by T. A. White
“This is ridiculous. I bet you have no idea how to handle this. I can’t believe my war band insisted I attend.”
A man in the front stood up. He was big, easily taller than most of the men here. He looked like he had been cut from stone with a blunt chisel, his features rough and half formed. “How ‘bout you keep your mouth shut if you’ve nothing helpful to add?”
If a man who looked like that—with a body built for violence and a face that looked like it belonged on a berserker—spoke to her like that, Shea thought she might do whatever he asked, especially when his question had a tone that made it clear what the consequences would be if you didn’t listen.
Charles looked overwhelmed and out of his element as he tried to intervene. “Let’s not let our emotions get the best of us. We’re all just looking for answers.”
“Stay out of it, cripple,” the stranger snapped.
The other man’s face darkened, and he looked like he was going to leap across the crowd to wrap his hands around the stranger’s neck.
“You shouldn’t run,” Shea said, her voice ringing through the air. The statement was strange enough and out of context enough that both men paused to glance her way.
“Shea.” Charles looked unhappy as he glanced from her to the other man.
Many of those gathered recognized her, having been on missions with her, or having heard her story. She was a bit notorious with the Wind Division scouts. Clark and Buck liked to brag on her, trying to convince any who listened that they knew her first and taught her everything she knew. A lie, for the most part.
“The first thing to know about the mist is that you shouldn’t run from it. One—you’ll never be fast enough, and two—it knows when someone acts like prey. Running will just attract it.”
The stranger guffawed, a sound of stunned disbelief. “What’s this? Superstition is what you’re teaching these people? Who is this anyways?”
He took in her appearance, his lip curling in a sneer. Guess he didn’t recognize her. She sighed. She’d thought she was past having to deal with idiots. Looked like she was wrong. She was beginning to think there was one in every group. Perhaps it was simply her burden to bear.
“Someone who knows considerably more about the mist than you, obviously.”
Clark snorted back a laugh at her dry tone. He always got an odd joy when she put others down with the sharp edge of her tongue.
“I seriously doubt some throwaway knows anything of worth.”
There was a rumble of anger at the last statement. Clark puffed up and looked like he was going to leap to her defense. Shea shook her head at him and he settled back.
Assured that Clark wasn’t going make things worse or get himself hurt, Shea took the time to study the other man. His face was set in a belligerent expression, but she couldn’t tell if that was a cover for fear or whether he’d come here specifically to start something. Knowing the Trateri, it could be either.
She gave him the benefit of the doubt and attributed some of his hostility to fear of the unknown and the rest to having to turn to his enemy for answers. Fear was difficult to gauge. Everyone reacted to it differently. Some took it in stride, using it as an opportunity to rise to the challenge and meet it head on. Shea had seen people pull together when faced with what seemed to be insurmountable odds and overcome them. Others, when faced with fear of the unknown, became their most base selves, committing atrocities previously at odds with their core beliefs. These were the people who would sacrifice everything—including pieces of themselves and others—to survive just one more day or even an hour longer. Their fear was a wind that fanned the flame of destruction, both in themselves and what they once loved.
Perhaps it was the cynic in her or just that she was unlucky, but Shea had considerably more experience with the second reaction, having seen it time and again.
How to address this? The easy answer would be to reveal she was the Telroi of the Hawkvale. She was actually surprised that the men with her or Daere hadn’t already disclosed that little secret. She was grateful for their restraint. If she was to make a place here, to lead as Braden had said, she needed to make her own way, build respect on her own. The respect Fallon had built would only extend so far.
Shea gave an internal sigh. It seemed no matter how far she’d come, or what she did, she always came back to having to prove herself, to demonstrating she wasn’t just some throwaway with air in her head or an insignificant woman wanting a seat at the men’s table.
“The first time I walked into the mist, I was six. My mother thought early exposure would help me overcome it when it was time.”
There was a murmur among those gathered at Shea’s words. Daere’s gaze jumped to Shea’s face. Braden looked thoughtful at the revelation.
“The second time I was twelve and during my apprenticeship as a pathfinder. I’ve walked through the mist and come out the other side more times than I have fingers on my hands.” Shea let that sink into their minds, noting that the stranger seemed watchful now, as if he was weighing her words and looking for loopholes. “Treat the mist as you would a beast. It is mysterious, and dangerous, and beautiful. It will make you lose your way if it can, never to walk this world again. Be vigilant. Be brave.”
“If we can’t run, what should we do?” the question came from the mountain of a man in front, the one who had threatened the stranger.
