Ferran seemed to have reached his limit also. He came to her side while Crash took on the remaining villagers. “Come,” he panted. “Let’s go.”
As they began to run, she heard a rumble different from the hoarse growls of the hounds. She and Ferran looked back to the far corners of the room. Her Cat’s Eye jingled loudly, and for a moment her vision swam. She blinked her eyes, trying to clear her vision. A green glow tainted her sight, and she felt a strange pressure in her nose as the necklace asserted itself over her senses. She wondered if the plague was now affecting her stone.
Then as the room shifted before her, she saw a black cloud accumulating toward the back wall that slowly formed into a shape. Strands of smoke curled into arms and legs resembled a spider, though it was larger than a bear. She clutched her necklace in one hand as fear gripped her heart. The Cat’s Eye was showing her something not normally seen. The smoky beast attached itself to a corpse. Sora watched in horror as it drained the body to a dry husk, then released it back on the ground.
The creature turned to look at her, and she found herself staring into ten gleaming red eyes. As it took a crawling step toward her, Sora flinched.
The beast realized it had been seen and released a high-pitched, keening wail. Darkness spilled from its body like tar, then gushed across the floorboards toward them. Her Cat’s Eye jingled loudly in warning. Sora took a step back, horrified.
Ferran saw what was happening, grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the exit. “Run!” he roared.
Crash still battled the plague victims at the doorway. Sora felt a scream welling in her throat. No way out. No way out!
We’re trapped here, she thought, her mind spinning. She didn’t know which way to turn. The shadowy creature wailed again and moved toward them, its many legs reaching out in every direction.
Then, unexpectedly, she felt a stirring in her chest. A fierce and smoldering energy spread through her body. The sound of bells crashed over her ears, as strong as an ocean’s wave. She stumbled to her knees, crying out.
Rage poured through her, setting her blood on fire. No, not exactly rage. More like unspeakable, roaring strength. She struggled to contain the feeling that her body was outside of her control. Pain. Unimaginable pain, and then a horrible, building pressure….
Flash!
Blinding light—and a rising howl, somewhere between a wolf and a mountain lion--filled the room. White energy poured from her necklace in a cascading river. A shape formed in front of the wave: a mane of bristling quills, four massive paws and spiraling horns as thick as branches. She knew this ferocious beast—knew it, but couldn’t believe it.
The garrolithe burst from the Cat’s Eye like a rampaging lion, filling the room with blinding light. The corpses and hounds screeched as it tore through them, ripping apart bodies, scorching the wood beneath its paws. Trails of blue fire followed in its wake. The plague’s black, tar-like substance scattered before it, gripping the ground like living tentacles. The smoky beast shot to the roof and lifted the tin slates to escape; it bled through cracks in the windows and forced its way under the door.
The light from the garrolithe grew until Sora clamped her eyes shut. Its howls paralyzed her. She heard the windows shatter. She didn’t feel the arms that lifted up her body, or hear the footsteps as she was carried outside; she didn’t feel the wind against her face or the sunlight on her skin. Her thoughts spun chaotically behind her tightly shut eyes. Her stomach churned. She heaved dryly, choking on her own breath.
Then darkness crept in, stealing her strength and senses.
CHAPTER 4
Crash followed Ferran through the narrow streets of the decimated village, holding Sora tightly in his arms. They moved at a fast jog, Ferran limping slightly from his mangled boot. The howls of the garrolithe continued for another minute, then abruptly stopped. Crash didn’t know what that meant. He saw Sora’s glowing Cat’s Eye begin to fade, returning to its normal dull sheen. Her face looked pale, but she didn’t appear to be wounded.
Worry knotted his brow. He tried to reason through their battle, to understand what had happened, but in all honesty, he could hardly focus. The demon writhed inside him, excited by its use of magic, pounding against his ribcage, as fierce as his beating heart.
They’re here, it whispered maniacally, dancing beneath his skin. The master rises. He comes. They’re here!
