Wayfarer's Keep

by T. A. White

  “It’s hard to put into words.” Shea wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s like when things go wrong, no matter how much you try to make them go right. Everything there will be against you. The land will resist you, the air will curse your name. The beasts are more powerful, more dangerous, and more prevalent.”

  “Any advice?” Trenton asked, his eyes on hers.

  Shea’s voice was soft. “Walk softly and do your best not to kill anything. They can sense blood. It’ll draw them right to you.”

  *

  Orion landed near the ruins of what had once been a wall, its length stretching far into the distance. Now, it was simply a landmark of the first demarcation, something to indicate to explorers that they were about to enter a dangerous land from which most did not return.

  The remains of the wall consisted of a few rows of stones stacked on top of one another. If its purpose had been to keep out beasts, it had failed miserably. In places, the wall had fallen entirely, leaving huge gaps for any beast to slip through.

  Shea slid off Orion’s back and stared past the stones toward what she had once called the heart of the Badlands. She knew better now. The heart was much further in and even less welcoming than these ruins of a fallen civilization.

  The others dismounted behind her and Shea turned to watch them. This wasn’t just another break. It was clear the mythologicals intended to part ways. From here on out, they were on their own it seemed.

  They couldn’t be far behind Griffin now. It was even possible they’d arrived ahead of him. Only time would tell.

  She adjusted her pack on her shoulders as the other four readied themselves. Shea stepped up to the wall before hesitating. It seemed wrong to leave without expressing some gratitude for the ride. Orion and the rest weren’t their equine cousins. They were sentient and had allowed themselves to be used like common beasts of burden. The sacrifice deserved some type of appreciation.

  She turned back to Orion, a serious expression on her face. “I know you had your own reasons for helping us, but nevertheless, I thank you. I won’t forget this.”

  “We thank you,” Trenton chimed in, aiming a reverent look at his own mount as he leaned forward in a slight bow.

  Orion dipped his head and let out a snort. Shea didn’t know if she should interpret that as a ‘you’re welcome’ or whether it was an insult only another winged horse would understand.

  Either way, she’d said her piece. That was all that mattered.

  The horses leapt into the air, their powerful wings carrying them away as Shea’s group watched. She was the first to face the ruins once more, grim resolve filling her. She resettled her pack and took a deep breath. Time to confront her past.

  She stepped through the opening and set off, not waiting as the other four followed one by one. She took the lead, setting a punishing pace as they left the wall in their wake.

  The group was quiet as they moved. They’d agreed the night before that silence was necessary unless there was danger. Their task was to slip as quietly as possible through this land, not attracting the notice of any of its denizens. Easier said than done.

  The landscape began to change the further into the Badlands they ventured, accompanied by a cloying feeling of wrongness that steadily grew. The place felt evil, for lack of a better term. Normally, she wouldn’t use such a word since the concept of evil was a subjective one. Nature wasn’t bad just because it could kill. It was part of the world and couldn’t be judged by human concepts.

  The Badlands, however, were different. It was almost as if they had taken on the attributes of the people who’d destroyed them so long ago, all their anger and hatred and pain soaking into the ground, turning it into something else, something that felt almost sentient.

  It left only fear and rage behind, emotions so damaging it felt like the land surrounding them was objecting to their presence, a silent scream that called for the death of any who dared trespass.

  To a casual observer, this part of the Badlands might lead a visitor into complacency from all the sameness. It lacked the gentle beauty of the Lowlands or the stark, rugged splendor of the Highlands. This was the slightly drabber cousin to the other two, its dusty browns and faded reds hiding the nightmare all around.

  Further into the Badlands, the landscape transitioned to twisted contrasts of sharp, towering monoliths and deep ravines that ravaged the land. These were two things the Highlands had in abundance, but where the Highlands possessed a certain beauty that endured despite the harsh climate, the plants clinging to life with a fierce dignity, this place was bleak.

  They moved quickly and quietly, dipping into the ravines and gorges when necessary, but mostly sticking to the higher plateaus and ridges where they could have a clear view of potential threats.

  The land was silent around them, not even insects or birds stirring. It was this quietness that often disturbed those venturing into the Bandlands. The world was not meant to be so lacking in sound. Even the wind blowing past seemed muted and subdued.

  It wasn’t until the afternoon of the fourth day of their trek that they came across the first sign Griffin had taken the same route—human tracks in mud created by rain the night before.

  “This is too easy,” Reece said in a soft voice, staring down at those prints. “Why wouldn’t he have tried to disguise his tracks?”

  Shea shook her head. There was more than one reason he hadn’t been deemed fit for the pathfinders’ ranks. Laziness was an important part of the determination.

  The Griffin she knew might have reasoned the likelihood of pursuit was small and not bothered taking the effort of hiding his tracks.

  “Arrogant puppy,” Trenton said in disgust.

  “This could be part of it,” Patrick said from where he crouched several feet away.

  Shea stood and made her way to him, careful not to leave any tracks of her own. She squatted next to him, noting with interest that a red back and grindle had come this way as well.

