Ferran's Map (12 page)

Sora gave her mother a reassuring squeeze.
“You did everything you could,” she murmured.

Her mother smiled sadly, then returned below
deck to clean up her workroom.

Sora sank back against the railing with a
weary sigh, and enjoyed a moment of silence. She still hadn’t fully
recovered from her encounter with the
garrolithe
. Retiring
early to bed sounded very appealing.

Then an unexpected light entered her vision.
Caprion flew down from the crow’s nest and landed nearby. She still
wasn’t used to him just falling from the sky, and she jumped
slightly, taken aback.

He turned to fix her with an intense,
worried look. “I need to speak to you about something,” he said in
a hushed voice.

Sora sighed.
What now?
she thought.
“Can't it wait for tomorrow?” she asked, exhausted. “We found the
two missing Dracians. They were dead by the time we arrived. Sadly,
there’s nothing else to be done….”

“It’s about Crash,” Caprion said
hurriedly.

Sora frowned. “What is it?”

“After you left the village, he went into
the woods. I was circling overhead, keeping watch, and I followed
him—”

“Sora!” a voice suddenly interrupted. She
glanced across the deck and saw Tristan striding toward her. She
stared at him, nonplussed. The Dracian was a handsome young man, a
year older than herself, with pronounced dimples and a strong cleft
chin, straight white teeth and a mop of sleek red hair.

He observed her annoyed expression and his
grin faltered, if only for a second. “Join us in the mess hall,” he
invited. “Ferran is telling quite a story!”

“I was there, remember?” she said. Then she
glared. “And he’s not the only one telling tall tales aboard this
ship. I’ve heard a lot of strange rumors going around. Apparently,
you started them!”

Tristan gave her an odd look. “Oh, come now!
What rumors are these?”

Sora crossed her arms and waited.

“You mean about the assassin?” he relented.
He searched her eyes. “Trust me,” he said, “you deserve much better
than him.”

Sora couldn’t believe his gall. “Then you
admit it!” she declared. “You’ve been talking about me to the other
Dracians! And about my own personal,
private
business!” She
silently berated herself for ever confiding in him.

“He’s a demon, Sora,” Tristan said, as
though telling her the sky was blue. He reached out and caught her
hand. She tried to wrench it away, but his grip tightened. “I was
doing you a favor. Maybe if you saw how the rest of the ship
reacted, you’d understand. The Sixth Race are toxic. They feed on
death. They’re not meant to have friendships or…or lovers.” He let
the word hang for a moment.

Sora felt her cheeks flush. She became
acutely aware of Caprion standing behind her, listening to the
whole exchange.

Then a charming smile came over Tristan’s
face. “Dracians, on the other hand, know how to treat a lady.”

Sora’s embarrassment shifted to anger. “By
spreading nasty rumors?” she replied hotly. “Yes, you’re quite the
charmer.”

Tristan frowned. “Is that sarcasm?”

“No!” she snapped, pulling her hand away
from him, and stalked off across the deck, heading for her cabin.
She passed Caprion on the way and shot him another hot glare. “I’ve
heard enough bad news about Crash for one day,” she snarled. “Keep
your nasty opinions to yourself!” She hoped neither of them
followed her. With a headache growing behind her eyes, she’d had
more than enough excitement for one day.

She could sense Caprion’s eyes following her
and glanced back briefly. Irritated, the Harpy ran his hand through
his hair, launched upward and flew back to the crow’s nest, perhaps
to speak with Burn.

Sora went below deck, experiencing an
immediate sense of relief, and entered her cabin, hoping to find
some peace and quiet.

* * *

Crash stood at the stern of the
Dawn
Seeker
, gazing over the river as league after league of water
slowly vanished behind him. His eyes scanned the tall trees, the
muddy banks. The Shade could be watching him at this very moment.
Why don’t they attack?
he wondered.
What are they waiting
for?

He could take it as a good sign. Perhaps the
Shade didn’t have the manpower to attack Silas’ ship and the
Dracian crew. He thought of their small band of warriors: a Healer,
protected by the grace of the Goddess; two Cats-Eye bearers, a
Harpy seraphim, a Wolfy mercenary and himself. Perhaps the odds
were in their favor.

