Ferran's Map (8 page)

Finally they reached the village. Crash
motioned for them to crouch behind a row of thick bushes. They
peered between the shrubs. Sora waited for a sign of life—the shout
of voices, the laughter of children, a barking dog, anything—but
there was only silence. Even the birds were quiet. It left her
chilled.

To her eyes, the village looked like it was
home to nomads and gypsies. Unpaved roads cut through a cluster of
shacks and shanties with little rhyme or reason. She had heard of
wandering river-folk inhabiting the Crown’s Rush; wayfarers who
lived on giant rafts of misshapen boards, who steered with slender
oars and lived in lean-to cabins with canvas roofs. She had never
met such people, but looking at the haphazard arrangement of wooden
buildings, their roofs little more than thick oilcloth, she could
only imagine a large group had settled here in an attempt at
civilization. It would explain the village’s isolated
location—hidden deep in the forest, yet close enough to a river to
travel easily. They probably traded downstream at other established
towns. This way, they avoided the King’s land-tax.

The woman by the riverbanks must have been
desperate for help. Anyone who found this little town could report
it to the King’s guard and initiate a raid. Most would be
imprisoned or perhaps even executed, depending on the extent of
their crimes.

A rustle of branches and flurry of leaves
announced Caprion’s landing. He appeared through the foliage,
emanating a slight glow. Sora saw his nostrils flare as he inhaled
the rank stench of the woods.

“Where did you last see the Dracians?” Sora
asked quietly. The village looked completely abandoned.

“On the opposite side of town,” Caprion
said, indicating the deserted streets. “I didn’t spot them on my
last pass-over. They might have left the area.” He rubbed his hands
over his arms as though staving off a chill. He seemed
uncomfortable on the ground, shifting from foot to foot.
It must
be the forest,
Sora thought. Perhaps the power of the plague
was already affecting him.

“They could be dead,” Crash offered.

Sora wrinkled her nose at him. To her
knowledge, the plague didn’t work that fast—unless it had grown
stronger than before. She thought of the rabid aggression of the
woman by the river. If the Dracians weren’t dead, they might be in
a similar state.
Dangerous,
she thought.

“Shall we look for them?” she suggested.

“Looks safe enough,” Ferran muttered around
his reed.

“For you, perhaps,” Caprion replied. “I’m
not immune to the plague. This place is tainted by the Dark God’s
essence. I can’t stay on the ground.”

“Then you can keep watch from above,” Sora
suggested. “If you see anything suspicious, just call down to
us.”

Caprion shook his head. “I think I’ll sweep
over the forest once more, see if they haven’t traveled into the
woods. They might be walking back to the river on foot.”

“I thought you said they were deranged?”
Crash asked darkly.

“Exactly,” Caprion agreed. “They’re a danger
to the ship. I’ll scan the area and make sure they haven’t wandered
off.” Then he launched back into the air, flying up through the
trees. He seemed relieved to be leaving the ground. Sora watched
him go.

“Useless,” Crash muttered under his breath.
Then he turned to a large pine tree overgrown with ivy. He started
climbing quickly and easily up the trunk. Chunks of dry rot came
away under his hands but hardly slowed his pace. He reached the
first branch a good dozen feet above the ground, then continued to
a higher perch.

Sora shared a questioning glance with
Ferran. Finally, Crash stood perhaps three dozen feet above the
ground. At this height, he had a good vigil of the entire town.

Finally, he pointed and called down, “There
is a large building on the opposite end with a shape in front of
the door—perhaps a collapsed villager. That would be a place to
start looking.”

Ferran yelled back, “Are you coming with
us?”

“You have two Cat’s-Eye stones,” he replied.
“I’ll keep watch for now.”

Sora felt somewhat relieved. She had been on
the verge of asking Caprion to stay, but Crash was an even better
lookout. Caprion was still adjusting to the mainland, and this was
his first encounter with the plague. She trusted Crash’s experience
much more.

“Let’s go,” she said determinedly, and drew
her staff from the sling across her back. The witch-wood felt heavy
and reliable in her hands.