  “He’s relying on beasts to protect him,” Patrick told her.

  “How do you know?” Trenton asked.

  “Because grindles and red backs don’t normally travel together,” Shea explained.

  “They also don’t share territory,” Reece said. “If either one had settled in this area, the other would have hunted it down and killed it. That, or moved on.”

  “They came through here at the same time too.” Shea bent closer and touched the mud. “That means they tolerated each other’s presence, something you wouldn’t see in the natural course of things.”

  Buck walked carefully past them, scanning the mud for other signs. “There are more tracks over here.”

  “Human?” Shea asked.

  He shook his head. “They look slightly like a bird’s, only much larger.”

  “So, we have two beasts and an unknown creature traveling with Griffin. This should make things interesting to say the least,” Reece said, wiping off his hands and standing.

  Patrick glanced up at the sky. “They were made sometime this morning. It means we’re not too far behind.”

  A small, pleased smile touched Shea’s face for the first time since their journey had begun. Things were finally beginning to turn their way.

  *

  Shea pulled out her notebook and jotted down a few of the details she’d observed during the day. Her father had called a rest to give everyone a chance to catch their breath as they decided on the next course of action.

  They’d come across several more instances of tracks from Griffin and his beasts. They were growing closer. They needed to be careful now, more than ever. Moving hastily at this point was as likely to get them killed, as lead them to their quarry.

  Buck lowered himself to a seat on one side of Shea, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at the twisted remains of metal sprouting from the ground.

  “What was that, do you think?” he asked.

  Shea looked at the met
al strands. They were predominately orange and had a strange white fungus growing on them. It looked disturbingly like a skeletal hand reaching from the ground.

  “I have no idea,” Shea said. “But I’m pretty sure the fungus is poisonous, so don’t touch.”

  “Believe me, touching it hadn’t crossed my mind.” He peered closer at the orange and white contraption as if doing so would reveal its secrets. “Eamon is going to be pissed he missed this adventure.”

  Shea hesitated where she was scribbling notes. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” She closed the note book with slow movements, unsure how to broach the subject. “I sent Eamon on a mission while in the Keep. He was able to warn us of the beast attack, but he got caught on the other side of the mist. I’m not sure if he made it. Darius was going to put out feelers but I left before I could find out what happened to him.”

  Buck’s gaze was thoughtful as it returned to the white and orange formation. “You think he didn’t survive.”

  “It’s possible,” Shea admitted. “The number of beasts’ we faced were high and the battle was chaotic. He might have escaped. Darius said his advance scouts were able to rescue some of those on that side of the mist, but he didn’t know Eamon’s fate.”

  Buck leaned back. “I was one of those scouts.”

  Shea felt her heart leap, hope rising. Eamon, Buck and Charles had been her first friends among the Trateri. Losing any of them would cut deep, especially with the uncertainty of Fallon’s fate hanging over her head.

  “I didn’t see him, but like you said, the battle was chaotic.” He bumped her shoulder. “You worry too much. This is Eamon we’re talking about. I’m sure the old man came out the other side intact.”

  Shea snorted, the sound not containing even half of her normal sarcasm. “He’s only five years older than you.”

  “Five years and seven months, but who’s counting.” Buck gave her a teasing grin.

  Her smile was halfhearted.

  “Trenton told me about the Hawkvale,” Buck said after several long minutes where Shea had resumed her notetaking. “I was sorry to hear it. He’s a good leader.”

  Shea’s nod was sad.

  Trenton walked past holding a canteen. “We’re going to need water soon if we keep pushing like this.”

  “Are you out?” Shea asked.

  He shook his head. “I have another full one.”

  “Make it last as long as possible,” Shea said.

  “Why? Is there something we need to know?” Trenton asked, his eyes sharp.

  Shea hesitated, unsure how to answer. Many of her people’s stories held that anything taken from the Badlands was tainted, that it could change a person, turning their minds and bodies against them, eventually leading to death if they were lucky, or something else if they weren’t. That something else was never truly specified.

  It was one of the few folktales she actually put stock in. She’d seen it herself during her last trip. It wasn’t until Griffin and the others had experienced continued exposure to this place—drinking the water rather than what was in their canteens, eating the strange fruit they found—that they showed the first indications their minds were warping. They became moody and argumentative, unwilling to listen to reason. Not everyone, but enough of them had displayed similar effects to be a concern.

  In the back of her mind all these years, was the distinct fear she shared in their fate—that perhaps the same mental instability they’d exhibited had affected her as well. That she might just not have recognized it in herself. She’d drunk the water too during the lost span of time while she’d wandered the Badlands, dazed and slightly mad from dehydration, dying from hunger and exposure to the elements. It was a thought she deliberately avoided.

  “It’s possible,” Shea finally said. “There are tales that anything taken from this place can change you. It’s best to be careful.”

  Trenton and Buck exchanged a glance, neither looked happy at the revelation.

