Ferran's Map

by

T. L. Shreffler

Copyright © 2015. Redistribution is
prohibited.

Published by The Runaway Pen.

Edited by Linda Jay.

Smashwords edition.

http://www.catseyechronicles.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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The Cat's Eye Chronicles

Sora's Quest
(Book #1)

Viper's Creed
(Book #2)

Volcrian's Hunt
(Book #3)

Ferran's Map
(Book #4)

Novellas

Caprion's Wings
(Book #3.5)

PROLOGUE

Grandmaster Natrix stood at the top of a
sandy ridge, the iron-gray ocean to her back. Heavy clouds covered
the sky, sending down flurries of snow. Below her, dozens of Named
assassins littered the training ground, practicing hand-to-hand
combat. The assassins worked tirelessly despite the weather,
bracing themselves against gusts of wind and using the ice to their
advantage. At this distance, they looked like black crickets
darting among the gray slush of the dunes.

As she watched, a second figure appeared on
the ridge beside her, materializing through the storm.

Her lip curled, her eyes still focused on
the training ground. “You’ve returned,” she said, as though musing
about the weather. “I wonder where you’ve been—he who once
dedicated his life to this colony.”

Grandmaster Cerastes raised a thin eyebrow.
He looked weary, his pale skin sallow. Gaunt cheekbones protruded
from an intelligent, angular face, matured by age. His deep-set
eyes gleamed with a poisonous light.

“Are you reprimanding me?” he said, a touch
amused, but mostly hostile.

Natrix gazed at him. She noted the ragged
condition of his black robes, the depressing downturn of his lips.
His hair was sleek and perfectly black, falling to his waist. A
strange scent tainted his clothes—the gritty musk of a city, and
the vague stench of humans and horses.

Then she nodded to the dunes below them,
focusing on one assassin in particular.

“Your Viper has become quite good,” she
said, shifting her weight from one hip to another.

She wore a close-fitting black shirt,
clasped with a vest. The Sixth Race was born of Fire and Darkness,
and was resistant to cold weather. Her tall black boots were made
of toughened hide, with no soles, allowing her feet to move freely.
A series of various-sized chakrams hung from her waist, steel rings
with edges as sharp as blades. They could be hurled with deadly
accuracy, slicing off heads and limbs with the force of her throw.
Tightly braided rows of black hair covered her head. Her eyes were
the bright green hue of aloe.

Cerastes followed her gaze without
comment.

A smirk came across her pale lips. “In your
absence, he has trained with Lachesis. Another few years and he
just might become a Grandmaster himself.”

Cerastes appeared impassive, but Natrix knew
the statement rankled him. Grandmasters did not like sharing
students, especially talented ones. “Has he unlocked the fifth
gate?” Cerastes asked quietly.

“No,” Natrix said, her eyes following the
figure of the Viper. “But he is close.”

Eight years had passed since the Naming of
the Viper. In that time, Natrix had watched Cerastes’ student
progress rapidly and tirelessly. He was far better than her own
savants
—even the Named Adder, her best student, who wielded
his saber with dexterous speed.

Assassins, especially Grandmasters, kept
their emotions under tight control. Yet bitterness had crept in
over the years, perhaps even jealousy. Natrix wished she could work
with such a motivated student, one who took his training into his
own hands, compelled by his own inner drive. Even without a
Grandmaster, even if the Hive did not exist, even if Viper were the
very first of the assassin race—she had little doubt he would be
able to unlock the seven gates. He harbored a talent that founded
tradition. He proved the Hive’s ways were not just fabrication, but
a true part of their nature.

And because of that realization, she
eventually lost her envy of Cerastes. The Viper's skill was not one
of superior instruction. Some assassins were simply born to the
task, gifted by the Dark God with deft hands and a keen mind.

She studied him on the training field below.
He moved like flowing water, using his opponent's energy to his
advantage, pulling his assailant forward and off-balance, then
striking with his entire body—foot, knee, hip, forearm, open palm.
The Adder twisted, and the Viper turned with him, able to
anticipate his opponent’s next move. He knocked the Adder to his
knees. As she watched, her own student was forced to the ground,
prostrate in surrender.

Cerastes turned away and walked across the
top of the ridge, moments away from vanishing again. Months had
passed since he had last appeared in their colony. Natrix wouldn’t
let him disappear so easily.

She cleared her throat. “The Hive wonders at
your absence,” she called out to him, a slight challenge to her
tone. “They are running out of patience and will erase your name
from the records of our colony. You will become a hermit master
like Lachesis, a ghost in the woods, all but forgotten.”

Cerastes paused, replying over his shoulder,
“What I do with my time is not the Hive's concern. My attention has
turned to greater matters.”

“The other Grandmasters don’t care about
your hobbies,” Natrix said bluntly. “You’ve shamed our traditions
by breaking the oath of a mentor.” She folded her arms. “They want
to know where you’ve been. Personally, I wonder at this path you’ve
chosen. Is it wise?”

Cerastes appeared unmoved.

Natrix felt a stirring of alarm. Did
Cerastes understand the severity of his absence? Why would a
Grandmaster abandon the Hive—his traditions, his reputation, all he
had ever achieved? “We were
savants
together, Cerastes,” she
reminded him. “We trained side by side. You mastered the ways of
our kind, and now, after a lifetime of dedication, you shun the
Hive so easily?”

