Wayfarer's Keep

by T. A. White

  The scene answered the question of why the mythologicals were accompanying Griffin in the first place. That necklace, whatever it was, played a part in this. Shea was willing to bet it allowed Griffin to exert control over them.

  This explained why Orion had dropped her off at the first demarcation. No doubt he didn’t want to get close enough for any effects to take hold. There was no telling how far its influence reached.

  It would have been nice if Covath had explained any of this. She’d bet anything that the necklace was what he’d asked her to salvage and return to him. Given its capabilities, the mythologicals wouldn’t want it to fall into anyone else’s hands. Shea had to admit she didn’t want that either, even if she knew in the back of her mind how valuable such an item might be.

  A plan began to form. It was fraught with risk and not guaranteed success by any means. She’d have to do a lot of fast-talking to convince the rest of its possibilities, but she thought it might be their best option.

  Covath had revealed the mythologicals weren’t necessarily happy to be at the beck and call of a human, changed and twisted by whatever resided here in the Badlands though he may be. Taking this into consideration might help their cause.

  Still, there were many factors in play that could tip things in one direction or another. She had no idea how tightly the mythological was bound to his master’s will.

  Yes, there was a lot to consider, even with this inkling of a plan.

  Shea settled in to wait, ignoring the discomfort in her body as her legs and arms protested remaining in one position for so long—the itch that had taken residence in the middle of her back, or the fact her bladder kept reminding her it had been several hours since she’d last emptied it. All those concerns faded as she began to plot and observe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “That’s a horrible plan,” Trenton said.

  “It’s not that bad.” Shea returned defensively.

  He lifted an eyebrow and shook his head.

  She glanced at Buck for support. His gaze moved from her to Trenton and back again before he gave her a regretful shrug.

  “I agree with Trenton,” he said. “There are too many unknowns for us to risk approaching the mythological without knowing where his loyalties lie. He could side with you or he could kill you.”

  Shea looked to her father and Reece, hoping to find support on either of their faces. Both of them shook their heads.

  “Much as it pains me to admit, I agree with the barbarians,” Reece said, nodding toward Trenton and Buck. “It has disaster written all over it.”

  “I know you want to get back to your warlord but jumping headfirst into danger isn’t the best way to do that,” Patrick said, his gaze firm.

  “This has nothing to do with that,” Shea snapped, anger coursing through her at the insinuation she was rushing because she wanted to return to Fallon.

  Was it risky? Yes. Was it dangerous? Yes. But everything here was dangerous. Every moment they lingered, every night they spent past the first demarcation increased the likelihood of their deaths.

  “Everything you do is geared toward that,” Reece replied in a flat voice. “We understand, but we’re not going to let you drag the rest of us down because you got impatient.”

  Shea shook her head, biting back words that would just exacerbate the situation. “Fine, we’ll think of something else, but we’re keeping this plan as a backup.”

  The others might not agree with her, but she still felt this was their best option. Even with the five of them, they were no match for the mythological. Maybe if they had Dane’s whomper they would stand a chance, but without it, she didn’t see good things in their future if they went against the mythological in a direct attack.

  Even with an ambush, their odds weren’t great. The creature moved too fast. Best-case scenario, they’d kill it but not before it took out several of them with it. Shea wasn’t willing to sacrifice any of her team.

  She walked away as they began discussing ideas among themselves, holding up a hand in warning when it looked like Trenton planned to follow her.

  “I’ll be fine on my own. I just need some time to think,” she told him. He didn’t look happy, but he gave her a short nod and settled back.

  Ever since the journey had begun Trenton had been underfoot, more so than usual. Fallon’s brush with death had affected more than just her. Had she remained in camp, she imagined she’d be dealing with more than one overprotective Anateri. They probably would’ve tried to swaddle her in cotton as their protective instincts were heightened by the attack on Fallon.

  “I’m not going far,” she assured him. “Just to that rock on the ridge.”

  They’d found a depression in the land to make camp for the night as they considered their next move. The ridge rose around them, rock formations jutting from the hill and shielding them from discovery.

  Shea moved away from the others, picking her way up the slight hill until she could see over it and survey the jagged bumps and dips of the Badlands. She was careful to stay concealed as she found a spot to sit.

  A small, barely noticeable sound reached her. Shea released a deep breath and closed her eyes in vexation. Which one them had decided to interrupt her solitude?

  Her father lowered himself to a seat beside her, his gaze focused on the horizon. A small snort escaped her. She should have known he’d be the one they’d send.

  “Did you come to share words of wisdom?” Shea asked with a bite in her voice.

  “Now, don’t go getting short with me, darlin’. Not when we both know it’s really frustration at the situation making you so crabby,” he drawled.

  Shea let out a huff, the knowledge he was right burning her insides. Much as she hated to admit it, she wasn’t really upset with her friends. They’d been right about her plan. It was hasty and ill-formed. It might be founded in real possibility, but she was trying too hard and moving too fast. She needed to slow down and think things through.