Sora and Ferran strode side-by-side into the
town. She felt tense and anxious, but Ferran walked in a casual
way, as though taking a nice afternoon stroll. No matter where he
went, he gave off an air of confidence, never rushed or hurried.
Sora slowly relaxed as they walked further into the village. They
didn’t speak; the hollow town didn’t seem to permit it.

She vigilantly searched the houses, pausing
to gaze through a few smudged windows, looking for any sign of
inhabitants. Several clotheslines swayed gently in the breeze,
strung up between buildings. Most doors were closed, but a few had
been blown open by the wind; piles of leaves were accumulating
inside the darkened rooms.

Sora and Ferran walked through the ghost
town without incident. As they neared the far side of the village,
Sora could see the building Crash first indicated. It was by far
the most complex structure: a full-sized townhouse that must have
served many purposes: meeting hall, schoolhouse, hospice. The brick
walls looked sturdy and fairly new; mismatched tin sheets covered
the roof. A wooden emblem of the Wind Goddess hung above the large
oak double doors, and several wind chimes adorned the roof’s
overhang, clanging hollowly in the breeze. The emblem and bells
looked much newer than the rest of the building. Sora wondered if
the townsfolk had gathered here after the plague broke out, and had
prayed to the Goddess for mercy and healing.

She wasn’t as superstitious as most country
folk. She knew a body must be healed through medicine; prayer was a
spiritual reprieve, but miracles were not always granted. At least
not the kind the townsfolk needed.

As they approached, she saw the figure of a
man collapsed outside the front door. From a distance, he appeared
more like a sack of flour or grain, so covered in dirt that his
entire face was brown.
Caprion must have missed him from
above
, she thought. As they neared, she could make out a wild
bush of red hair and a fierce, tangled beard. Sora wavered in shock
as she recognized the first of the two missing Dracians. His body
was slumped to one side, half-fallen on the ground as though he was
asleep, and his skin had the pale-white hue of a fresh corpse.

Her stomach churned as she neared him. She
had seen corpses before, far too many, especially during her battle
with Volcrian. She didn’t need to check the Dracian’s body to know
he was dead. As she paused next to him, a great pit of sadness
opened within her. She recognized him from the ship, though she
didn’t know him by name. One of Tristan’s friends.
He died
within hours of contracting the plague,
she thought. How was
that possible? When she first came across the disease, it took a
week or more before a man’s life ended.

And where was the second Dracian?

She and Ferran turned to look at the front
door of the building, which swung slightly on its hinges. The wind
chimes clinked above them, a lonely, muffled sound. Sora’s skin
prickled. She had the sudden desire to leave the village as quickly
as possible and never return. Somewhere deep in her mind, she felt
her Cat’s Eye stir, but it quickly returned to silence.

She didn’t want to open those doors.

Luckily, Ferran did. With a sigh that said
Well, nothing else for it,
he reached up, took the heavy
brass handle and dragged the door open as it screeched
terribly.

Sora was immediately struck by a sickening
smell, far worse than the decaying forest. This stench of rotting
bodies, damp, sullen and bitter immediately brought bile to her
throat. A burst of flies escaped through the door, swarming up
around the rooftops. Several flies immediately dropped to the
ground, as though struck dead by the light of the sun.

Ferran met her gaze. “You don’t have to come
in,” he offered.

Sora considered for a moment. She really
didn’t want to see any more corpses. Yet a morbid curiosity grew
within her, a question she couldn’t deny.
What happened
here?

She shook her head and wordlessly followed
him.

They entered the building gingerly and stood
just inside the front doorway. Bleak midday light filtered through
a series of tall, slanted windows. Once inside the dusty room, she
could see long rows of benches stacked near the walls. The floor
was filled with cots and cushions, blankets and pillows. Wind
chimes hung from the rafters and burned incense stained the
floor.

Everywhere, there were corpses. Men, women,
and children; infants, adolescents, elderly. Pets—over a dozen cats
and dogs, a few goats and pigs. All killed by the plague.

