Sora's Quest (2 page)

Sora's hand paused on a title.
The Wanderer.
Hadn't her favorite warrior—Kaelyn the Wanderer—left her family behind? The first warrior of the Goddess, she who was chosen to save humanity. She had been a true adventurer, someone worth looking up to. Strong enough to follow her own path….

Sora’s hands stilled in shock.
Gods, how could I be so stupid?
The answer had been right in front of her the entire time!

Run away.

It’s so obvious! If I just run away and disappear, I won’t have to get married, my father would never find me, and I’d be free to find my mother....

Brilliant

It was also a very desperate plan, but Sora was as desperate as one could be.
If not now, when?
she thought, her breath quickening with possibilities. She had considered the idea before, when she had been very young. But at that age, running away meant camping in the woods for a night. Not forever.

And yet, it felt right.

She only had three hours before the Blooming and about a thousand details to cover. It was already growing dark; the lanterns were lit across the front drive. She began ticking off a mental list of supplies she would need.
If I can gather them quickly enough, I can stash the bag somewhere in the hallway. I could slip out of the ballroom after the festivities...during my father's speech, mayhap. That's the ticket!
Then no one would suspect.

She felt that icy sensation again, as though a cold draft of air had struck her feet. But she pushed that concern aside. There was no time left for hesitation. Lily would return any minute!

Rushing to the other side of the room and yanking open her wardrobe, she pulled out an old, worn leather bag, one she had often used while riding or hiking in the forest. A small hunting knife rested at the bottom of the bag, along with her travel flute, a wooden pipe she had whittled by hand.

She reached far back into the recesses of the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of muddied riding pants and a stained shirt, which she also threw into the sack, followed by her riding boots, a light cloak and compass. Then she stood for a moment and racked her brain, trying to imagine what else she would need. A waterskin, certainly. She had one of those stashed under her bed. Money, of course. She had that under the bed too, a heavy purse of gold coins, bits and pieces she had tucked away over the years. Her lifesavings were the perfect funds for an adventure.
To find my mother,
she thought with a thrill of excitement.

She dashed quickly to the bed, clumsy and awkward in her tall shoes, dragged out the flask and coin purse from beneath her mattress and tossed them in her satchel. Then she stood up with a triumphant grin. It was all so perfect—why had she not thought of it sooner? She would wait until everyone was dizzy from dancing and dead drunk, then slip out and never return.

“Milady! Your paint is smeared!” a horrified voice exclaimed behind her.

Sora whirled around, nearly falling over her nightstand. She tossed the satchel under the bed before Lily could see it. “I didn't hear you come in!”

“I should have come back sooner,” Lily said, her voice strained. She stood in the doorway with a pinched mouth. “Did you touch your face? Your hair is sticking to your forehead! Here, I think I can fix it. Sit down and drink this—but don't let it brush your lips!” Her maid handed over a frothing green glass. Sora took it gingerly, staring at the dark, syrupy liquid. A short reed straw stuck out past the rim.

Sora sat down obediently as Lily broke out the jars of paint. She wanted to groan in frustration. She had been forced to stand stiffly for most of the afternoon as the body artists had painted her chest, arms, neck and face—any patch of skin that wasn't covered by the dress. Supposedly, she was to symbolize the fertility of the Wind Goddess. The custom was so long-standing that no one questioned it. The artists had left some paint behind, just in case something like this happened.

Lily went about her duty, untangling Sora's hair and gently extracting it from the paint. She then got out a tiny paintbrush and started dabbing at the red splotches and thin purple lines. As Sora stared at her face in the mirror, she felt another lurch of horror and anxiety, imagining the ceremony to come. She was already messing up.
This evening is going to be horrible.

But her eyes focused on the green stone necklace, which glinted and twinkled secretively, and she felt a smile come to her lips. Tomorrow...who knew where she might be? She had her bag packed, ready to go at a moment's notice. A seed of hope bloomed in her heart. Tonight was it. The end of nobility, of stuffy parties and snobbery...and the beginning of her true life.

A sense of relief flooded her. Now that she was finally committed to leaving, to heading out on her own, it was as if a fresh wind had blown open a stuck window. She couldn't wait.

Lily began braiding Sora's long, rich hair, looping the strands expertly atop her head, pinning them in place with fresh flowers.

Sora stuck the straw in her mouth and slurped the liquid. She grimaced. It tasted like rotten plums.

One hour down. Two more to go.

Chapter 2

Sora wished—really, truly wished—that she had not drunk that tonic.

Three chimes of a bell initiated the birthday ceremony. The guests had all gathered in the ballroom. The lanterns were dimmed, the musicians assembled. The stage was large and circular, crowded on all sides by rich nobility. The most eligible bachelors got the first row; as she performed, they would be admiring her grace and muscular calves from every angle.

Lily rushed Sora onstage once the lights were low. The room was purposefully darkened so the audience could see nothing until the performance began. The bells chimed once.  There stood her father, front and center, his lined, plump face drawn into a discouraging frown.
Of course he's right in front. Wouldn't want to miss a wrong step,
Sora thought, resisting the urge to touch her hair nervously. Any small mistake would be immediately noticeable. And thanks to the tonic, she was wobbling. Off-balance. The drink had been more than just pungent...it had been tipsy-strong as well. And the six-inch heels on her shoes weren't helping, either.