  She was pissed at this crappy situation and letting it influence her. She hated that she was separated from her warlord at a time of his greatest need, forced to face a place that fed her greatest fear. So, yes, she’d like this whole thing over and done with.

  Patrick patted her on the shoulder and stood. “When you’re done with your sulk, come down and help us figure this out.”

  Shea looked up at him. “Why did you come?”

  He paused and squinted up at the sun. “You’re my daughter. If I didn’t, I knew there was a chance you would have gone alone.”

  “You weren’t planning to come earlier,” she pointed out. He hadn’t been one of those gathered at the gates when she’d been ready to set out before the attack on the Keep.

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure about that?”

  She shut her mouth and studied him. It was possible. Just because he hadn’t been present at the Keep didn’t mean he hadn’t planned to follow and join them on the trail. Such an action would have suited his inner tactician. He might have considered there were other traitors in the Keep and decided to keep his involvement a secret.

  She didn’t know what to believe.

  “Tell me about the Lux,” she ordered, leaving their tricky family dynamics alone for now. “I need to know more. There’s no evidence of its presence with Griffin.”

  Her father hesitated, looking down at the others. Moving stiffly, he lowered himself back down to the ground with a small groan. “I’m getting too old for this,” he complained.

  Shea kept her disagreement to herself. He’d had no trouble keeping up with them on the trail, showing no signs of his age. He moved with the spryness and grace of someone half his years.

  “The Lux is a black mark against our family name,” he finally said after a small stretch of time.

  Shea started and gave him a curious look. “What do you mean?”

  “You know your mother’s side has been in the Keep since
its founding,” he told her.

  She nodded. Her mother’s ancestors had been one of the earliest families, if not the first.

  “My father’s side was as well. We’re the ones who chose that particular site,” he told her, picking up a small rock and rolling it between his fingers. It was a nervous tic of his. He’d always needed to keep his hands busy, and it indicated his unrest over the topic. “We kept our names off the founder’s list and changed the story so that it would seem we joined in the turbulent years directly after.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “To confuse our enemy and hide one of the Keep’s original purposes. We’re the ones who carried the Lux out of Belaria.”

  Shea straightened, her lips parting as she blinked dumbly at her father. This part of the story had never been revealed before.

  Patrick ignored her surprise. “My so many times, great, great grandfather was the Lux’s creator. He tasked his line with its protection. It’s our greatest burden and highest honor. I suppose you’re part of that tradition now.”

  “Why was I not told about this before?” Shea asked.

  “About the time you were ready to hear this story, you left for the Badlands,” he said as if that explained everything.

  “And you had to be sure I hadn’t been tainted by my time there,” Shea guessed.

  “You’ve seen what can happen.”

  That she had.

  “What is the Lux?” Shea asked. She had a vague idea based on conversations between her mother and others. She also had caught the briefest of glimpses of it on its pedestal before the doors to the chamber were closed, the one time she’d followed her mother down there. She didn’t know much beyond those brief details.

  “The Lux wasn’t originally a weapon. It was supposed to do good, but as so many things created in that time, it was eventually turned to that purpose,” he explained. “Do you know Lux means light in the old language?”

  Shea shook her head.

  “It was supposed to be a burning beacon of hope. Instead, it killed thousands.” He plucked another pebble from the ground, rolling it in his hand with the first. “By the end of the cataclysm, its creator decided to hide it beneath the Keep in the hopes it would one day be used for its intended purpose. Personally, I think he just didn’t know how to destroy it.”

  She had so many questions she almost didn’t know where to start. Shea opened her mouth to ask more. A cry from behind distracted her.

  Patrick jumped to his feet. A furred body tackled him. Shea caught the impression of a long tail capped by a tuft of fur before Patrick toppled over the other side of the ridge. He hit the ground and rolled, his assailant still attached as they careened down the steep incline.

  “Dad,” Shea shouted. She paused as shouts alerted her to the fact that Trenton, Buck and Reece were dealing with their own set of problems.

  She didn’t hesitate, darting down the hill after her father. The other three had each other to watch their backs. Her father only had her.

  Shea picked up speed, sprinting down the sharp incline, her legs moving almost too fast for her body as she prayed she wouldn’t trip and break her neck.

  She hit the bottom at a run, dashing toward where her father struggled. She didn’t draw her sword, the warning she’d given the others at the start of this journey still holding true. Blood drew beasts, even when it was the blood of another beast. She needed to avoid that if at all possible.

  Chittering snarls reached her. It was an otoo, about the size of a medium-sized dog. It looked cute and cuddly—with the dark ring of fur around its eyes and soft cream and gray of its fur—it was anything but cuddly. Its long tail whipped in glee.

  Her father fought to keep the otoo from ripping out his throat as it jumped up and down on his stomach. Shea reached them in the next second, grabbing the otoo around the waist and flinging it as far as she could.

  It hit the ground, rolling to its feet. It hopped closer, cocking its head and making a warbling, growling sound. It was like an extraordinarily large bunny crossed with a feline. The otoo was oddly shaped, its back legs taking most of its weight. Its jump covered long distances—a trait helpful in the rocky terrain of the Badlands where its habitat tended to be the boulder fields and steep cliffs.

