ancient trees. At this point, the ground was soft and spongy and the stench was almost intolerable. It looked as though the forest were being choked of life, dying from the ground up.
Finally they reached the village. Crash motioned for them to crouch behind a row of thick bushes. They peered between the shrubs. Sora waited for a sign of life—the shout of voices, the laughter of children, a barking dog, anything—but there was only silence. Even the birds were quiet. It left her chilled.
To her eyes, the village looked like it was home to nomads and gypsies. Unpaved roads cut through a cluster of shacks and shanties with little rhyme or reason. She had heard of wandering river-folk inhabiting the Crown’s Rush; wayfarers who lived on giant rafts of misshapen boards, who steered with slender oars and lived in lean-to cabins with canvas roofs. She had never met such people, but looking at the haphazard arrangement of wooden buildings, their roofs little more than thick oilcloth, she could only imagine a large group had settled here in an attempt at civilization. It would explain the village’s isolated location—hidden deep in the forest, yet close enough to a river to travel easily. They probably traded downstream at other established towns. This way, they avoided the King’s land-tax.
The woman by the riverbanks must have been desperate for help. Anyone who found this little town could report it to the King’s guard and initiate a raid. Most would be imprisoned or perhaps even executed, depending on the extent of their crimes.
A rustle of branches and flurry of leaves announced Caprion’s landing. He appeared through the foliage, emanating a slight glow. Sora saw his nostrils flare as he inhaled the rank stench of the woods.
“Where did you last see the Dracians?” Sora asked quietly. The village looked completely abandoned.
“On the opposite side of town,” Caprion said, indicating the deserted streets. “I didn’t spot them on my last pass-over. They might have left the area.” He rubbed his hands over his arms as though staving off a chill. He seemed uncomfortable on the ground, shifting from foot to foot. It must be the forest, Sora thought. Perhaps the power of the plague was already affecting him.
“They could be dead,” Crash offered.
Sora wrinkled her nose at him. To her knowledge, the plague didn’t work that fast—unless it had grown stronger than before. She thought of the rabid aggression of the woman by the river. If the Dracians weren’t dead, they might be in a similar state. Dangerous, she thought.
“Shall we look for them?” she suggested.
“Looks safe enough,” Ferran muttered around his reed.
“For you, perhaps,” Caprion replied. “I’m not immune to the plague. This place is tainted by the Dark God’s essence. I can’t stay on the ground.”
“Then you can keep watch from above,” Sora suggested. “If you see anything suspicious, just call down to us.”
Caprion shook his head. “I think I’ll sweep over the forest once more, see if they haven’t traveled into the woods. They might be walking back to the river on foot.”
“I thought you said they were deranged?” Crash asked darkly.
“Exactly,” Caprion agreed. “They’re a danger to the ship. I’ll scan the area and make sure they haven’t wandered off.” Then he launched back into the air, flying up through the trees. He seemed relieved to be leaving the ground. Sora watched him go.
“Useless,” Crash muttered under his breath. Then he turned to a large pine tree overgrown with ivy. He started climbing quickly and easily up the trunk. Chunks of dry rot came away under his hands but hardly slowed his pace. He reached the first branch a good dozen feet above the ground, then continued to a higher perch.
Sora shared a questioning glance with Ferran. Finally, Crash stood perhaps three dozen feet above the ground. At this height, he had a good vigil of the entire town.
Finally, he pointed and called down, “There is a large building on the opposite end with a shape in front of the door—perhaps a collapsed villager. That would be a place to start looking.”
Ferran yelled back, “Are you coming with us?”
“You have two Cat’s-Eye stones,” he replied. “I’ll keep watch for now.”
Sora felt somewhat relieved. She had been on the verge of asking Caprion to stay, but Crash was an even better lookout. Caprion was still adjusting to the mainland, and this was his first encounter with the plague. She trusted Crash’s experience much more.
“Let’s go,” she said determinedly, and drew her staff from the sling across her back. The witch-wood felt heavy and reliable in her hands.
Sora and Ferran strode side-by-side into the town. She felt tense and anxious, but Ferran walked in a casual way, as though taking a nice afternoon stroll. No matter where he went, he gave off an air of confidence, never rushed or hurried. Sora slowly relaxed as they walked further into the village. They didn’t speak; the hollow town didn’t seem to permit it.
She vigilantly searched the houses, pausing to gaze through a few smudged windows, looking for any sign of inhabitants. Several clotheslines swayed gently in the breeze, strung up between buildings. Most doors were closed, but a few had been blown open by the wind; piles of leaves were accumulating inside the darkened rooms.