  “What’s next in this cursed place?” Trenton shook his head and walked off.

  *

  Shea wiggled on the small ledge she’d claimed, looking down into the narrow canyon. Her father had a similar vantage point along the ridge slightly above her. The rest of their team awaited their return from a safe distance.

  They’d caught a piece of good luck that morning. Their break-neck pace had put them in front of Griffin, giving them a chance to pick the best place to lie in wait and do some scouting. After some discussion—and a lot of arguing on Trenton’s part—it was decided only Patrick and Shea would go. The fewer people they had out and about, the less likelihood of being caught.

  It was the perfect opportunity to gauge the enemy.

  She’d spent the past hour waiting for her quarry to pass by. So far, he had been missing in action.

  She fought down impatience and self-doubt. It was possible they had miscalculated and Griffin had chosen a different route. This was the one she’d have taken. It had the best line of sight to both sides and was easier and safer than the steep climb on the opposite side of the ridge, especially since she thought she’d spotted a ravena nest over there earlier.

  Still, Griffin had yet to show and she was starting to wonder if taking this route was a mistake they couldn’t afford timewise. If that was the case, they’d already lost several hours.

  Just as she was about ready to give up, preparing to move from her carefully selected cover, a noise from below reached her.

  Shea stilled, her senses tuning to the small sound. There it was again.

  It was faint, but Shea detected the unmistakable sound of something heading in her direction. After a short while, came the soft rumble of a man’s voice, sounding irritated and condescending.

  Griffin. Had to be. He was the only one she knew who could project those twin emotions so well.

  Keeping as flat as possible, Shea peered over the ledge. The canyon was empty, but she thought she spotted movement at the far end.

  Moments later, Griffin came into view along with two beasts and what looked as if it was a mythological.

  She watched as they came closer, Griffin in the middle of the pack, the other three arranged around him as if they were protecting him.

  It was an interesting sight, made more so as Griffin’s movement through the canyon displayed an otherworldly grace. If possible, he appeared even less human than he had the last time Shea had seen him.

  The black veins had spread, giving his face a sense of wrongness, reinforced by the almost animal-like way he moved.

  Whatever he’d done to himself, so he’d be able to survive an extended time in the Badlands, was getting worse. The Griffin she’d known was disappearing, giving way to this strange creature below her.

  Unsettled by his differences, Shea turned her attention to the other obstacles keeping her from her goal, most notably the mythological. The two beasts would have been difficult enough to get past on their own, but the mythological added a new, unknown layer to account for.

  As she watched, the grindle strayed too close to the red back, causing it to swipe at the smaller beast, blood spraying in a wide arc. It was only a warning, the kind of blow that said get closer at your own peril, but the grindle took it as a challenge and lunged forward. Its vicious snarl echoed off the rock of the canyon.

  A brutal fight ensued, each doing their best to kill or maim the other.

  Shea settled back to watch. Maybe she’d get lucky and the beasts would do her the favor of eliminating each other. It would make her job considerably easier.

  Their battling took them too close to Griffin, nearly colliding with him as they continued their death match.

  Griffin hopped out of the way and said something, his words indistinct but his tone unmistakable. He was angry.

  He gestured sharply at the mythological who watched the scene with a bored expression, his arms crossed over his chest as he let the beasts tea
r into each other.

  Griffin spoke again, stabbing a finger at the fight.

  The mythological’s movements were slow and unwilling as he uncrossed his arms and straightened, turning a cruel expression on the two snarling beasts. One moment he was motionless, then the next he was between them, his powerful hands prying them apart as he tossed them in opposite directions.

  Shea’s heart sank at the display. He was supernaturally fast and incredibly strong. Those beasts would have weighed well over a hundred pounds each, the red back nearly three hundred, and he’d just tossed them around like they were feathers.

  Any plans her team made would require they take the mythological out of the equation first. Let him react in any way and they were as good as dead.

  Griffin stalked over to the mythological, his face full of rage. He gestured at the two beasts as they slunk to opposite sides of the canyon. Even from here she could hear his shouting, though the words remained indistinct.

  Hate blazed from the mythological’s eyes, and he snapped something in response.

  Griffin sneered and grabbed at the chain around his neck. Shea struggled to see what hung from it but was unsuccessful given the distance. The mythological’s mouth opened and a horrifying sound of pain echoed up from below.

  The mythological fell to the ground, cowering and making an agonized sound Shea knew would live in her nightmares. The beasts also shied away from Griffin and whatever he held in his hand.

  It was never easy for Shea to watch a living creature in pain, and this was no different. She felt sick to her stomach as she watched Griffin torture them, releasing the necklace, just to grab it again when it looked like the mythological had recovered.

  Eventually, he lost interest in the game. He leaned over and said something to the mythological, something that had the creature’s face turning guarded. Griffin sauntered off, ignoring the mythological at his back.

  A mistake. The expression on the creature’s face sent shivers down Shea’s spine. It said he would gladly repay Griffin’s kindness a thousand times over in as bloody and painful a way as possible.