Relic Master 1 - The Dark City by Catherine Fisher

Author:Catherine Fisher
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Social Science, Action & Adventure, Apprentices, Fantasy Fiction, Juvenile Fiction, Occupations, Antiquities, Fantasy & Magic, Fiction, Fantasy, Careers, General, Archaeology, Business
ISBN: 9780803736733
Publisher: Penguin Group USA
Published: 2011-05-16T18:30:00+00:00

15

One day Flain walked in the Forest of Karsh and he was thirsty. Coming to a stream, he drank, and such was his strength that the ground sank lower. He went on his way. The sea rose and drowned the forest.

Though the Sekoi have another story about this.

Book of the Seven Moons

THE ALLEYWAY WAS DARK and there was something else in it. Jammed against the damp wall, Raffi heard it swoop out of the darkness. He turned and ran, through cobwebs that webbed his face and hands as he brushed them away.

The floor rose; he tripped, fell flat. The thing was on him, its sharp claws raking his back, its stinking breath on his neck. He yelled and squirmed and was up again, running blindly into the blackness till the wall smacked against him and he crumpled, breathless, fighting, struggling, kicking off blankets, his coat, the strong fingers that grabbed at him again and again.

“Raffi! Keep still! It’s me. For Flain’s sake, get yourself under control!”

The roar was Galen’s and it woke him instantly, just before Carys came hurtling around the door into the cabin, her shirt hanging out. “What’s the matter? Is he seasick?”

“No.” Galen let him go and sat back. “I don’t think so.”

“Of course I’m not! It was a dream.” Raffi rubbed sweat from his face. “A nightmare.”

Under them the ship dipped and sank. His stomach lurched, and a tray of cups and plates slid slowly down the tilted table.

“All dreams count,” Galen said, grabbing the edge of the chair. “Tell it to me.”

Raffi shrugged. “I was in some sort of street . . .” He explained briefly, bringing the dream accurately out of memory as Galen had taught him. When he’d finished, Carys grinned. “It was that cheese you ate.”

Galen frowned at her. “It may be important. Remember it.”

The ship rose suddenly; the oil lamp swung, sending wild shadows over the low ceiling. Carys sat down and laced her boots.

“Still lost.”

They had been at sea for two days, and the weather had gotten steadily worse. Halfway over, the fog had come down. Now the tiny cabin was dim with it; it drifted down the steps, making the lamp a cloud of haze; the rough blankets smelled of its damp.

It was late morning, but morning and night all seemed the same.

“Have they asked again?” Raffi asked quietly.

“They will,” Galen muttered.

Almost as an answer there was a bang on the open door; Arno came in, bending his head. He looked harassed and soaked. “I’m sorry, Galen.”

He stood aside; behind him the skipper blocked the door, a small, black-bearded man, his cap in his hand. He twisted it nervously. “Keeper, the men are scared. The fog’s too thick, we don’t know how near the shore we are. The Watch patrol this strait, and if they come on board . . .”

“I know,” Galen said heavily. “We’re bringing you into danger.”

“It’s just that some of the older men . . . they say the Order had weather-warding skills. I don’t know.

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