Sora and Ferran walked through the ghost town without incident. As they neared the far side of the village, Sora could see the building Crash first indicated. It was by far the most complex structure: a full-sized townhouse that must have served many purposes: meeting hall, schoolhouse, hospice. The brick walls looked sturdy and fairly new; mismatched tin sheets covered the roof. A wooden emblem of the Wind Goddess hung above the large oak double doors, and several wind chimes adorned the roof’s overhang, clanging hollowly in the breeze. The emblem and bells looked much newer than the rest of the building. Sora wondered if the townsfolk had gathered here after the plague broke out, and had prayed to the Goddess for mercy and healing.
She wasn’t as superstitious
as most country folk. She knew a body must be healed through medicine; prayer was a spiritual reprieve, but miracles were not always granted. At least not the kind the townsfolk needed.
As they approached, she saw the figure of a man collapsed outside the front door. From a distance, he appeared more like a sack of flour or grain, so covered in dirt that his entire face was brown. Caprion must have missed him from above, she thought. As they neared, she could make out a wild bush of red hair and a fierce, tangled beard. Sora wavered in shock as she recognized the first of the two missing Dracians. His body was slumped to one side, half-fallen on the ground as though he was asleep, and his skin had the pale-white hue of a fresh corpse.
Her stomach churned as she neared him. She had seen corpses before, far too many, especially during her battle with Volcrian. She didn’t need to check the Dracian’s body to know he was dead. As she paused next to him, a great pit of sadness opened within her. She recognized him from the ship, though she didn’t know him by name. One of Tristan’s friends. He died within hours of contracting the plague, she thought. How was that possible? When she first came across the disease, it took a week or more before a man’s life ended.
And where was the second Dracian?
She and Ferran turned to look at the front door of the building, which swung slightly on its hinges. The wind chimes clinked above them, a lonely, muffled sound. Sora’s skin prickled. She had the sudden desire to leave the village as quickly as possible and never return. Somewhere deep in her mind, she felt her Cat’s Eye stir, but it quickly returned to silence.
She didn’t want to open those doors.
Luckily, Ferran did. With a sigh that said Well, nothing else for it, he reached up, took the heavy brass handle and dragged the door open as it screeched terribly.
Sora was immediately struck by a sickening smell, far worse than the decaying forest. This stench of rotting bodies, damp, sullen and bitter immediately brought bile to her throat. A burst of flies escaped through the door, swarming up around the rooftops. Several flies immediately dropped to the ground, as though struck dead by the light of the sun.
Ferran met her gaze. “You don’t have to come in,” he offered.
Sora considered for a moment. She really didn’t want to see any more corpses. Yet a morbid curiosity grew within her, a question she couldn’t deny. What happened here?
She shook her head and wordlessly followed him.
They entered the building gingerly and stood just inside the front doorway. Bleak midday light filtered through a series of tall, slanted windows. Once inside the dusty room, she could see long rows of benches stacked near the walls. The floor was filled with cots and cushions, blankets and pillows. Wind chimes hung from the rafters and burned incense stained the floor.
Everywhere, there were corpses. Men, women, and children; infants, adolescents, elderly. Pets—over a dozen cats and dogs, a few goats and pigs. All killed by the plague.
Sora took a step back. Families of the sick must have gathered here, trying to care for their loved ones, unknowingly exposing themselves to the Dark God’s taint. Before long, the entire town must have been affected. The woman lying near death on the banks of the Little Rain probably went for help; who knew how long she had waited? Sora looked around. Some bodies were stiff with rigor mortis, their cold hands desperately clutching each other: husbands embracing wives and wives gripping children. They probably died just a few days ago. The smell was intense, but nothing like what it would be in another day or two. Their flesh appeared mostly intact, except for the blackened nails and flaky, patchy skin: telltale signs of the Dark God’s taint.
“We’re too late,” she said softly, gagging on her own words. She put her arm up to her mouth.
Ferran strolled further into the room and prodded one of the bodies with his boot. “Your mother isn’t going to like this,” he murmured. His face twisted against the stench. He glanced around one last time before turning back to her. “We’ve seen enough. Time to go.”
As though summoned by his voice, something stirred at the back of the room. She heard a few soft thumps, then the low scrape of a bench moving.
Ice slid down Sora’s spine. Impossible—by no means could anything be alive here. She clutched her staff firmly in hand, her ears straining as she caught the slight sound of rustling fabric. The wind?
“What’s that?” she asked, hushed. Her heart began to pound.
Ferran turned toward the noise and took a few more steps. Then he paused, his eyes narrowed.
“Get out,” he said abruptly.
Sora frowned and hesitantly took a step back. “What is it?”
