Volcrian perched on the hard bench of the coach.
Women and children surged in behind him, scrambling onto the wooden seats. A few farmers and clerks followed. Soon they were all packed together like a tightly rolled bale of hay. He watched the peasants and serfs arrange themselves. Already the coach was beginning to smell like a pig barn.
He wrinkled his nose. When he and his brother ran the apothecary, they owned a personal carriage, a beautiful creation of oak wood and finished seats. He had sold it shortly after his brother's death, exchanging it for a fast horse and a bag full of coins.
He hadn't ridden on a public coach since his childhood days. This particular specimen was designed for rough travel across the country. A mud wagon, the locals called it. He did not relish the name.
Somewhere nearby, a child began coughing. Volcrian pressed a handkerchief over his mouth and sucked in a breath.
Traveling by stagecoach was the fastest way to bypass the swamp. He would have to change in the next town, and again, near the City of Crowns. Once they passed there, he would make his solitary way over the mountains. Luckily, they were the lower mountains, more like foothills compared to the snow-covered monstrosities of the far North. The journey could take an entire year, depending on his timing and the weather, but he anticipated his wraiths would make short work of the four travelers. Perhaps by the time he reached the coast, they would all be dead.
That thought was the only thing that brought a smile to his lips.
"Last call!" he heard the stage conductor cry out. There was another shout from outside, and a few more people squeezed on-board. Volcrian grimaced. How many peasants could a mud wagon hold?
The final passengers settled in place. There was a thump from the rear of the coach. The boot was closed, their luggage secured. The door was shut.
The driver cracked his whip and yelled to his team, the sound muffled by wooden walls. The horses surged forward, the coach rocking precariously forward. Volcrian let out a slow breath. This was going to be a long trip.
* * *
Sora blinked woozily.
Her head pounded, like the morning after too much wine the night before. Her mouth was dry, her thoughts fuzzy. She stared at the smooth wooden ceiling above her. For a long moment, that's all she did, feeling the blood rush through her veins. Her body felt weak—like she was stuffed with cotton.
Where am I?
Vaguely, she remembered the attacking vines. Her head pounded and her right arm was in agony. She wanted to roll over and go back to sleep; she was all too ready to slip back into unconsciousness. At least the bed was soft.
Bed?
The sound of voices disturbed her thoughts. She looked toward the noise and found herself staring at a wooden archway, set flawlessly in the side of a room that could have been carved from a tree. She blinked at the smooth walls—no boards or panels, no brick or mortar. Just seamless wood.
She looked back at the archway. At first it seemed completely open, but if she squinted, she noticed strange glints of light stretching across it, a near-invisible curtain. It took her a moment to realize what they must be. Spider webs?
It was enough effort for her to sit up. The room spun and she put her hand to her head, her stomach twisting. She waited for her eyes to focus. Then she glanced around, looking for any signs of spiders or bugs or other threats. But the room was clean and empty, except for her soft cot and a porthole window, too small to climb through.
The sound of voices drifted to her again, this time closer. It was like no language she had ever heard before. At times, it sounded more like two beasts growling and chirping at one another. She stared through the archway, trying to see into the corridor beyond, but her gaze was met by a plain wooden wall.
Sora swung her legs off the cot and grimaced, then leaned over the side of the bed, gagging. She heaved several times, trying to vomit, but nothing came out. Saved by an empty stomach.
Goddess!
She had never felt sicker!
Trying to lift her arm, she discovered it was wrapped in thick bandages from elbow to wrist, which tightly constricted her movement. She could remember the nasty, burning acid. Her blistered skin.
How long have I been here?
She put her hand on her pounding head and wondered how she could still be alive.
The sound of footsteps and muttering voices drew closer. Sora tried to stay calm. She looked around again for a place to hide, but there was nowhere except behind the cot, and she had more dignity than that. She licked her dry lips, her fingers tapping nervously on the bed.
A shadow lumbered outside the doorway. A hand reached up, gently touching the thin spider webs. Sora stared at the massive palm. It was unlike any hand she had seen before—long, thick fingers covered by thin orange fur. Nails hooked into long, powerful talons.
There was a brief shimmer of light. The spider webs fell away, curling back on their own accord. Sora heard the slight chime of bells. Her Cat's Eye. Magic.
Then a creature stepped in. It only slightly resembled a human.
She never could have prepared herself for the beast who entered the room. It wore sandals and a white robe, cinched at the waist with a wide tan belt. She stared at its feet—his feet?—which were more like giant paws.
His face terrified her. She had to stifle a gasp, her eyes wide in disbelief and horror. The creature's head was that of a tiger, long teeth protruding past his lip. Thick, clawed hands hung at his sides. By what she could see under the robe, his entire body was covered in orange and black fur, down to the tip of his tail. He was huge, towering almost a foot taller than Burn, completely filling the small bedroom. This beast made the Wulven mercenary look average.
So this is a Catlin,
Sora thought, trying to stay calm and reasonable. It was the only explanation.
The beast either grimaced at her or smiled—she couldn't tell, with those huge fangs. She hoped it was a smile.
"Human," he said in a low, grunting voice, more of a growl. "Can you walk?"
"Uh...." Sora didn't really know how to respond. She felt terrible. She didn't want to stand up and collapse on this fellow—
he'd probably eat me.
Then again, she didn't want to sit around staring at him, either.
Rather than answering, Sora decided to stall for time. If she was about to be eaten, she might as well get some answers.
"Where is this place?" she demanded boldly. Her voice came out dry and small. Her mouth was still slightly numb from the poison and her throat muscles resisted the effort it took to talk. "What have you done to my friends?"
