As she waited, she undressed and wrapped a complimentary towel around her small form. Then she walked over and opened the windows, letting a brisk sea breeze blow against her face.
Sora took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her mind wandered. She thought of the Priestess, of the Temple in Barcella and the journey ahead. She still felt a horrible sense of uncertainty when she considered the Lost Isles, and what she might have to do to kill Volcrian. Will I have to remove the necklace? The Cat's Eye weighed heavily on her neck, and for a moment, she imagined it was a collar tied to a strict leash. She touched the stone, wondering about its bond with her mind. Sometimes, it felt as though a ghost were living inside of her.
And to break that bond... to remove the necklace.... A chill went down her spine. Will my spirit be sucked inside of it? Half-alive, half-dead, trapped in a rock? Or would she simply go into a coma, sink into darkness and disappear? Cease to be?
And what if, somehow, I survive? That, too, was terrifying. She could no longer remember what life had been like before the Cat's Eye; what her mind had been like.
How am I ever going to do this? How was she supposed to defeat Volcrian? She wore a Cat's Eye, sure, but she didn't know anything about magic or Wolfy mages. His spells were powerful; she would be dead by now if it weren't for the necklace. What would it be like to meet the mage face to face? She paused, trying to connect with the stone, hoping for some murmur of comfort, the familiar jangle of bells.
But it was silent.
Positive, Sora told herself. She had to think positively. She forced her thoughts to go in another direction—yes, her manor, before her father's death. She imagined her wide, green tiled bathroom; the endless corridors and richly decorated chambers. It felt like she had lived there so long ago. She wondered briefly about Lilly and the other maids. What had happened after her foster father's death? Who owned the manor now? What family member had come to claim it? She tried to remember names and faces, but it all seemed vague and washed-out, like a faded painting.
She returned to the giant tub and leaned over its edge, brushing her fingers through the water. It was almost halfway full. With this in mind, she undid her braid and combed out her hair with a boar bristle brush. It had grown since she had last braided it, and it flowed like a shower of gold over her shoulder. It felt good to release the tension from her scalp.
"Sora, we need to..."
With a yelp, she leapt to her feet, whirling around. "Don't you people ever make any noise?" she practically screamed.
She was met by Crash's stunned face. He stared at her, obviously stricken. She had never seen such a peculiar expression before. Then she realized she was in a towel... a very short, small towel, now that she thought about it... with more than a bit of skin showing.
His eyes flickered over her. They flashed a darker shade of green, almost predatory, and she took a startled step back. Then he blinked and the expression—or whatever it had been—was gone.
Sora gulped and pulled the towel closer around her, hoping to retain some dignity. Finally she found her voice, and raised her head a notch. "I was just about to take a bath, but I can wait as long as it's quick. Either get in or get out, just don't leave the door open."
The assassin stepped in quickly and shut the door, and thankfully, his eyes focused on the tub behind her. "I'll be going to look for a map of the Isles pretty soon. There is also a weapon maker in town known for his bladework." He paused. His gaze flickered over her once more before focusing on one of the beds. "I was wondering if you'd like to come. Laina and Burn are still out."
Sora blinked. "So, just what are they doing, exactly?"
"Touring,” he shrugged.
Sora was quiet as she tried to make her brain work. "Touring at night?" she finally asked.
"I guess they're having a good time."
“At least somebody is," she muttered. “They better not be wasting money....”
"I'm sure they will.” Crash's tone was wry.
Sora gave up with a sigh and looked back at her tub. "I'll be quick in the bath, though I was planning to have a soak." She ran her hand along the smooth marble. "I'd rather go with you than be stuck here alone."
"All right," Crash nodded.
She frowned. Was it just her, or did his voice seem rougher than usual? "Would you close the window?" she asked in concern. "It sounds like you're getting a cold. Do you have a sore throat?"
Crash's eyes darted to her face, and again they became that dark green color. The expression held longer this time, and Sora felt a peculiarly warm, squirmy feeling in her stomach. Abruptly, she wished there was more between them than just a towel and twenty feet of floor space.