Sora took a step back. Families of the sick
must have gathered here, trying to care for their loved ones,
unknowingly exposing themselves to the Dark God’s taint. Before
long, the entire town must have been affected. The woman lying near
death on the banks of the Little Rain probably went for help; who
knew how long she had waited? Sora looked around. Some bodies were
stiff with rigor mortis, their cold hands desperately clutching
each other: husbands embracing wives and wives gripping children.
They probably died just a few days ago. The smell was intense, but
nothing like what it would be in another day or two. Their flesh
appeared mostly intact, except for the blackened nails and flaky,
patchy skin: telltale signs of the Dark God’s taint.

“We’re too late,” she said softly, gagging
on her own words. She put her arm up to her mouth.

Ferran strolled further into the room and
prodded one of the bodies with his boot. “Your mother isn’t going
to like this,” he murmured. His face twisted against the stench. He
glanced around one last time before turning back to her. “We’ve
seen enough. Time to go.”

As though summoned by his voice, something
stirred at the back of the room. She heard a few soft thumps, then
the low scrape of a bench moving.

Ice slid down Sora’s spine.
Impossible
—by no means could anything be alive here. She
clutched her staff firmly in hand, her ears straining as she caught
the slight sound of rustling fabric. The wind?

“What’s that?” she asked, hushed. Her heart
began to pound.

Ferran turned toward the noise and took a
few more steps. Then he paused, his eyes narrowed.

“Get out,” he said abruptly.

Sora frowned and hesitantly took a step
back. “What is it?”

“Sora, get out now!” he commanded, raising
his left hand in front of him. The Cat’s Eye gleamed at his wrist
and a shield of red light fell in front of them. At that moment,
several shapes prowled forward from the shadows. It took a long
moment for Sora to recognize the creatures as wild dogs. Pus oozed
from their eyes and ears; their fur was wet and matted from some
unknown fluid. Her Cat’s Eye jingled maddeningly and she knew the
dogs were completely contaminated by the plague.

As Sora stepped backward, with several
guttural roars the pack of diseased hounds lunged toward Ferran
with rabid energy. He could never take on so many animals at one
time. She couldn’t leave him.

“Ferran!” she shouted, then swung her staff
at a nearby hound. The blow should have snapped the creature’s
back, but it took the hit without flinching, then turned on her,
snarling.

“Use your Cat’s Eye!” Ferran yelled. Several
frenzied dogs converged on him. Ferran passed his left hand through
the air as though gathering a handful of invisible ropes. Then he
made a powerful pulling gesture. The first three hounds stumbled
forward, their jaws stretched open, piercing shrieks coming from
their throats. Strands of darkness shot from their gaping mouths as
though they had been yanked out by Ferran’s fist. His Cat’s Eye
absorbed the dark magic, sucking the cords into itself with an
ear-splitting
snap!

Sora stared in mingled shock and awe. She
had used her Cat’s Eye many times—but never with such masterful
control.

Following his example, she turned to three
more encroaching hounds that snarled and snapped at her heels. She
held them at bay with her staff while she reached into her mind,
begging her necklace to respond, desperate for its reply. Finally,
she heard a dull jingling in her ears and the necklace glowed
faintly at her neck. Green light surrounded her body, as a shield.
She tried to reach for the hounds as she had seen Ferran do, but it
seemed impossible—she didn’t have his power of command over her
stone.

My staff,
she thought. Witchwood held
magical properties, and she had used it once before to channel the
Cat’s Eye. Sora focused her thoughts, trying to direct the stone
with her mind. When her staff glowed green in her hands, she swung
it at the hounds and struck the nearest one across the muzzle, then
swiftly struck the next two dogs, one in the ribs and the other in
the chest. At each impact of her weapon, dark smoke poured from the
mouth of the beast, then its eyes and ears. Her staff smashed
through their skin like it was breaking open a beehive, this time
releasing gusts of black smoke. The necklace absorbed the dark
energy.

As soon as the magic entered her necklace,
nausea spiraled from her stomach straight to her head. She stumbled
to one side, sick and dizzy, close to losing her balance. She
couldn’t keep this up for long. The Dark God’s taint was like
poison to her necklace. She already felt the need to vomit.