Crash sucked in a deep breath, reining in his thoughts and firmly shoving down the beast, which churned in his gut, stubbornly resisting. Its presence seemed stronger now after he had come into contact with the Dark God’s essence. He was barely in control.
Enough, he thought, focusing on moving forward, on Sora in his arms: his anchor.
The wind shifted as they neared the edge of the village and rushed through the trees in a shimmering green wave, carrying the scent of decay.
For a moment, the branches of a large oak parted, and he glimpsed a vague silhouette seated on a branch high above the ground.
Crash paused in mid-step and looked intently at the towering, ancient tree. The wind calmed. The branches stilled and the leaves became a knotted curtain, hiding the trunk from view, but he knew what he had seen. Not Caprion, he thought. The Harpy would have hailed them. Not anyone familiar.
He felt more curious than concerned. The tree and its mysterious passenger stood a dozen meters away—not an immediate threat.
The demon’s words suddenly took on new meaning. They’re here.
He had to investigate.
“What is it?” Ferran asked, tension in his voice.
“Take her,” Crash replied, and gently placed Sora into his arms. “I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”
Ferran took the girl, lifting her easily. His gaze wandered to the trees, then to the silent village. “Where are you going?”
“I won’t be long. Take her a safe distance away,” Crash said, indicating Sora’s unconscious body. “I’ll catch up to you.”
Ferran finally nodded. He continued through the woods, back toward the Little Rain, eager to leave the village behind.
Crash waited for Ferran to disappear through the underbrush before he approached the ancient oak tree. Then he caught a glimpse of Caprion’s gleaming form far in the distance, a hundred meters or so in the sky. The Harpy circled slowly on the wind, his wings flickering in and out of view. Crash clenched his teeth. Coward, he thought. Did the seraphim know about their battle in the courthouse? Did he know the fate of the Dracians, or the danger he had put them in? No matter, he thought. Caprion wouldn’t have been much use. The Dark God’s plague would have overcome him; those wings could only defend against so much. But why didn’t he fly down to greet them now?
He’s trailing me, Crash thought. Suspicious bastard. But perhaps it was a good thing. Friend or foe, at least he had someone watching his back.
He neared the base of the large tree. No sense hiding his intentions. The person in the branches wanted to be noticed. As he walked, he felt that darkness stir again. The demon knocked against his ribcage. A thin, wheedling voice penetrated his thoughts. Will you listen now? it grinned.
Crash pushed it away. No, he thought.
He reached the base of the tree and looked up through the branches. He didn’t see the mysterious figure. Then a rustle in the underbrush caught his attention.
They’re baiting me, he thought. Someone wanted him alone in the woods.
Crash’s hand roved to his dagger, feeling the firm steel blade through its sheath at his belt. He thought of Sora’s pale face—of the garrolithe that exploded out of her Cat’s Eye only a few minutes ago, robbing the girl of her senses. He was sorely tempted to return to her side. But he knew, somewhere deep in his gut, that this unknown visitor had come just for him.
Crash took off into the woods without warning. He caught a glimpse through the canopy of the Harpy following him from above. Crash ignored Caprion and focused on the chase. He heard the rustle of branches up ahead, the light rhythm of footsteps.
His visitor knew how to run in the forest without crashing clumsily through the underbrush. Trained in the Hive, he thought. Despite a few scuffs in the dirt, the stranger’s footsteps left no mark. The crushed leaves seemed intentional. Crash followed swiftly. The Shade. They’re here. They have to be. And then he thought, It’s about time.
Finally he reached a small clearing in the woods. The trail of crushed leaves and snapped twigs vanished before him. He stopped and turned in a slow circle, scanning the vegetation. The stale smell of rotting wood met his nose. The forest’s decay seemed to spread for miles around, tainting the wilderness with an acrid stench.