The bells chimed again. Lily clasped Sora's hands one last time, gave her a slight squeeze for strength, then deposited her in the center of the ring. She scurried off-stage, disappearing into the deep shadows toward the musicians' pit.

Sora readied herself, heart pounding, poised in the starting position, left foot in front, waiting for the music.

A hollow drum began to beat a slow, meditative rhythm. It echoed around the ballroom, thudding deeply against the walls. Then a low flute joined in, weaving its way up through the drumbeats like a sleepy serpent.

The chimes struck a third time.

Sora stepped forward and back in measured intervals, swinging her hips slowly, rolling her body, twisting her arms into the air in snake-like patterns. It was a dance of the Goddess, of the Wind, of fertility and light, of midnight fields and deep forests. She followed the intricate melody.

Her dress was specially designed for the ceremony. It was supposed to be peeled apart, layer by layer, as the dance progressed. The dance itself was called “The Blooming,” like a flower opening for the first time.

As the rhythm increased, she snagged one of the cloth layers with her fingers, slowly pulling upward, unraveling the length from her body. She bunched the strip of sheer silk in her hands and tossed it to one of the onlookers, a particularly well-dressed man standing in the front row. She hadn't truly aimed, so she was surprised to see him catch it. He was tall and broad-chested, and stared at her with a strange light in his eyes, magnetic.

She turned away, her heart in her throat. The wind instruments escalated and Sora's movements followed the tempo. She spun, smooth in the giant shoes, and glided to the opposite side of the stage. She allowed the music to direct her steps, move forward, backward, side to side, then turn, arms out, in, up....The bells chimed again, and she whirled, pulling off another layer, the dress clasping her body like a tight glove. She tossed the silk to the crowd, not caring if someone caught it.

Now the wind was becoming a cyclone, picking up ferocity and passion. She rolled her head, moved her arms to the left, to the front.
Shoulders back, look up....
Her eyes landed on the skylight, the gorgeous expanse of clear glass that encased the ballroom, her father's crowning jewel. A net of stars sparkled back at her, winking, twirling.

She had practiced the ceremony since her first blood appeared at thirteen. Now, despite her shaky balance, the moves came like second nature. She barely had to think about them.

The third silk wrap came off a minute later. She spun around one final time and tossed the last layer of skirt into the darkened crowd. Her dress was still mostly intact, just smoother and thinner than it had been, hugging her figure.

It seemed like a lot of to-do for such a short performance. The dance was less than three minutes long. Then the musicians entered into their final refrain, and Sora made one last turn, whirling elegantly to the cascading flutes. A few people had already begun to applaud.

Just as the final chime was struck, her six-inch boot caught on the hem of her dress. Sora wobbled once, twice. Carried by the momentum of her fall, she felt everything spiral out of control.

The crowd gasped as she tumbled across the stage, her ankle twisting underneath her, her boots clonking loudly against the wood. She collapsed awkwardly into a sitting position, the dress gripping her legs, the body paint smearing all the way down her left arm.

As she looked up in horror, her gaze landed immediately on her father; his face was absolutely livid.

She opened her mouth.

Then, blessedly, the lanterns were doused, signaling the end of the performance. The stage was plunged into instant darkness and she was hidden by shadows.

The ballroom was silent. Someone snorted nearby.

A few scattered claps came from the back rows, Sora suspected from the manor staff, although she was too shaken to care. The applause built again, though not nearly as enthusiastic as before. She could detect a few outbursts of laughter and muffled giggles. Her arms trembled.
I can't believe I just did that.
She fell! Fell at her own Blooming!
No!
It was the one thing her dancing instructor had repeated at every single lesson, every single day, for the past five years.
Do. Not. Fall.

Not only was the fall clumsy and undesirable...it was just plain bad luck.

Sora managed to drag herself to her feet and stumble offstage, as fast as she could before the lanterns were re-lit. She slipped through the crowd of musicians before anyone could catch her eye. Now would be the perfect time to disappear. No one would expect her to show her face again after that performance....

Just before she made the hallway, she was blocked by someone.

She looked up, shocked. The room was still very dark, though a few lanterns were starting to glow on from the walls. Who was this?

“A beautiful—if flawed—performance,” a voice said. A deep, masculine voice.

Her heart tripped. “Uh, thank you,” she said, averting her eyes, and curtsied automatically. “If you'll excuse me, I....”

“Actually, I was hoping to ask for your first dance, once the stage is cleared.”

Sora looked up, shocked. The lights were still dim as the servants cleared the dance area and set up the buffet. She could hardly see the man's countenance, although from the glint in his dark eyes, she thought she might have recognized him from the front row. “Who....?”

Sora was diverted from the conversation by the sound of a wine glass being struck to get people's attention. The ballroom was illuminated once again with low, romantic lighting. The crowd moved toward the sound. Her father stood at a long table. After he struck the wine glass again, the chatter dimmed and everyone turned toward him.