Cerastes faced her fully, the shadow of a
sneer on his lips. “Perhaps if you knew more of our race’s
heritage, you would shun the Hive as well.”

Natrix hardened. “Our traditions have
survived for generations, since before the War of the Races.
Anything you learn out there,” she pointed to the invisible
distance, “will be distorted from the truth. We must serve our
colony and all those who live within it. I don’t know what you’re
searching for, Cerastes, but consider—if our ways are not enough
for you, nothing else will be, either. Ambition is a hunger that
can never be satisfied. It’s a dangerous path, not the way of an
assassin.”

“Ambition is not what drives me,” Cerastes
replied staunchly. “A thirst for knowledge, perhaps, but only in
search of higher truth.”

Natrix frowned. “Does nothing else matter to
you?” she asked. “What about the Viper? Have you no duty to your
own student? You swore to mentor him until he reached the fifth
gate. The boy relied on your instruction.” She shook her head
gravely. “Grandmasters are meant to teach. Instead, you hoard your
skill like the humans hoard gold. The Viper deserves better!”

“I owe him nothing,” Cerastes said coldly.
“He has made his way.”

Her eyes met his. “Perhaps—but it has been a
struggle. You broke your oath to him.” Natrix watched Cerastes
carefully, trying to read his face. She sensed discomfort in his
rigid stance. “For the last four years, you’ve hardly set foot in
our colony,” she pressed on. “You’ve forsaken your duty to the
Viper and the Hive. The Grandmasters won’t tolerate it. You must
understand what you are throwing away.”

Cerastes raised his eyebrow. “I didn’t come
here for a lecture, Natrix. My decisions are my own. I know the
sacrifice I am making.”

“Then why return here?” she repeated. “Why
stand on this ridge?” She gave him a searching look. “If you wish
to leave the Hive, why come back at all?”

Again, he said nothing.

Natrix suspected his reasons. As ruthless
and logical as a Grandmaster might be, the bond between mentor and
student was strong. Once broken, such intimate trust between
student and teacher could turn to powerful hate; Cerastes must know
that.

She pointed to the training field. “Our best
students shall one day become our greatest rivals.” Her eyes found
the Viper. “Will you let this seed grow wild? Did you not kill your
own Grandmaster, so many years ago? We studied together, Cerastes.
We won our Names the same year. We shared a lifetime in this
village. You are truly a brother to me.” She paused, then said
softly, “You are not as invincible as you think. Unless you fix
this, the Viper could be your undoing.”

Cerastes remained silent. They watched the
Viper sheath his dagger and turn away from his defeated opponent.
The young assassin crossed the training ground toward a fringe of
trees on its opposite side.

“You should keep good relations with him,”
Natrix said solemnly. “Some day he will be a Grandmaster, and you
will be old, and then you'll be that fool bleeding out in the
snow.” She pointed at the training field again, where the Adder now
sat holding his rib cage, his blood staining the ground.

A slow frown passed over Cerastes' face. He
gave Natrix one last look, then strode away, vanishing into the
ever-thickening gusts of snow.

* * *

Viper left the practice ground. He crossed
the sandy, slushy dunes to the hard-packed snow of the woods and
entered the barren forest, heading back to his village. The trees
and shrubs were stripped of leaves, comfortingly silent, like
gleaming skeletal hands. A series of animal tracks—from a gray
squirrel living in a nearby large knotted oak—crossed the path
before him. He caught sight of a fox in his white winter coat
crouching beneath a bush, its ears pointed forward with acute
concentration. As he watched, a small field mouse erupted from the
snow. The fox pounced but missed, then chased after it.

Viper removed his shirt as he walked,
letting the snowflakes strike his hot skin, invigorated from his
hours on the training ground. A steaming plume of vapor accompanied
each breath, visible on the chill air. His muscles sang from long
hours of practice, pulsing with each heartbeat. Now was the ideal
time to meditate.
Winter is a time of reflection,
Lachesis
taught.
A time of frozen streams, of suspension. When the
outside world is dormant, we are better able to focus on that which
lies within us.

Lachesis spoke of the seven gates: physical
locks born into each member of the Sixth Race to help contain the
full power of their demon. A shard of the Dark God lived within
each of the Unnamed, a monster of destructive power seething just
beneath their skin. Every now and then, children were born with
their gates unlocked; they usually died within a few weeks, if not
days. If the demon overtook their weak body, its power dissolved
the child’s flesh, heart and lungs, killing the vessel and
itself.

Assassins of the Hive were trained to unlock
those gates, to eventually master their demon—or meld with it. Each
gate brought Viper closer to his full evolution—his highest
potential—and greater prestige within the Hive.

The first four gates were the easiest to
unlock. Most assassins accomplished that before they were
eighteen.

The first gate, that of the mind, allowed
Viper to hear the demon's voice in his thoughts.

Opening the second gate allowed him to
channel the demon's strength and endurance into his physical
body.

The third gate, that of magic, had its
limitations—yet he was able to summon his shadow from the ground,
to use as a cloak, a means of defense, or for minor spells.

Finally, the fourth gate was that of form:
becoming the demon, allowing it to overtake his body and physically
manifest. Only after opening the fourth gate could one become a
Named assassin. Since the age of fourteen, Viper had been able to
manifest his demon, and over time, he had become acquainted with
its ways.