He stared at her for a moment longer, then turned to the window. "No, I'm fine," he said quietly, though his pitch had dropped another notch. He shut the window anyway. Then he gave her one last look before stepping quickly out the door, closing it behind him.
Sora sagged visibly, relieved that she was alone again. She shut off the water before the tub overflowed and let the towel drop to the ground, then climbed into the warm water and felt her muscles relax immediately. With a long, luxurious sigh, she grabbed the bar of soap and started washing off a thick layer of road dust. Then she set about brushing and cleaning her hair, scraping the dirt from her nails and scrubbing her face. Finally she deemed herself clean and arose from the brownish water.
Sora toweled off and dressed quickly in fresh clothes. Then she threw on her cloak, allowing her damp hair to hang free. With a happy sigh, she stepped out into the main room where Crash was waiting.
Immediately he stood up from his chair. "Ready?"
"Ready as ever," she replied with a smile. "Where to first?"
She could have sworn Crash smiled in return, but he turned to the door so quickly, she couldn't be sure. "Let's get the weapons first, then we'll look for a map."
He opened the door and ushered her through, then shut the door behind them, locking it securely.
"You keep a lot of stuff under your cloak," she observed as he tucked the key into its black folds. She had seen him take a myriad of objects from beneath it: knives, lock picks, rope, sticks of dried meat.
"That I do." The assassin started off at a brisk pace down the hall, and Sora fell into step next to him. She cut off a sarcastic remark she was about to make.
Outside, night was falling, and she could already feel the chill from the ocean. Amazingly enough, she could see frost on her breath, despite the fact that winter was long gone.
Crash slowed down once they were on the streets. He seemed to be in no big hurry, and soon she realized why. All of the shops were still open! She looked around at the bright lanterns and twinkling lights. The sun was less than a gold tint on the horizon, and the streets were alight with paper lanterns. They reminded her of colored bubbles, strung from balconies and awnings, casting a rainbow of light across the flagstones.
In smaller towns, the stores began to close at sunset so that everyone could be home by nightfall.
"What time is it?" she finally asked, after they passed the third shop with lights on. Crash glanced at her, then up at the rising moon.
"I'd say around nine o'clock,” he calculated.
"Then why aren't the stores closing?"
He gave her a strange look, then shook his head as he realized, “You've never been on the coast before, have you?”
Sora continued to stare up at him questioningly. He returned her look, then motioned to the buildings around them. “Here, the stores are open twenty-four hours a day. Well, most of them. You never know when a ship will pull into harbor. Sailors make good customers." He glanced back down at her. "Relax, we're in no hurry."
This was so unexpected that Sora almost choked. Crash—relax? As though he knew how! All of the times she'd seen him before, he had either been fighting or on the lookout for trouble. Except for once, almost a year ago, when they wrestled in the mud outside of her mother's house....
They walked d
own the streets and looked in shop windows. Most were pottery shops or carried similar merchandise, but Sora was still fascinated; she had never seen so many stores in a row; they seemed to go on forever. And she wanted to see everything: pottery, porcelain, glass blowers, fresh-cut flower stands and clockmakers. At first Crash was reluctant to go into the stores, but she dragged him along anyway, ignoring his stiff arm.
After almost an hour of wandering from shop to shop, they finally found the weapon maker. Crash led her to the front door and said dryly, “It seems we have come to a shop with some practical use. I'd invite you in, but regrettably, they don't sell jewelry.”
Sora blinked, wondering if she should be insulted... but then she realized he was joking. Maybe. "We only went to three jewelry stalls," she muttered irritably.
They entered the shop. The building had a curious layout: a completely open floor with weapons strung along the walls, less of a selection than she had expected, brightly lit with oil lamps. The back of the building opened onto a wide dirt yard, where a massive cast-iron forge was sunk into the ground. Sora stared; she had never seen a forge before. It reminded her of a stone cave, perhaps twice her height. The flames were banked for the moment, but she could imagine how hot they could get.
