Volcrian's Hunt (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) (20 page)

It was cold underground, and Sora found herself rubbing her arms, staving off the chill. The mouth of the cave became quickly invisible, lost in the earth. She tried not to glance over her shoulder at the darkness behind them. Distant sounds reached her ears: the vague drip of water, the disconcerting scratch of rocks. Pebbles falling. Rodents scurrying away from their torchlight.

After a while, Laina took her hand. The young girl was trembling. Sora wondered if they should have left her with the Dracians; perhaps it would have been a good idea. It hadn't occurred to her at the time; she had been too entranced with the caves.
Too late to send her back now,
she reasoned. They had come this far—she didn't want to turn back.

No one spoke. It was impossible to gauge how much time had passed. After a long while, the slope of the caves evened out, flattening and widening into small chamber-like caverns. The tracks came to an end, giving way to smooth rock. They passed another pile of mining carts in astonishingly good condition, protected from the elements. All were empty.

Crash lit a second torch. The flames revealed high domed ceilings, stretching up into the earth. Lava rock framed the walls, a smooth tan color. Stalagmites clung to the shadows, still dripping with water. The light danced off the irregular surfaces, casting oblong shadows, as though the rock itself was moving.

They passed through countless earthen chambers, strung together like beads on a necklace. Crash took the lead with the torch, following the path that the miners had made. There were still hooks embedded in the rock, places where they had once tied ropes or chains. She wondered how many men had worked these tunnels—how many Harpies had watched over them, overseeing the slaves, carrying whips and clubs, punishing them. How many had died under these conditions? A chill moved through her at the thought. The Harpies were said to be the First Race, the most advanced at the time of the War. And, in her mind, perhaps the most ruthless.

Then, suddenly, Crash came to a stop. Sora almost stumbled into his back.

"What? What is it?" Laina asked nervously.

Crash cursed under his breath. Burn left his place in the rear and edged around them, looking over the assassin's head. He pointed at the far wall. “Is that a door?” he finally asked.

“It looks like one,” Crash replied, then continued forward, raising the torch high. Sora craned her neck to see around the two men.

The final cavern was smooth and carved, chiseled out by hand. At its far side was, indeed, a door. A tall, granite double-door with odd carvings and runes etched into its face. Sora and Crash approached it slowly, holding the torch high, examining its surface. She couldn't read the language—perhaps it was the Old Tongue like the template outside. Some of the runes resembled trees or stars, curling upward in a clumsy mosaic. There was an especially large drawing toward the bottom that looked like an animal. She recognized four legs and a long, curved back.

Crash passed the torch to Burn, then turned back to the door. He ran a hand over its surface. It was in perfect condition, untouched by time, as smooth as the day it had been created.

"It's written in the Old Tongue," he murmured.

“What does it say?” Sora asked. At Crash's silence, she turned to look at Burn. “Can you read it?”

The large Wolfy was gazing at the scripture. “Some of it is the Harpy language,” he said. “I can't read all of it.” He walked to the base of the door and brushed some of the dust from its surface. "
The War is won, and we have sealed this door,
" he murmured. “
Only a bearer can lift the ward
.” He continued to frown, his eyes searching the letters. “Beware the
garrolithe
.”

“
Garrolithe
?” Sora echoed. She turned to look at Burn. “What's that?”

Burn shrugged uncomfortably. “I don't know.”

Sora blinked. They stood in silence, staring at the door. No one moved.

"Now what?" Laina finally asked. Her voice echoed around the chamber, small and thin.

“We have to open the door somehow,” Sora said. She gnawed her lip in thought, stepping back, gazing up at the giant portal. The doors were almost three times her height. She couldn't imagine opening them by force.

“They must have sealed the Cat's Eye away,” Crash spoke. The volume of his voice was unexpected. Sora realized that they had all been whispering, as though they didn't want to be overheard.