“Sora, get out now!” he commanded, raising his left hand in front of him. The Cat’s Eye gleamed at his wrist and a shield of red light fell in front of them. At that moment, several shapes prowled forward from the shadows. It took a long moment for Sora to recognize the creatures as wild dogs. Pus oozed from their eyes and ears; their fur was wet and matted from some unknown fluid. Her Cat’s Eye jingled maddeningly and she knew the dogs were completely contaminated by the plague.
As Sora stepped backward, with several guttural roars the pack of diseased hounds lunged toward Ferran with rabid energy. He could never take on so many animals at one time. She couldn’t leave him.
“Ferran!” she shouted, then swung her staff at a nearby hound. The blow should have snapped the creature’s back, but it took the hit without flinching, then turned on her, snarling.
“Use your Cat’s Eye!” Ferran yelled. Several frenzied dogs converged on him. Ferran passed his left hand through the air as though gathering a handful of invisible ropes. Then he made a powerful pulling gesture. The first three hounds stumbled forward, their jaws stretched open, piercing shrieks coming from their throats. Strands of darkness shot from their gaping mouths as though they had been yanked out by Ferran’s fist. His Cat’s Eye absorbed the dark magic, sucking the cords into itself with an ear-splitting snap!
Sora stared in mingled shock and awe. She had used her Cat’s Eye many times—but never with such masterful control.
Following his example, she turned to three more encroaching hounds that snarled and snapped at her heels. She held them at bay with her staff while she reached into her mind, begging her necklace to respond, desperate for its reply. Finally, she heard a dull jingling in her ears and the necklace glowed faintly at her neck. Green light surrounded her body, as a shield. She tried to reach for the hounds as she had seen Ferran do, but it seemed impossible—she didn’t have his power of command over her stone.
My staff, she thought. Witchwood held magical properties, and she had used it once before to channel the Cat’s Eye. Sora focused her thoughts, trying to direct the stone with her mind. When her staff glowed green in her hands, she swung it at the hounds and struck the nearest one across the muzzle, then swiftly struck the next two dogs, one in the ribs and the other in the chest. At each impact of her weapon, dark smoke poured from the mouth of the beast, then its eyes and ears. Her staff smashed through their skin like it was breaking open a beehive, this time releasing gusts of black smoke. The necklace absorbed the dark energy.
As soon as the magic entered her necklace, nausea spiraled from her stomach straight to her head. She stumbled to one side, sick and dizzy, close to losing her balance. She couldn’t keep this up for long. The Dark God’s taint was like poison to her necklace. She already felt the need to vomit.
Then she heard an unexpected moan from behind her, and whirled to face the door of the building. To her shock, she saw several corpse-like villagers rising from the last row of benches. Were they already dead or near death? They looked wasted and skeletal, and a ravenous gleam lit their eyes. One moved to block the doorway. She recognized only a shock of red hair—his skin was as pale and corpse-like as the woman by the river. He snarled at her with ferocious intensity, spittle flying from his lips.
Sora raised her staff and rammed it into the Dracian’s face, toppling him behind the bench.
<
br /> The stone murmured weakly at her neck. It flickered, and then the glow slowly faded from her staff. She backed away from the row of villagers toward the center of the room, clutching her weapon before her. Her necklace couldn’t handle another dose of the plague, and she needed time to recover.
Then a new figure stepped into the doorway. As Sora staggered backward, fear gripping her heart, completely exposed to the oncoming attack, she gasped.
Crash entered the room, sword in one hand and dagger in the other. A grim and terrifying expression marked his face. As soon as he set foot in the building, the shadows seemed to move away from the walls until the whole room darkened. Sora watched, stunned. She had never seen him like this.
The assassin turned to the plague-ridden villagers. At the sight of him, the corpses recoiled and hissed, cringing, raising their hands meekly like slaves beneath a whip.
Crash struck down a man to his left with his sword, slicing off his arm with a mighty heave. The shadows twisted around Crash’s body like living snakes, then shot toward another corpse and dragged the man to the floor. The corpse wailed in frustration, then the shadows plunged into his mouth, cutting off his voice.
Sora watched, horrified and entranced. Her Cat’s Eye let out a fierce rattle of alarm. She had never witnessed this kind of magic. Crash manipulated the darkness easily, seeming to direct it with his thoughts. A lethal aura emanated from his presence, striking her cold with fear. She wondered, then, if she was witnessing the demon’s power.
She turned around just as another ragged hound flew at her, growling and scratching. She smacked the dog over the head. Dark mist smoked from its ears, but no blood. Sora staggered again, almost falling to her knees as the plague entered her necklace. No more, she thought, as though the Cat’s Eye had spoken aloud.
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