Then a woman stepped inside, wiping her hands on her pants. She appeared to have been working near the forge, as her clothes were streaked in soot and ash. Sora was surprised. She had expected a giant, hulking man, but by the heavy apron that covered the woman, she guessed that this was the weapon maker. Her hair was short and silvery, her figure tall and willowy, and a pair of brilliant violet eyes stared through the shadows.
She had a cigar in her mouth. After a moment, she exhaled a puff of smoke, then put the cigar on a tray on the counter. When she spoke, her voice was unexpectedly deep. "May I help you?"
Sora turned around to find Crash glaring at the store clerk.
The woman offered a small smile, though it was decidedly cold. "Welcome to my shop," she said in that smooth, rich voice. "I take custom orders, or you can see what I have on the shelves."
“A poor selection,” Crash muttered, and Sora looked at the assassin in surprise. He threw a pair of daggers on the wood counter; they were about nine inches in length and perfectly straight. The hilts were slightly more ornate than what he usually carried. She wondered where he had grabbed them—she hadn't seen him pull them from the wall. “This steel is low-quality. I won't pay more than two silvers.”
The woman arched a pale eyebrow. “Then you have bad taste. I won't sell them for less than five.”
“You couldn't pierce cowhide with these,” Crash said; Sora raised an eyebrow. The assassin took one of the knives and tried to stick it into the wooden table. It fell over, blunt at the tip.
“Sharpening is extra,” the woman glared.
“This steel won't hold an edge for long. Two silvers, and I'll sharpen them myself.” He tossed the coins onto the table.
The two stared at each other for a long, acrimonious moment. Sora was mortified. Wasn't there such a thing as civility? Crash was acting like a complete barbarian!
Finally, the woman took the coins. “If only to get you out of my store,” she said.
Crash grabbed Sora's upper arm hard; instinctively, she struggled. “That's it?” she growled, trying to tug free. She wanted to melt into the ground, she was so embarrassed. “I like it here! Let's look around a bit longer!”
Crash's grip tightened, almost bruising her. “Bad quality,” he snapped. “Let's go.”
The shopkeeper continued to stare at them with unblinking eyes. It was humiliating; Sora couldn't understand why the assassin was acting this way. Then her temper began to rise. First the man in front of the docks, and now this—why did Crash suddenly feel as though he had a right to bully her? Her noble upbringing came to the surface; no one handles me like this!
“Let go of me!” Sora said shrilly, and twisted in Crash's grip. She used one of her mother's techniques and slipped from his grasp. “This is a perfectly good store. You're being very rude!”
“If you don't mind me saying, miss,” the shopkeeper said in a warm tone, “I wouldn't expect anything else from his kind. I'd suggest you find a new friend.”
Sora was surprised by the woman's words. The assassin spat at the storekeeper, then turned and glared at her—a look that Sora had once found terrifying, but now only made her angrier. “Why are you arguing?” he snapped. “Come on.”
She knew if she stayed, she would only provoke him further. With an embarrassed nod to the weapon maker, she allowed Crash to lead her forcefully out of the store. Once in the street, she whirled on him, livid with rage.
"What was that all about?" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. "You wanted to come here, remember? And why insult the shopkeeper? Why drag me from the store?" She glared extra hard at him. "You treated me like an animal! And that poor woman did nothing but help you!"
Crash's eyes hardened, and Sora instinctively stepped back. She lifted her head and resisted him.
"You wouldn't understand,” he growled, “and I'm not going to explain it to you." She felt like he could burn her down with his eyes. "You're completely ignorant.”
“At least I have dignity!” Sora's patience snapped like a string. “I've been raised since I was born to carry myself in a certain way. You can't just treat people like dirt! Learn some common decency!”
Crash made a dismissive motion with his hand. "Why cater to the feelings of others? You don't actually care about them, do you?"
"I do!" Sora exclaimed. “And that's beyond the point. It's just manners!”
"Manners?" he quipped. "Why, did I embarrass you?"