She watched her father’s gray head from a distance.
Ugh, a toast.
No, worse, it was an apology. For her, of course. For being undesirable, clumsy and peasant-born.

He opened his speech with some sort of joke and motioned in her direction. She was too far away to hear it, but a ripple of laughter moved through the room. Her gut lurched and she blushed. For a moment—a terrible, stifling moment—she wanted to give the whole room a piece of her mind.

But, of course, she couldn't. The stranger at her elbow made a comment, but she was incapable of listening. A strange numbness washed over her. There was a dull buzzing in her ears from the droning of her father’s voice. Sora’s eyes drifted upward, focusing on the stars through the skylight.

This was it. Now she would have to run away. Nobility be damned! There was no way she could show her face again before the Second Tier.
Bad luck,
she thought.
Worst luck of all.
Forget marrying into city nobility. She would be surprised if she got a suit from the horsemaster’s son....

Then she blinked. Was it her imagination, or had she seen something move beyond the distant glass of the skylight? A shooting star, a cloud, or some sign from the Goddess....?

One second later, the world shattered.

Her father's grumbling voice was suddenly cut off by an ear-splitting
crashhhh!
The skylight exploded into a million pieces. Glass shards, some as sharp and heavy as swords, rained down on the ballroom.

Sora's mouth opened. She could scarcely breathe.

There was instant chaos. The guests screamed and dove in every direction, squeezing under tables and dodging the deadly glass rain; servants dashed around, trying to escape. Men collided into each other, women tripped over their hems, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Ironically, the calming potion decided to kick in again, and Sora found herself distant and fuzzy as she looked up at the broken skylight. She felt dreamlike. Part of her wanted to laugh at the outrageous sight.
As though things could get any worse!

And there stood her father at the head of it all, unmoved, a Lord to the very end. He waved his arms around and roared out orders to the servants.
Doesn’t the man ever give up?
she thought.
Gods, this is terrible. Just tell everyone to go home and come back next week. This ceremony is over....

Suddenly his words were cut off.

Sora blinked in surprise. She couldn't quite see what had happened; the room was too crowded. Then people started screaming. Suddenly her father was on his knees, scrabbling at the ground, dark red blood staining his shirt.

The room grew dim. Sora heard a dull rushing noise. She stared at the place where her father had stood, her mind replaying the scene again and again within a matter of milliseconds. Was her father injured? Struck down by the falling glass?
No, it’s impossible, how....?

What are you doing?
an inner voice screamed at her.
This is your chance—run!

Automatically, clumsily, Sora turned and fled. For the moment, her father was out of commission; it was the perfect time to slip away. She was certain he would be fine; after all, he had more than 100 servants at his beck and call who were far better equipped to handle an injury than she was.

And so, boots crunching on glass, pandemonium ringing in her ears, she dove for the opening to the servants' hall. While the manor was vast with corridors branching out in several directions, she knew every nook and cranny. She sprinted into the hall and down the flagstone corridor.

As she ran, she ripped off what she could of her skirts, freeing up her legs. She used a strip of cloth to wipe off the face paint. This dress was an ugly garment, anyway. She headed down another narrow hallway that was barely lit by a few candles. It would lead her out the back door and into the freedom of the night.

Already Sora could see her travel bag up ahead, stashed in one of the servant alcoves. She had hidden it before the dance, on her way to the Blooming Hall. Her breath heavy in her lungs, she redoubled her pace. She could hear the servants stirring, alarmed by the calamity in the ballroom.
Just what caused the skylight to break like that, anyway?
she thought.
And what did I see before it fell?
It must have been someone on the rooftop. Was it possible her father had been attacked?

Silly, of course not
. Now was not the time to scare herself with vague questions. Her father would be fine; she had to focus on escaping. Sora passed the alcove where her bag was and grabbed it without breaking her stride. She had to leave quickly before someone discovered her absence. The red carpet seemed to lead on forever, though it was only a few rooms away from the back door.
Gods, I’ll never make it outside. Come on legs, move!

Without warning, a door burst open ahead of her, and a crowd of servants flooded the hall. Sora barely contained a yelp of surprise. Flinging herself into a broom closet, she slipped deep into the shadows and prayed that nobody had seen her. Breathless, nervous and quivering, she scanned the hallway with wide eyes.

The entire kitchen staff rushed past, hurrying to reach the traumatized guests.  Some carried lanterns, illuminating her hair and face momentarily, but no one noticed. No one looked. Sora let out a slow breath, then stripped off what remained of her dress and changed into her traveling clothes, doing her best to wipe off the rest of the face paint, even though she didn't have a mirror.

When the hallways were silent again, she allowed herself a long, slow sigh of relief. She kicked the ruined dress into the far reaches of the closet, shouldered her bag, and walked carefully to the stone corridor, checking in both directions. Nothing.

She launched herself onto the flagstone, gathered herself and turned.

Wham!

An unidentified something-or-other crashed into her, hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor. She hit hard and rolled several feet before slamming into the wall. A body was tangled on top of her. She felt the toe of a boot in her back.

Without thinking, Sora did what any sensible woman would do: she screamed.