Sora's Quest (39 page)

Then the shape paused a short distance from her Wulven friends. Now that she could see it more clearly, she could hardly believe her eyes. The shape was...floating?

An insubstantial black cloak drifted around the dark figure, blurring and blending like smoke. She couldn't see it clearly no matter how long she stared—her eyes seemed to slide over it, unable to focus. It shifted and flickered, forever subtly different, changing shape over and over again.

The wind gusted across the clearing, picking up force. The figure shimmered and appeared in a new position. There was a glint of light. A blade emerged out of the mist-like clothing, long and thin, like a sword—no, narrower—almost like a giant needle. Sora recognized it from her old fencing lessons. A rapier.

Then the creature threw back its head and screamed into the twilight. It was a bone-chilling sound, racing over her skin, shooting down her spine.

Crash leapt from the ground a second later, sprinting toward the Wolfies, his sword drawn. Sora watched, dumbstruck. Then she scrambled to her feet and dashed after him.

Dorian and Burn were more than a hundred feet ahead of her. She charged at full speed. Whatever this thing was, it was definitely no Catlin, and it definitely meant them harm. She was so tired though—exhausted—it felt like she was running through thick water.

Light glinted as Burn drew his massive sword. The steel was thick, sharp and easily visible, almost as long as he was tall. Burn launched himself at the apparition, the blade whirling through the air, creating a sound like a wind tunnel.

The wraith screamed again and raised its skinny rapier. The two clashed together, tendrils of fire leaping up from the blades. Sora's mouth was wide open and she almost came to a stop. There was no way the rapier could last against such a huge sword. And yet it held. Magic, it had to be. She touched her necklace, but no sound came from her Cat's Eye, no alarm.

Sora could see Dorian behind Burn, his silver hair whipping back and forth. The wind picked up again, blowing stronger and stronger, as though engaging in the fight. The smaller Wolfy dodged around to the other side of the creature, daggers out. He tried to take a knife to the apparition, slashing at its cloak, but to no effect. The wraith screamed again in outrage, turning to swat at the thief with its sword.

Sora wished she knew what was happening, how she could help, but she could only watch uselessly. She wasn't as skilled as the men and knew that she would get in the way—or get her head cleaved off by Burn's sword.

Finally the Cat's Eye woke up. She heard a faint jingle at the edge of her hearing, like wind chimes—but the necklace seemed confused. The sound faded in and out with the wind. Magic, but something else, something different. The necklace sampled the creature's energy, and she could feel a strange resistance, like a rock against sand, a dark cloud in an empty sky, or...or a drop of blood in water.

Blood.

Information flooded her, sudden knowledge. The core of this magic was blood. Only Wolfies used blood. This was Volcrian's creation. The very thought made her heart stop.

Crash flung himself into the fray ahead of her. The assassin leapt out of the grass almost as suddenly as the wraith had. Three against one, and still the creature was holding its own.

The assassin attacked from behind, his sword slashing through the air. The mercenary blocked from the front, meeting the phantom blow for blow...and yet...nothing happened. The apparition seemed as inconsistent as air, fading and reappearing, like smoke in the wind. Crash's blade swung left and right, striking nothing.

The creature's sword, however, was solid and real, deadly sharp.

Burn blocked a jab and swung in riposte, coming from an unexpected angle. The Wolfy's giant blade plunged through the cloak and into the creature, a killing blow—except that the sword passed through the phantom as though slicing fog. A creature of mist. Nothing more.

Sora was stunned. It was magic, it had to be—and yet it seemed a part of nature, a figment of their minds.

There was an unearthly scream that arose from the ground, shaking through the grass. The creature struck out with some sort of energy force, like a gust of darkness; it knocked Burn from his feet.
Whooompphh!
The giant Wolfy tumbled backwards as easily as a child, landing in the grass.

Crash dove to his side, seeking to shield the mercenary. But as the assassin moved, the wraith's sword swung down. It was perfectly aimed, too fast to dodge. Inescapable....

"No!" Dorian threw himself in front of Crash and Burn, taking the blow head on. His two daggers crossed above his head to block the sword. Sora watched helplessly. Two puny daggers couldn't contend with a strike like that....

It happened too fast for her to scream. The wraith's sword fell downward in a perfect arc, slicing Dorian's daggers in half as though they were made of paper. She couldn't look away. The sword pierced the thief, striking him clean across the chest. Blood sprayed the air.

Then Sora was moving, though she didn't know it at the time. No sound reached her ears and she couldn't feel the ground. She charged forward, an inhuman sound ripping from her throat. Her Cat's Eye jingled madly in her ears, interrupted by the pounding of her heart. She sped across the grass in a blur, her staff forgotten.

"Dorian!" she screamed, a millisecond before she hit him. Her small body tackled the Wolfy with amazing force and sent him flying limply away from the wraith—she didn't know if he was alive or dead. Almost immediately there was a blinding flash. When Sora's eyes cleared, she found herself standing with arms outstretched, a dome of light around her, the Cat's Eye's shield. It engulfed both her body and her friends, who were lying in the grass at her back, unable to do anything.

This time, however, the shield wasn't perfect. The wraith screamed in rage and slammed its weapon down. The blow bounced back, energy crackling in the air. The shield trembled and shook.

The wraith kept pounding against it.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The sword rang out in the chill air. Every time the weapons collided, a flash of brilliant light burst around them. Sora flinched with every blow. Fear lurched inside of her. Somehow, the wraith was breaking through.

She gripped the necklace in her hand desperately, focusing all of her mind on it.

The wraith drew its sword back, let out a terrifying scream, then plunged the blade down in a two-handed swing. The rapier struck the barrier of energy and pressed into it, denting it. The dome flickered around her dangerously.
No!