Somehow, though, he doubted that. Not with
Cerastes at the head of the Shade. No, they were planning
something, but he didn’t know what. The feeling of uncertainty left
him restless and uncomfortable. He didn’t like being taken by
surprise, or not knowing the motives of his enemy.

He thought of the unknown assassin he had
encountered in the woods, and considered Cerastes’ offer to help
him unlock the fifth gate. He didn’t dare take that bribe
seriously, not knowing if it came from Cerastes himself, or from
another puppet of the Shade, bent on luring him into the fold.

Still, he couldn’t deny that the thought of
continuing his practice—not just maintaining his skills, but
actually improving them—was more attractive than he wanted to
admit. Opening the fifth gate would mean he would have a greater
capacity to work magic, and the ability to open shadow portals, to
effortlessly travel across hundreds of miles in the blink of an
eye. It would bring him that much closer to the power of a
Grandmaster, which had been his ultimate goal before he left the
Hive. He had never quite made peace with abandoning his
training.

Of course, such skills could not be attained
without a price. Pursuing the darkness changed a man. With each
gate that was unlocked, he would lose another piece of himself. He
had seen it happen to Cerastes over time. The extent of his
Grandmaster’s coldness became unnerving, particularly as he delved
past the sixth gate. His ability to manipulate and end innocent
lives, to gaze upon both good and evil with detached indifference,
showed how deeply the demon had influenced his psyche. Crash had
watched him slowly become empty, devoid of emotion or empathy.
Cerastes never seemed to regret losing that piece of his
humanity.

A soft glow teased the corner of his eye.
Crash turned, already knowing who stood behind him.

Caprion hovered several inches above the
deck, his feet not quite touching the wooden boards. He carried
himself with a certain gravity, his arms crossed before him, his
face stern. The Harpy’s pale hair moved slightly in the cold wind.
His violet eyes appeared as luminescent as his skin.

Crash faced the Harpy fully. “What?”

“You know what,” Caprion said. To others,
the Harpy’s voice might sound soothing and melodious, but to Crash,
it felt like a fork scraping a plate. He clenched his jaw in
irritation.

“I saw you in the forest,” the Harpy
continued, his eyes narrowing. “I saw you meet with another of your
own.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
Crash said flatly.

“Oh, but you do,” Caprion murmured, and took
a step forward, closing the space between them.
Punching
distance,
Crash thought. “I want to know who you met with in
the forest.”

“You mistook what you saw.”

“Perhaps,” Caprion said in cold amusement,
“but I’m sure the others on this ship would be curious to hear
about it. Particularly Sora. She’s having a hard time trusting you
these days.”

Crash’s face darkened. “Is that a
threat?”

“No,” Caprion said. “Just stating facts. You
met with a member of the Shade. I’m fairly certain of that. I’ve
learned as much about you as I could from Burn and the others, and
exiles of the Hive don’t stay in touch with old friends.”

“I wasn’t exiled,” Crash murmured. “And what
do you know of the Hive? Or the Shade, for that matter?”

Caprion raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know
much about the Shade,” he mused, “but the Hive? Everything.” He
continued bluntly, “Your kind are not a mystery to me. You might be
able to intimidate your companions easily enough, but I have killed
demons before, and I won’t hesitate to do so again.”

Crash looked the Harpy up and down and
sneered, “If you’re so eager to kill me, then why haven’t you?”

“Because I’m betting you will lead us to the
Shade once we reach The City of Crowns,” Caprion murmured.
“And…because Sora, for whatever reason, is fond of you. But that
fondness won’t save your life if you become a threat. I have met
innocents of your race—those worthy of redemption. But your
darkness has matured past that point. I watch you struggle with
your demon. I watch it waver in your shadow. I saw it almost slip
out of you in the village. You are a danger to your
companions.”

A self-deprecating smile touched Crash’s
lips. “You don’t know me at all.”

“Then tell me, if you’re so innocent—what
does the Shade want with you? Who did you meet in the woods?”

Crash leaned back against the railing, no
longer concerned. “Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t anticipate they
would try to make contact.” He paused ironically, then said, “It’s
quite
the mystery.”

The Harpy stared at him long and hard.

“I’m not a member of the Shade,” Crash
emphasized.