Then he saw it. A dark shadow in broad daylight where none could exist, like a stain on the fabric of the world. As he watched, a figure stepped from behind one of the trees. He was shorter than Crash, below-average height for one of the Sixth Race, and slight of build. His identity remained hidden by a hood and a black cowl tied around the lower half of his face, but Crash recognized the venomous green eyes of his own race, the reptilian coldness of the man’s gaze. One eye drooped slightly from a long scar that trailed down his forehead, continuing across his cheek before vanishing beneath his half-mask.
Crash looked for weapons but saw none, only a pair of strange gauntlets covering the man's fists. The metal gloves were serrated along the sides, creating jagged blades along his wrist and forearm. Crash had never seen such a weapon before, but doubtless this man was one of the Named. He could tell by the unwavering certainty of the assassin’s gaze.
“Viper,” the man said. “He who hides in the grass.” His voice sounded thin and stifled, as though his nose were twice-broken. “Bit of a lone wolf, aren’t you? I didn’t expect you to come to me.”
Viper raised an eyebrow. He glanced at the surrounding trees, searching for more of the Shade. Despite the aloof nature of his people, they usually didn’t travel alone. Assassins were typically assigned to task forces, teams of three savants with a Named assassin at their lead, or on more deadly missions, several Named assassins acting in concert. He doubted the Shade would send only one man to confront him. What are they playing at?
“I take it you’re responsible for the decimation of the village?” he asked directly.
“A lesser minion of the Dark God,” the man replied. “He is strong enough now to unleash His plague-bearers. Did you enjoy the blight? Were you impressed?”
Crash shifted. Impressed? Disgusted, perhaps. He saw the blight upon entering the building, though Ferran and Sora had only noticed the creature toward the end of their brief fight. He knew it was from the Dark God’s realm, though did not know how it had arrived in the world of Wind and Light. These must be the silent, invisible entities spreading the plague, he thought. More shards of the Dark God’s body, just like the demon who inhabited his own.
“How did you find me?” Crash asked.
A mocking lilt entered the man’s voice. “We’ve been following you for some time now.”
Crash stiffened. “You have my attention,” he said coldly.
“Our master has taken an interest in you. He wants to meet you, Viper. He wants to share his vision.”
“Who?” Crash asked, though he already knew the answer. “Who is your master?” The more ignorant he seemed, the better. In the seaside city of Delbar, he had killed two of his own race who sought the Dark God’s weapons. In that musty, darkened bell tower, he had pressed a dagger to a woman’s throat and demanded the name of the leader of the Shade. Who do you serve?
She told him a name he never expected. A name he grew up with and once revered—Cerastes. He who kills in the sand. His mentor, the one who trained him, and who drove him from the Hive.
The stranger let out a wheezing laugh. “He knows about you, Viper. How you left the Hive. How you died, or supposedly died, but your body was never recovered. You abandoned your colony. As you well know, it’s the assassins’ code to kill a deserter. There are many who will come for you now. They would gladly kill for your Name.”
“Is that what you’re here for?” Crash said quietly. “My Name?” He drew his dagger, allowing the sunlight to play off his sharpened blade. “If you want it, then take it.”
The man shook his head. “I have a Name,” he said. “And I wouldn’t want the tainted blade of a deserter. No, I’ve come to offer you restitution, Viper. My master will welcome you by his side. Your transgressions will be erased. You will be reborn as one of the Dark God’s servants, blessed by His shadow. You’ve been given an honored invitation. Become one of us, and revel in His rising glory. What say you?”
Crash felt his skin crawl. He tried to control his voice, but a manic note slipped in.
“I follow no one,” Crash said softly. “And certainly not the will of the Dark God.”
The unknown assassin gave him a piercing look. “Not even to further your practice?” he said, his voice dropping a notch. “My master makes a generous offer; he will continue your training. Wouldn’t you like to unlock the fifth gate?”