The Cat's Eye made a static popping sound.

Crack!

The shield popped. A ripple of energy moved outward, like a small explosion.

Sora tried to throw herself out of the way—too late.

Her upper body exposed, the wraith jammed its sword deep between her ribs. The air left her in a sudden rush. Pain. Silence.

Then a dull whining in her ears. An enraged ringing from the Cat's Eye....

Energy surged forward, shooting from her body up through the blade, into the creature before her. The wraith screamed.

For a moment, the sound of clanging bells was heard by all of her companions. Then the Cat's Eye erupted in a whirlwind of green and yellow light, attacking the wraith with the fury of a tempest. The creature continued to scream, its voice carrying unnaturally across the fields, on and on and on. The wind whipped Sora's hair around her face. The necklace drained the phantom of life; it flickered like a dying fire. The black robes seemed to break apart, turning to dust, blown away piece by piece.

Finally, there was nothing left but a stain of blood upon the grass.

Sora continued to hold her necklace, stunned, staring at the empty grass, the open fields. Then she looked down at a larger stain, spreading across her shirt. Strangely, she hadn't felt any pain beside the initial pinch of the blade. It was as though she was staring at someone else's body.

She turned to look down at her two companions. Crash was the first she saw, and he stared back at her, his eyes wide. Burn, too, seemed frozen to the ground; his hands were wedged into the grass. He stared at her in disbelief.

Then her gaze slowly traveled to Dorian's silent form, a pool of blood around his body. His face was turned down toward the earth, his eyes open, sightless—vacant. Was he breathing?

She already knew the answer. The sight would have unnerved her, but at the moment, she seemed incapable of feeling anything.

A small stream of fluid entered her mouth, salty and thick. A trickle of blood leaked from the corner of her lip. She tried to swallow but her throat wouldn't work. She felt like her body was slowly solidifying, becoming stiff and useless.

Suddenly she was afraid. She looked back at her companions and recognized the look on their faces. A wave of nausea hit. Suddenly, she knew this was not a wound she would be recovering from.

Sora took a step toward her companions. It took a great amount of effort. Her boot bumped against Dorian's still hand.

Her hands found the blade of the sword that protruded from between her ribs, just to assure herself that she wasn't dreaming.

Her movement snapped the men into action. With her next step, Crash was up from the ground. He grabbed the hilt of the blade, giving it a fierce tug. Sora felt like the air had been sucked out of her. A scream found its way out of her throat—the pain was consuming, intense, unlike anything she had ever felt before. Like her body was splitting in two.

As soon as the blade was fully out, it flickered in the air, wavering before her eyes.

Then it disintegrated in the wind, blowing away just as the wraith had, leaving only the black hilt.

Dizziness overcame her. Sora collapsed forward with a shudder, the pain too intense to stand. The assassin caught her.

"Are you both all right?" she managed to whisper. It was barely audible.

Crash lowered her to the ground and laid her out, his expression darker than she had ever seen. He wiped the blood from her mouth with his muddy sleeve and allowed her eyes to rove over his face, studying his cunning, sharp features, following the scar into his shirt.

"Idiot girl...." he murmured. "You should have stayed put."

"But you would have died," Sora whispered.
You all would have died.

Crash continued to gaze at her, his mouth slightly open. No words came. Was he surprised?

It was too late to wonder. His face swam before her. Slowly her vision blurred, her ears dimmed.

Darkness.

* * *

Crash's mouth was open. He felt like his heart had just stopped. What had she said? Her last words? Not a heroic speech or the desperate promises of a fading friend. No, she had said her thoughts plainly, directly, and yet they changed everything. This girl—this spoiled, rich, infuriating girl—had given her life for his. She had saved him.

He had never felt anything like this before.

He watched her go limp on the ground, and suddenly his heart hammered against his ribs, his lungs seized. He felt like he was choking on air. Ice flowed through him. His hands gripped Sora's shoulders in an effort to regain himself.
What is happening to me?
he thought furiously.
Why am I suddenly so- so....?
Abruptly, the assassin blinked.
Could this be...fear?

Worse than that—terror. He had never known it before. Since he was a child, he had been trained in the ways of his people, to think beyond death, to live with removed indifference, to see the world through eyes of stone. He had first killed at the age of fourteen. He had known violence his entire life. Fear was not even a word in his original tongue.

But there was no other explanation. He had never experienced such helplessness, the way his blood raced and his stomach clenched—it couldn't be anything else. Couldn't be, and yet....He closed his eyes in pain, touching the girl's golden hair.
Why now?
he wondered.
Why do I feel this now?

It was a question to be left unanswered. Sora was nothing but a rich brat, kidnapped out of precaution, kept only because of her necklace. She was an asset as long as she had the Cat's Eye—otherwise she was expendable, nothing more than excess weight. How many times had he looked upon her in disgust? He had watched her smooth hands, butter-soft and free of callouses, grip the staff. They were hands for doing needlework and writing letters, not the hands of a warrior. He had grimaced many times at her naivete, at her senseless ideas, her assumptions about the world that only a sheltered child would have.

He didn't like a shred about her—did he?
No, of course not
. And yet...and yet....

And yet—she had saved his life.

Crash's eyes turned from the girl's soft face to the thief's dead body, lying crumpled and lifeless nearby. The Wulven mage wasn't moving, and Crash knew that he never would move again.

He had seen countless others die, engaged in battle or sleeping in their beds, unaware. Different races, different people. It wasn't in his nature to think in terms of friends or enemies, to hold onto bodies, spirits. All beings were momentarily animated, but ultimately impermanent, destined to return to their original state.
The living are meant to die
, his mentor had once said.
They are specks of dust, momentary flashes of light. In this way, you must understand—what is alive now is already dead.