“Hmmm,” Caprion grunted. “Surely they
offered you something? Some sort of bribe for the weapons? Or for
information?”

Crash shrugged. His guard went up. He wasn’t
a fool—this man was not his friend, and he didn’t know what to
expect if he told the truth. “I’m not who you think I am, Harpy,”
he snapped. “Your suspicions are off-base. Go find someone else to
spy on.”

Caprion glared at him. “You wouldn’t hide
the encounter from your fellows if it were innocent,” he said. “I
don’t know what you’re plotting, Viper, but I know you’re lying to
me. I’ll be watching.”

Crash shrugged again. “Watch all you like,”
he said. “And send my greetings to the Matriarch, when next you
conference with her.”

Caprion’s eyes widened marginally.

“I’m not the only one with secrets aboard
this ship.” Crash turned and left the bow, heading to the cabins
below deck. He could feel the Harpy’s angry gaze and allowed
himself a cold sense of satisfaction. Let Caprion chew on that for
a while! He had caught the Harpy muttering up his sleeve several
times, involved in suspicious one-sided conversations. He had no
doubt the Harpy general was still in league with the Matriarch. It
made far more sense than Caprion’s well-intentioned-tourist excuse.
So sunstones could be used for long-distance communication after
all.

Crash relaxed as he entered the shadows
below deck. Caprion was wasting his time; Crash hardly knew more
than he was willing to tell about the Shade. The Harpy had a
motive, and while he didn’t consider the man a threat, he could see
potential problems arising in the future, particularly if the
Matriarch was keeping tabs on their little venture.
Time will
tell,
he thought, and headed below to the cabins.

* * *

Close to midnight, Crash sat in his cramped
cabin fully awake, slowly polishing his Named dagger. It didn’t
need more cleaning, but he often polished while deep in thought.
The lethal blade ended in a curved trailing point, perfectly
balanced, made for piercing and tearing flesh with optimum
efficiency. A bronze snake wrapped around its handle, tarnished
with age. Only the sound of creaking timbers met his ears.

Reflecting on his interaction with the
Shade, he could only draw one conclusion: they wanted him to join
their ranks. Badly. Which meant they must not have many trained
assassins in their midst. Why else seek out a disgraced member of
the Hive—someone so willfully insubordinate?

Or perhaps that was Cerastes’ game. Perhaps
the Shade only recruited those who were already separated from
their colonies, who were desperate to find a place to belong. The
Hive was not so much a single place, but a cluster of separate
communities kept hidden from the larger world—even from each other.
To leave the Hive was not just to leave one’s home, but to abandon
a densely interwoven web of rituals, codes and hidden
hierarchies.

His kind seemed solitary on the surface, but
no assassin of the Sixth Race was truly meant to live on his own.
They needed the Hive to survive—to make sense of their lives. Five
years had passed since Crash abandoned that world, and he still
felt its loss, a certain lack of roots and boundaries, as though a
great tree had been torn up from the ground.

Until now Cerastes considered him dead, so
hadn’t tried to track him down. But perhaps the Grandmaster still
felt a bond with his old student. Why else would he risk exposing
the Shade just to make contact? It seemed a bold move, even for a
man who feared nothing and no one.

Crash pondered that, darkly. Was Cerastes’
confidence misplaced? He still felt a deeply ingrained need to
shelter the Hive, to keep the secrets of his people hidden, despite
the Shade’s plot. He hadn’t told anyone of his encounter, and
didn’t intend to. But that didn’t mean he was loyal to Cerastes’
cause.

They threatened you,
a soft voice
murmured inside him.
They will hurt the ones you’ve adopted as
your own.
He thought of Sora’s questioning glance in the woods
as they walked back to the
Dawn Seeker
, and felt another
surge of anger toward the Shade.
I can protect her,
he
thought. He didn’t know exactly
how
to protect her, but
introducing her to his past would only put her at further risk.

I shouldn’t have touched her,
he
thought, remembering their interaction in the woods. He gripped his
knife in frustration. He had acted foolishly, holding her hand in
the open forest, so close to where the Shade confronted him. But
her nearness made him act impulsively, made him feel fierce and
invincible, able to throw caution to the wind. She summoned an
addictive heat in his body, a wave of rising tension that begged to
be released.