  Shea stooped and grabbed a small rock, holding it as she watched the otoo. She hadn’t thought the beast particularly aggressive. The ones she encountered in the Highlands tended to mind their own business unless threatened.

  It could be that the Badlands made them more violent or perhaps Shea and her group had wandered unknowingly into its territory.

  Either way, she’d like to keep it from attacking again. Its kick could cave in a grown man’s chest if it hit just right.

  “Go on, get out of here,” Shea said, gesturing violently at it.

  It bared teeth at her, the sharply pointed molars flashing, the kind that were perfect for sheering flesh from bone.

  It crouched, the muscles in its legs bunching before it sprang. Shea lashed out with the rock, hitting the otoo on the side of the head. It gave a sharp cry of pain before fleeing up the ridge, leaving Shea and her father behind.

  “Shea.” Patrick’s voice was pained, and his face was pale as he spoke through clenched teeth.

  Shea turned toward him and froze. Bright red blood marked her father’s shirt. He was curled up, his hands wrapped around his leg. It looked wrong.

  “I think I broke my leg,” he said tightly.

  Shea nodded. Yes, she thought so too.

  “And I’m bleeding.” His face flinched as he tried to shift.

  Shea rushed to his side. “Easy. We need to stop the bleeding and splint the leg.”

  “You need to go,” he told her. “The blood will draw every predator within ten miles. You know that.”

  Shea’s hands shook as they hovered over her father’s injuries. “I’m not leaving. Would you leave me if the situation was reversed?”

  “In a heartbeat,” he growled.

  “Bullshit,” she told him in a distracted voice. “We’re going to figure this out.”

  Her mind struggled to think. The blood, they needed to do something about the blood first. She tore off a strip from her father’s shirt and pressed it against one of his wounds.

  “You know that’s not going to work,” he told her. “Do what you’re told for once.”

  “Quiet, old man. You don’t know everything,” she snapped.

  She rose to her feet and looked around. The blood was a problem, but it was solvable. She just needed to figure out a way to disguise its scent. If she could do that and get everybody out of this area, they had a chance.

  If they were in the Highlands, Shea knew of at least ten plants off the top of her head that she could use. This far inside the Badlands she doubted the likelihood of finding any of them.

  Think. Think. There must be something.

  “Mud,” she said in realization.

  Patrick grunted. “That might work.”

  “I know it’ll work,” she told him, already moving.

  The mud she was looking for was a special type. Bright red and found under many of the rocks here, they had discovered it the last time it rained. It was run-off from the rock itself and its stench was bad enough to burn your eyes. The best part was that the stink would override any scent, even blood.

  Several boulders along this ridge looked like the rocks they’d encountered earlier.

  “Wait here, I’ll be right back,” Shea told her father.

  She ignored his protests as she ran back up the ridge she’d just come down. She only had to go halfway before she found a boulder that looked like it had what she needed. She dug at its base, feeling a sharp sense of satisfaction as a red clay-like substance came away in her hand. She scooped up as much as she could carry before making her way back to her father.

  She fell to her knees beside him and set the red clay down. She grabbed
her canteen and poured water on top of it, using her hands to create a thick paste. The pungent aroma of the mud wafted up to her.

  She turned to him and began smearing the paste anywhere she saw red. He grimaced but didn’t fight her. She determinedly didn’t think of the possibility this might cause infection and fever. One problem at a time.

  “Even if this works, my leg is likely broken. We both know I’m not going any further,” he told her.

  “Then when I get you back to the others, we’ll leave behind someone who can escort you home,” she said, focused on her task.

  “That’s a death sentence for whoever you choose. You know as well as I do that splitting up is too dangerous,” he warned. “You’re going to need all of them. Leave me, I’ll be fine.”

  “Bullshit. You won’t even be able to walk,” Shea said in a flat voice. “How would I face Mother if I came back without you? You didn’t raise me to take the easy route, now shut up and let me splint your leg.”

  Patrick held back a groan when she felt along the injured limb. He might have gotten lucky and it was just a sprain, but either way, it was going to be difficult to get him out of here. In that sense, he was right. His part in this mission was over.

  There was the sound of movement on the other side of the gorge. They shared a glance. Shea’s eyes were wide and afraid.

  That hadn’t sounded like their people. Worse, it was coming from the opposite direction. Their people would have come over the ridge at her back.

  Patrick grabbed her arm. “You have no choice now. Leave me and go.”

  Shea ignored him, looking around, hoping inspiration would strike or that she would suddenly spot a handy winged horse to carry them to safety. There was no horse, but she did get an idea.

  She turned and grabbed her father’s arms dragging him to several flat rocks that formed a small tent. After checking to make sure there was nothing waiting in the small burrow, she pulled him into the protection of its crevasse, hiding him from view.

  Once that was done, she crouched next to him. “I’ll draw them off if necessary. If I don’t come back, wait until one of the others come looking for you. I have no doubt they’ll be here as soon as they deal with their own beast problems. Then come find me.”