The Catlin stared at her through slitted eyes. His teeth were pulled back into a snarl. Sora sat back despite herself—
maybe that was a mistake.
"You
can
walk," he confirmed. She couldn't read his expression; he had a cat's head, after all.
"Well?" she heard her voice squeak, then cleared her throat. "What about my friends?"
He continued to look at her, as though considering her for a snack. "You are in our
shriekal
, our colony," he finally answered. "The others are here too. The...the trespassers are in con-con-" the Catlin paused, licking his lips awkwardly.
Sora felt unimpressed.
He certainly doesn't sound smart.
Then she realized that his mouth wouldn't allow him to sound the words properly.
"Con-tain-ment," he finally managed.
"Containment?"
"Yes, and your pro-tec-tor is in the cells."
"My what?"
The Catlin looked rather flustered and made several yowling sounds under his breath before continuing. "The dark one, the one who threatens without words."
Oh, Crash.
"You are lucky to have such a pro-tec-tor."
Lucky he's locked up, maybe.
"Protector, that's what you mean." Sora nodded to herself. "So they're alive?"
"Yes."
She almost cried in relief. She wanted to be with Burn, or Dorian, or maybe back home where she could run into the woods and scream until the world made sense again. Instead, she looked calmly toward the doorway, retaining her composure. Another Catlin stood there, this one equally terrifying, though the pattern of his fur was different. Tan with brown spots.
The Catlins yowled at each other, a guttural language that sounded more like two lions fighting in the woods.
"Our Panthera is ready to see you," the first guard finally said, turning back to her. "Don't keep him waiting."
"Panthera?"
"Our warlord."
Sora nodded. She didn't have much of a choice, but she was still terrified.
Nothing else for it.
She slid off the cot and swayed on her feet, woozy from the poison. The room kept moving, fluctuating in and out, as though the walls were breathing. She had to put out an arm to steady herself.
Come on, walk like a warrior!
her inner voice spoke up.
Chin up, foot down!
The two Catlins escorted her from the room. They both carried long spears with feathers and beads tied around the top, just beneath the spearheads. Their belts contained several knives. The blades were longer than daggers, thin and curved. Some appeared to be carved from bone.
They took her into the short hall, past another room barred by spiderwebs. It looked like a storage room, full of wooden crates and knapsacks. She caught a glimpse of her saddlebags and weapons laying in a pile on the floor. The Catlins didn't seem too concerned with security.
They left the building through a broad archway. The exit was enclosed by a thick wall of vines, densely woven together, blocking any light from outside. She watched as one of the guards lifted a clawed finger and touched the net of plants. He traced strange patterns in the air, perhaps symbols.
The Cat's Eye murmured again, stirring in her mind.
Magic.
Then, with the sound of scattering leaves, the vines all pulled to one side, revealing the world beyond. The guards prodded her forward. Sora was led into daylight. A fresh breeze hit her face and she looked up, her eyes wide.
The Catlin colony was at the heart of the swamp, deep in the forest—yet not on the ground. Her foot landed on a wooden balcony. As she looked up, she could see massive trees on every side of her, as wide as mansions, stretching high into the sky. The trunks disappeared into thick gray fog. She couldn't imagine their peaks, or the dense canopy that must exist overhead, far out of sight. Their branches were as large as streets, their leaves as wide as wagons. Holes speckled their trunks, hollowed windows blazed with golden light, doorways sheltered with vines, dwellings and stores and who-knew-what- else. Plant life was everywhere, thriving in every nook and cranny of the giant trees, purple-hued moss and hanging flowers, stamens like lamp posts, petals big enough for her to climb on.
No trees like this could possibly be natural; they would have to be millions of years old. Sora instinctively touched the necklace under her shirt. The Cat's Eye was humming quietly at her neck, as though charged by the very air.
Magic,
though she couldn't fathom how.
Wooden platforms encircled each tree, providing wide balconies and market squares. Rope bridges, some as wide as boulevards, crisscrossed the colony on several different levels. The city spread upward as much as downward. They paused next to the railing of a balcony, and Sora looked down upon countless Catlin heads: vendors and shoppers, hunters, merchants, all bustling about their lives.
It's far more crowded than Mayville!
Perhaps larger, even, than the City of Crowns.
Rope elevators moved among the different levels of the colony. As she watched, a crate of vegetables swung into the air on a flat wooden platform, directed by an intricate system of ropes and pulleys. A few of the elevators hung off in the mist, abandoned or in disuse. Her eyes grew wide, watching the platform's ascent into the fog.
Her guards clunked their spears on the ground and showed their teeth threateningly. Sora didn't need more prompting. She continued to walk. The bridge in front of her was narrow, built of sturdy wood, tied together with thick vines. Their level was mostly deserted. A few Catlins passed in the distance, wearing identical white robes. She wondered if they were some sort of elite guard. She really couldn't imagine who they were.
She peeked over the side of the bridge again, watching the bustling city life. Then she stared beyond at the endless pit of mist. She was unnerved by the drop; there was no sign of any ground below.
"I wouldn't jump," came a higher-pitched voice from the second guard. She wondered if it was a female, since it stood slightly shorter than the first guard. "'Tis a long, long drop."
Sora shivered and moved to the center of the bridge. Only an idiot would try that—it was sure suicide.
They walked for some time. The colony was vast, stretching on and on. They boarded one of the elevators and descended a level, vines and wood creaking under their weight. The next floor down was a center of shopping and trading. It was much more crowded than the area she had started in. The guards stayed at her side, snarling at anyone who got too close.