"Perhaps!” Sora admitted. “I don't like it when you're rude. It makes you incredibly difficult to be around.”
"Then leave!” he said coldly. “Go back to the hotel. I don't care.”
Sora paused. He didn't mean that, did he? Of course he does, she thought. Why fool herself into thinking otherwise?
The assassin took a step forward. Her skin crawled. She felt a sudden, unnerving aura of power around him. She swallowed her fear and braced herself.
“There is something you need to understand, little girl. I have killed," his voice was low and bitter. "I've spent a lifetime doing it. I am not a good man, so don't expect me to behave as one. Volcrian's hunt is justified. I am an assassin. Manners don't hide what I am."
Her breath caught. For a moment she was speechless—what do you say to that? Then she drew her anger around her. "You're right. You're just a criminal, a murderer!” she hissed. She thought he might have flinched. “I've tried to look past that, Crash. But you're right. You're a killer. You'll never change.”
Abruptly he turned away, his face shadowed and his voice quiet. “Just because you have shared my food and slept by my fire, you assume to know me. You know nothing.”
With that, he pushed past her roughly. She fell back against the wall of a building as he walked away. Sora stared at his back, stunned by his reaction, and placed one hand on the wall.
His words slowly took effect. She bit her lip, tears welling up inside of her. Gods, I will not cry!
His rage stung more than it should. No, it didn't sting, actually it ripped like a knife. With a force of will, she blinked back her tears. Sora didn't follow him or try to face him; instead, she made her way hastily out into the street.
She followed a cobblestone walkway that led her between two buildings; then onto another street that was identical to the first. She walked for several minutes, not paying attention where she was going, blinded by hurt and anger, not thinking coherently. Her fists were clenched tight and her head was full of harsh words and the look in his eyes.
The paper lanterns gave way to less decadent streets, farther from the docks. The houses became darker and lower, leaning close as though huddling together for warmth. Eventually, she found herself in a small courtyard; at its center was a weathered statue that might have been
a likeness of Kaelyn the Wanderer. The pose was a familiar cast, the Wanderer standing with her hands poised near her face, a flute held to her lips. Except that the flute was gone from the eroded statue; the lady was playing on empty air.
The small square was vacant, but she was too upset to keep walking. She sat down at the side of the statue, hidden by shadows and curled up, her forehead pressed against her knees, alone in the night.
Crash's voice echoed around her head. I have killed, it said. Manners don't hide what I am.
And after all she had risked to come here....
She reached down, grabbing a pebble on the ground and hurling it against the wall in front of her. It bounced off harmlessly. Bastard. Hot, angry tears leaked from her eyes. Sora let them fall as she sat quietly amidst the dust and gloom. Why had she even tried to find him? Why had she left her mother? She should have let Volcrian take them all. Who cared about a plague, with so many evil people in the world? And why enlist the help of a dark, bitter man like Crash? She blinked through her tears and took a shaky breath.
Why did it hurt so much? She knew how he was, always moody and brash. Just look at how he treated Laina.
But this time, it was personal. She had thought she was different, immune to his anger. That perhaps he liked her, even just a little.
Sora let out a breath of frustration through her tears. She picked up another rock and hurled it. She was supposed to be stronger than this. Why couldn't she be like Kaelyn, fierce and proud, fighting for justice? Her eyes glanced up at the weathered statue, the empty indents for eyes, the partially crumbled nose. Even against the salty air and countless rainy nights, the rock refused to give way, standing strong against the elements.
But she wasn't a rock. Maybe she wasn't like her hero at all.
Sora sighed harshly. I can't save the world. She was going to die at the end of this journey. It was a nagging truth, one she tried to avoid thinking about. There's no way out. I'm going to die—and for what?
This was enough to renew the tears and soon she was having trouble keeping her sobs inside. She held her knees tighter and looked around at the dark, gloomy, abandoned streets. How did I get here? It suddenly seemed ludicrous, insane; how had she come to be in an alley, alone, somewhere on the coast, miles away from her birthplace?
Viper's Creed (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) Page 17
