Sora's Quest (42 page)

She tried to sit up, but it was impossible. Her body felt as weak and limp as a rag doll. She couldn't even raise her hand.

She tried to remember where she was, but it was like losing her place in a book, becoming lost in the middle of a conversation.

Something is missing.
She glanced around the room again, at the hardwood floors, scuffed and warped over countless years, small knots raised in the wood. At the crosshatch window on the opposing wall, the glimpse of tall pine trees beyond. Rafters overhead. A vaulted ceiling, like the inside of a wood cabin.

It took her a long moment, but when the memories finally came back, they were crystal-clear, full of color. She let out another groan, and this time felt the pressure of a bandage against her ribs. Her wound ached with each breath, each twitch of her muscles. She placed a gentle hand on it, wincing.

Was she really still alive? Her last waking thoughts had been of the acceptance of death. Sora raised her hands in front of her face, an action that took a peculiar amount of effort. Each limb felt leaden, full of sand. Finally her fingers were in sight and she blinked in surprise. She had been planning to pinch herself, but this was almost as good.
Goddess! My fingernails are clean!
Then something else occurred to her.
Who cleaned them?

"Welcome back," a voice said from somewhere beyond her line of sight.

Sora didn't have to see the person to know who it was. A weak smile spread across her lips.

"You had us worried for a while. You even made an impression on Crash." Burn loomed over her bed and grinned down at her. From this position, he seemed impossibly tall, far too large for the room. He, too, was clean and wearing fresh clothes.

Where were they? How much time had passed?

"It's good to see you," she mumbled. Her lips felt numb, clumsy. She could feel her wound strain against her stomach muscles. It was a strange, unexpected sensation.

"How are you feeling?" the mercenary asked.

"All right," she murmured. "Just a little hard to...move." She tried to sit up, but a jolt of pain cut through her. She winced.

Burn frowned in concern. "Well I can tell you one thing," he said somberly. "You're stuffed full of pain killers. I'm surprised you can even feel the bed."

Sora grinned wryly. She doubted any amount of poppy extract could numb this wound.

A new voice entered the conversation. "You were badly injured. You shouldn't move."

Burn turned to the doorway, his expression not exactly welcoming. "Finished sulking, have you? Pay your respects to our little heroine. She saved our lives."

"I know," was the sour response.

Sora wasn't particularly thrilled by Crash's tone. He sounded in a bad mood.
Not that I'd recognize him in a good mood,
she thought. Still, she didn't want him to leave. It was comforting to have familiar faces nearby—no matter how ornery.

But wasn't someone missing? Where was the fourth member of their party, the one she had chatted with the most? Dorian?

For a moment she waited—maybe he would come in next? Her mind dug back through the memories, shifting and searching. She saw the wraith, dissolving like mist. The fierce wind. The pain in her gut. The images were foggy, as though she had read of them, secondhand, in a book.

When had she seen Dorian last? Back in the fields....The wraith had attacked them, yes, she remembered now....Its sword had plunged downwards. The thief had thrown himself in front of Burn. Blood had sprayed the grass.

She suddenly felt sick. Her heart plummeted. She almost choked. "Dorian!" she gasped. "Where is he? What happened?"

Burn stared down at her.

She met his eyes, trying to stay calm. "Tell me," she said. It sounded hysterical, even to her own ears.

His expression turned dark, like a light snuffing out. Those long, delicate ears twitched. The silence grew. Anxiety and fear clawed at her. Dorian...
he can't...he can't possibly be....

"He's gone, Sora," the Wolfy whispered.

"G-gone?" she echoed, searching for any other explanation. "What do you mean, gone? Gone where? I don't...." But she did understand. She remembered what had provoked her necklace, what had caused her to act. She didn't want Burn to continue; saying the words out loud would make it more real, more inescapable.

Should I be crying?
she wondered. She tried to summon tears. Tried to raise some sort of response—a scream, a tantrum. But she felt numb. Full of cotton.

"Burn...." she said quietly, scared by her own lack of response.

His giant hand reached down and stroked her head. "Give it time," he said.

Sora closed her eyes, trying to forget the screech of the wraith, the look on Dorian's face before he died, the way his body had fallen to the ground.

When she opened her eyes again, Burn was gone. She didn't know how much time had passed, certainly no more than a minute. She turned her head, trying to see around the room, but it was hard to move her stiff neck.

"We buried him a short ways from here," Crash said, causing her a jolt of surprise. She thought he had gone. "We were waiting for you, but you have been unconscious for more than a week."

His shadow fell across the bed. She looked up at the assassin, curious. Why was he here? He was clothed in his usual black, though the shirt and pants were patched and clean. Her eyes followed the scar from his shirt collar up to his face.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" she said, a wry quirk to her mouth.

"No," was his blank reply. "The body was rotting."

She glared up at the assassin, irritated by his tone, at his ambivalence.
Heartless bastard. I wish he'd just go away.

"Is that all he was?" she asked, averting her eyes and speaking to the wall. "A rotting body? I'm sure that was a huge inconvenience." Her voice choked slightly. "He died trying to save us."

Silence. Then, "You're the one who saved us," Crash murmured.

His words didn't mean as much as they should have.
But I couldn't save Dorian. I hesitated. It's my fault.
Something cracked, and Sora's eyes filled with tears. It was all her fault. Dorian might still be alive if she had acted quicker.

"There's nothing more you could have done," Crash said, as though reading her mind. His eyes drifted over her face, watching her closely. She hated that look. It made her feel vulnerable, naked, weak and exposed.

"You say that," Sora murmured. "But I should have acted quicker."

"If you have to blame anyone, blame Volcrian," the assassin replied.