She glanced at him. The assassin stared at the letters that Burn had read, a frown on his face. “After the War was won, the stones were too dangerous to keep using, so the humans threw them back into the ocean and sealed off this cave.”

“And only a bearer can open the door,” Sora murmured. A thought crept through her mind, and the inscription started to make sense. “The ward is magic,” she said. “Only a Cat's Eye can dispel it.”

The three turned to look at her. Burn stepped away from the door and Laina moved too, staying close to his side. “It could work,” the Wolfy said. He nodded to her. “Try it.”

Sora grimaced. Anxiety twisted in her stomach, a strange foreboding. She wondered what they would meet on the other side—if the caves had been sealed off for more reasons than just the War.
What is a
garrolithe
? She couldn't answer that question. It didn't stop her imagination, though. Was it a spell, a land formation, or a creature...? When she looked at the doors, she suddenly felt as though something stared right back, waiting for her on the other side.

She put her hand against the stone, this time full of purpose. The rock was cool to the touch, grainy, strong. She closed her eyes, reaching inward, summoning her Cat's Eye with her thoughts.

She wasn't sure what to expect, but the reaction happened immediately.

There was a flash.

For a moment her body tensed, her head tilted back—then she was gone, flying through the veins of the earth, seeping into the rock as though part of it. Her senses reached out, probing, hunting, searching for something. Her Cat's Eye seemed to know immediately where they were, what they were doing. It spread outward like a net, feverishly moving through the stone.

Then, suddenly, they made contact. Sora couldn't explain it in any other way. There was the sense of running up against something. She felt jolted, shocked by energy. It moved over her skin, cool and powerful.

Welcome.
The voice was not her Cat's Eye, though it spoke in the same way. She felt as though it came from the earth, from something far deeper and older than she could fathom. Her body vibrated with it.

Her hands flew from the doors as though they'd been burned. She felt herself slam back into her body, ripped away from the earth. Sora stumbled backward, shaking, completely unnerved. The voice seemed to linger, warming her like a fire.

Crash caught her arm, keeping her from falling to the ground. Her head swam. She looked around, remembering where she was.

“What happened?” the assassin asked.

"I'm not sure," she muttered dazedly.

"The doors aren't opening!" Laina wailed. "It didn't work!"

Sora stared at the rock without truly seeing it, her body still humming from the strange voice. She waited breathlessly.

Suddenly, a low rumble shook the cavern. It started deep in the ground, working up through their feet, then to the walls. Bits of dust showered them, and Sora hunched forward, expecting the ceiling to collapse at any second. The stone creaked and moaned. The four travelers tensed, each staring upward, bracing themselves for the worst.

Then the doors slowly started to inch open. Finally, after several long moments, they stood ajar. There was just enough room for Burn to fit through comfortably. Sora had a feeling that this was not a coincidence.

White light poured through the opening, momentarily blinding them. Sora squinted against it, raising a hand to shield her face.
What? Light?

Burn let out a long sigh of relief. “Looks like you did it,” he said, his hand touching her arm. “Let's go.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SILAS ESCORTED BOTH of them to the basement—or bilge—of the building; a dark, airless underbelly with no windows and hardly any ventilation. Here the sick men were laid out on cots. There was evidence of food trays and water basins. They had been somewhat cared for, but Lori doubted the quality of care in a pirate city.

“We need to move them to a better ventilated area,” she said immediately. She sniffed the air, noting the faint, musty scent of mold.

Silas looked doubtful. “The illness will spread to the rest of the ship.”

She shook her head. “Not if we're careful. We'll work on them one at a time in an isolated room.”

Silas still hesitated. Lori gave him a firm glare. “You asked me to save your men. Are you going to help me or not?”

At that, the captain conceded, spreading his arms in a slight bow. A wry grin quirked his lips. “Of course, madam. Anything to assist a Healer. Do you have any other requests?”

