Free Ferran's Map by T. L. Shreffler Page A

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