Or I could blame you,
Sora thought bitterly, but she kept it to herself. No, this wasn't the assassin's fault. None of them could fight the wraith. Only her Cat's Eye. And she had waited too long.

"But what was that...thing?" she asked, a shudder passing through her. She could still feel its presence, a menacing shadow hiding between the floorboards, just out of sight. Her hand went to her necklace, remembering how she had destroyed it, trying to take comfort. "Was it a...a ghost? A demon?"

"Volcrian has many powerful spells," Crash finally said. "He uses blood to create monsters, servants. Most use animal sacrifices...but there are spells that require human blood, too. They call it black-blooded. Any spell that requires one of the races is forbidden...especially those that raise the dead."

Sora frowned. "Raise the dead?"

"Yes...." Crash's gaze dropped to the sheets. "That wraith was alive, once. In some ways, it still was when it attacked us. Perhaps the Cat's Eye is not as useful against such things." Crash met her eyes. "He's growing desperate."

Sora's eyes were wide. "So...so that wraith was a dead soul...."

"Brought back from the underworld. Yes."

"That's...that's terrifying." She blinked the tears from her eyes, remembering the fierce battle, Dorian's final moments on the field. A sudden fire lit within her—hatred. It was like a knife in her gut, far worse than her father's resentment or her fear of Crash. She knew it with absolute certainty. She hated Volcrian, loathed him, wanted him dead. She hoped that he would never find them. That he would perish somewhere in the mountains, lost and starving, eaten alive by wolves.

She shook her head. It was sickening, consuming. She didn't want to feel it, but the hatred was rock-solid in her gut.

"I could have done something," she finally said, unable to hold back the bitterness. She needed to confess. "I should have acted sooner. Saved him. It was in my power." Her throat closed painfully.

Then Crash did something unexpected.

He sat down on the bed, his hand landing close to her face, gazing down at her intently. For reasons unknown, Sora felt her breath catch, her chest constrict peculiarly. She wanted to look toward the wall, the ceiling, anywhere but those moss-green depths. It was like staring into a forest pond, algae grown across its surface, the glimmer of her own reflection.

"Listen to me," Crash said quietly. His voice was soft and rich, and her heart fluttered at the sound of it. "Only the future matters, Sora. Guilt is an illusion, a way of lingering on the past. You can't change what happened." He held her eyes, carving himself into her mind. "You are alive. That is what you should worry about. Your thoughts can torture you—but not the dead. They've moved on." And he touched her head softly, as though proving a point. "Let it go."

Sora couldn't speak—frankly, was having trouble breathing. Poignant words for an assassin, but they were not reassuring. Let what go? Her guilt? Her regret? Impossible. Dorian was gone forever—how was she supposed to let
that
go?

And what would an assassin know about grief? He didn't seem to care about killing her father, about the countless other victims he had murdered. Or did he think she had forgotten? She choked suddenly, full of anger, of inexpressible sorrow.

She closed her eyes, trying to hide her pain; she didn't want him to see her anymore, exposed and vulnerable. But one tear escaped and ran down her cheek.

His finger traced its path across her skin.

Then there was a knock at the door.

Crash's head snapped up. He stood up quickly. The door opened as he moved away from the bed. Sora watched him disappear out of her line of sight, and for a moment, she didn't want him to leave....

"Good morning, Crash," a woman's voice said from somewhere out of sight.

The assassin didn't respond, but she could feel it when he left the room. There was a gentle click as the door shut.

Footsteps approached her bed. Sora knew she was about to lay eyes on the person who had nursed her back to health. She fidgeted a little nervously.

The woman came into view and stood in the exact spot where Crash had been a moment before. Sora looked up. Her eyes widened. She was momentarily breathless.

"Hello," the woman said softly.

Sora couldn't speak.
By the Wind Goddess!
She looked up at the woman's face and felt like she was staring into a mirror. Aside from the subtle marks of age, the woman looked almost exactly like her. In fact, the resemblance was so uncanny, she could have been Sora's older sister, aunt, or maybe even....

No, it's impossible!

"Who...who are you?" she choked out. Once again she felt close to tears, but for an entirely different reason. This was too much.

"Sora," the woman said slowly. "I think you know who I am."

She shook her head, unable to admit it even to herself.

"My name is Lorianne. I am a Healer in the village. And...this might sound strange, but...I think I am your mother."

My mother?

Sora wasn't sure what she felt—disbelief, to be sure. Maybe a little nausea.

"You can't be my mother," she blurted out. The words tripped over her tongue. She could barely regain her breath. "My mother is gone...I mean, she left me a long time ago...it's impossible."

"Impossible for a girl who wears a Cat's Eye?"

Sora didn't know what to say or do. Her mind raced, staring at the curve of the woman's cheek. She blinked twice. Her hand flew to her necklace, forgetting her discomfort, the pull of her sore muscles. She ran her fingers over the smooth stone.

Suddenly, she remembered a conversation from very long ago, in a mapmaker's shop. Something about discipline...about needing a direction....

The pieces were all there; she just didn't want to put them in place. This had to be a joke. "It's impossible," she repeated in a shaking voice.

Unexpectedly, the woman smiled. There was kindness in her eyes. "That's quite a word, coming from you. Your friends told me of your journey through Fennbog." She raised an eyebrow. Sora almost remembered her expression, as though from another life. "Are you truly surprised to be here?"

Sora kept running her fingers over the stone. She shook her head again, this time less vehemently. How many times had she held the necklace, how many times had she thought of her mother? Yearned to find her? Her journey through the swamp, turning this way and that, fumbling through leagues of wilderness....