Lori didn't miss his subtle sarcasm. She ignored it. “Have three of your sailors cover their mouths with towels or cloth. They need to lift the first patient upstairs to a room with a large window and sunlight, preferably facing the ocean. And I'll need plenty of herbs—you might want to write this down.”

Silas raised an eyebrow. “I have a keen memory,” he replied dryly, and waited.

“Alright,” Lori continued, walking along a row of cots, noting her patients' symptoms. “I will need elderberry, yarrow, rosemary, licorice root and chamomile, a full ounce each. This will increase their sweating and expel the toxins from the body. And for their fever blisters, I will require lavender, peppermint and lemon, enough to make about four-quarts of paste. Also, a jar of honey and several gallons of fresh drinking water.” Her eyes lingered on the men's cracked, blistered lips; the harsh rasp of their breathing. They were terribly dehydrated. “Aloe,” she said as an afterthought. “For their flaking skin.”

Silas frowned at her. “Rosemary, chamomile, honey and water....” he paused. “I'll be back with a piece of paper.”

Lori smiled. “Quick as you can.”

Silas grimaced at her, then turned and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Ferran laughed softly from his position at the side of the room. “Very bold of you. It looks like Captain Silas doesn't like taking orders,” he mentioned. He leaned up against a wall, a toothpick in his mouth, idly gazing at the sick men.

“He's a stubborn one,” Lori agreed, preoccupied.

“That was pretty impressive, you know,” Ferran said suddenly. He gazed away from her, at the cot immediately to his left.

She glanced up at him, surprised by the compliment. She usually received praise from farmers and merchants, but coming from Ferran, it felt different.

“This disease looks terrible,” he continued. “If you weren't here, I would write them off for dead.” He met her gaze.

Lori was struck by the irony. “Ferran,” she began slowly, “if you weren't here, I'd be useless. All I'm doing is treating their symptoms. To fully recover, they need your Cat's Eye.”

He cocked his head to one side, considering her words. “Eh,” he finally shrugged. “I suppose you're right. But I stand by what I said.”

Lori grinned.

Silas and his men arrived a minute later with cloths tied around their lower faces. Silas brought a sheaf of parchment, a quill and ink. He jotted down her list of ingredients and then quickly left for the kitchens. Meanwhile, the sailors lifted her first patient and carried him out into the hallway. Lori followed after them down the corridor, then up a short flight of stairs to the first floor. They entered a small room at the rear corner of the ship. A large window faced the ocean. She opened it, allowing in the brisk, fresh air.

The sailors laid the man on the bed. Lori had them wash their hands in a basin of warm water, then sent them into the hallway. “We'll need you when we are finished. Don't stray too far,” she said. The sailors nodded.

She shut the door firmly, then turned back to their patient, already thinking ahead. “When Sora used her necklace against the illness, she had to place her hand over—”

“I know,” Ferran said, gently cutting her off. He was standing next to the bed, looking down at the sick man intently. The only sound in the room was the man's raspy breath. Even at this distance, Lori could hear the fluid in his lungs. He was the worst of the lot, perhaps the first to become ill. Large welts covered his arms and legs. His lips were chapped and blistered, sallow skin and hollow cheeks.

Lori watched Ferran closely. When Sora used her Cat's Eye, she usually closed her eyes, at times placing a hand on the necklace. Ferran did no such thing. He used the stone much more naturally, passing his cuffed hand over the body. The stone flared up brightly and a red glow spread around his fingers. After a moment, he placed his palm over the man's heart.

Immediately, the sailor jolted upward, going rigid, but Ferran pushed him firmly back down. Lori took a step back despite herself. Tendrils of darkness began seeping from the man's mouth and nose. With a burst of harsh crimson light, the Cat's Eye pulled the ropes of darkness into itself, drawing them from the man's body. It was far less violent than when Sora had done it. In her case, the tendrils had spewed from the farmer's mouth, landing across the room like a pile of rotted worms.