Crash’s eyes narrowed. The fifth gate: entrance into the shadow realm, that space between lands where darkness reigned and demons slept. Only by unlocking the fifth gate could he learn the full extent of his race’s magic—the use of shadow portals, among other things. It was not an easy skill to attain. When last he tried, he had been too young, overzealous, not yet prepared to fully harness his demon.
“I won’t be swayed,” Crash said tightly.
The unknown assassin seemed to be laughing, though he made no sound. “You say that now, Viper,” he murmured. “But what our master wants, he takes. He will weaken you. We know about the false life you’ve created. The people you think you care for. The ones closest to you. We shall pick them off, one by one….” The man’s eyes glinted dangerously. “We will chip away at them until you have nothing left but to accept your true calling.”
Crash gripped the hilt of his blade.
“Take your time, Viper. Consider it,” the man said. Then, fast as a whip, he turned and leapt through the black portal.
Crash lunged and tried to grab him before he could escape, but the portal shut with a whistling snap. He landed on the crushed leaves between the tree trunks. Staggered. Then stood.
The assassin and the portal were both gone.
Crash scanned the forest, prepared for an unseen attack, but after a long minute his tension eased. He glanced at the sky. Caprion had disappeared. How much had the Harpy witnessed?
He turned back toward the village and started running, hoping to catch up with Sora and Ferran. The assassin’s threat lay heavy on his mind. The people you think you care for. Crash cursed himself over and over. How long had the Shade been trailing them? How much did they know about his journey? About his companions?
Don’t jump to conclusions, he told himself. His kind were skilled at manipulation. Chances were, they knew nothing of his life. They were planting seeds of fear, hoping to set him off, testing to see what he would respond to. He recounted his actions since leaving the Lost Isles. He had stayed far away from Sora. He had spoken briefly and casually with Burn. He kept to himself whenever possible and reluctantly worked alongside the Dracian crew. For all the Shade knew, he was the same man who had left the Hive, heartless and lost, with no connections to the world.
And at that thought, he suddenly felt furious, like a wild horse first put to the reins. They will not control me with fear. How dare they try to intimidate me? After all this time, do they really think I will return to the fold? He would rather take his own life than go back to that world.
The demon smirked within him. Soon, it murmured. They come.
* * *
The forest stretched out below Caprion. He saw endless green pines jutting into the air, disrupted by stark gray bracken and the occasional patch of golden leaves. A brisk, cold wind heralded a different kind of winter than he had experienced on the tropical islands of his homeland. He had never seen snow, though now he could see it now on the distant mountains.
&
nbsp; The Little Rain river resembled a long, silver scar across the green earth. He glided slowly toward it, unhurried. His companions wouldn’t reach their ship for another hour or so, and he didn’t see the point of returning before that. In the meantime, he wondered what had transpired in the village, and about the Viper’s strange meeting in the woods.
His thoughts were disrupted by a humming, pulsing vibration at his hip.
Intrigued, he paused to hover briefly on the wind and reached for a pouch at his belt. After some rummaging, he withdrew a small ovular sunstone that trembled and glowed in his hand. At his touch, a quiet song began to play—a melody he hadn’t heard in years. Still, he remembered the notes as clearly as the day he first sang them, when he sealed them into this stone.
It was her song. Her stone. Impossible that it would play now, because she was dead.
He banked his wings and turned in an easy loop, considering the small white stone in his hand. It was meant to play in her presence. He wrote it as a lullaby of sorts, to keep her company in his absence. He never spent enough time with her.
But it shouldn’t play now. It couldn’t. She had been gone for years.
Its magic is weakening, he decided. And as the magic left the stone, it released a whisper of years long past, nothing more.
He briefly considered throwing it away—allowing the stone and its whispered melody to vanish into the wide expanse of the forest. He hesitated, trying to make himself let go. Below him, a gust of wind rippled through the trees like the waves of an ocean. Watching the branches shimmer and sway, for a moment he remembered other trees on the Lost Isles, the scent of citrus on the wind, and warm evenings shared with a young, dark-haired girl.
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