Shea was quiet as she thought. She’d been truthful with Fallon when she said it was impossible for her to teach them how to walk in the mist. That would offer little comfort to these men who risked their lives every time they set foot outside the camp’s perimeter. She needed to give them something to hold onto, no matter how small. Something that would offer some protection, even if it wasn’t much.
“Carry rope on you at all times. Your biggest challenge in the mist is getting lost. It’s easy to get separated. If you can, gather your people and have them hold onto the rope. It’ll at least give you a chance.”
As Shea spoke, she saw that several of those present began to write—their faces as attentive and intense as they had been when they listened to Charles. It made Shea uneasy to know they were giving her words such weight. She hoped she didn’t fail them by offering useless advice.
“There are many things that are still unknown about the mist even in the Highlands where it is a constant threat.” She rubbed her hands together as she thought. “This may just be observation and hypothesis. Not everything is proven. What I can tell you is that the mist has limitations. Most of the time it seems to avoid large populations of life, leaving it alone or barely skirting along the edges. Its effects are greatly mitigated where there are large settlements. You have more of a chance of coming back to this world in a group than you do by yourself.”
She chose to leave out the fact that after the cataclysm, when the mist was at its worst, it could carry off entire cities teeming with people. That’s how the Badlands formed. Once settled by thousands of people, they were now a desolate wasteland where only the insane, foolhardy, and desperate visited.
“Some of Eamon’s men said you had them tie themselves to one of these trees,” Fiona said from the front, her eyes piercing and intent.
Shea hadn’t noticed her among the crowd. She nodded. “I did. The soul trees are deeply rooted in this world and their size acts as an anchor. My suggestion would be to find one and stay with it until the mist abates.”
The stranger snorted, a sound filled with skepticism. “This is all you have? If you walked out of the mist when you were six and twelve, it doesn’t sound too dangerous. Why should we believe you?”
Shea shrugged, the gesture careless. “Believe what you like. It’s your life to live as you choose. Its loss makes no difference to me. I think, though, you know on some level that the mist is dangerous. Why else would you be here? Why else would any of you be here?”
“Easy words for a throwaway to say. You’re not the one who is going to be out there. For all we know everything you
just said will get us killed.”
Shea gave him a long look filled with disdain. Guess she should have expected that as his next volley.
Before she could reply, Daere’s voice was a whip through the air. “Watch how you speak to the Hawkvale’s Telroi.”
Her words had an immediate effect on those who didn’t already know. The strangers and a few of Wind Division studied her with new eyes, assessing, cataloging, and trying to decide what about this throwaway had so drawn their warlord. Shea fought not to react, though she’d always loathed being the center of attention in matters not related to pathfinding.
She knew what they’d see, a woman with unruly hair just brushing her shoulders. One who was of average height and average looks. Sometimes she questioned what he saw in her too. She wasn’t politically powerful, and since she’d burned the maps that showed the secret paths to the Highlands—she didn’t have leverage with him that way. She’d be the first to admit she had a bit of a temper, and she wasn’t the nicest of individuals on occasion.
Daere’s words seemed to work, acting like a blast of cold water. However, Shea was pretty sure by the way the stranger was eyeing her that she hadn’t managed to sway him much. She gave a mental shrug. He’d believe her, or he wouldn’t. She’d tried. She’d even taken Eamon’s advice and tried to explain rather than just tell. What he did with that information was now on him. She just hoped he didn’t get others killed through his own hardheadedness.
A few of the others seemed to take her words to heart, dutifully inscribing them in the notebooks she knew Clark had passed out to any scout who would take them. At least someone would get something from this. It would have to be enough.
The crowd gradually dispersed. Charles walked over to them as the others left, some in groups as they compared notes, and others trickling off alone.
“Thanks, Shea. I don’t know what I would have done without you here,” he said, his gait stiff as he limped over to them. It was enough to ensure he was unable to become a soldier or join any other combat positions. He was smart, though. Smarter than most. His intellect should have guaranteed him a spot in the upper echelons, but his leg kept him back.
“Does that happen often?” Braden asked. If he thought less of Charles because of his physical ailment, he didn’t show it.
“The scouts and soldiers from Wind Division don’t usually challenge me like that. We’re having more problems when some from other divisions join in a class. Most are respectful, but a few feel the need to throw their weight around. Soldiers from Ember and Lion seem to be the worst.”
“Which clan and division was that man from?” Shea asked.
“Rain clan, Tempest division.”
Hm. That was good to know. She thought the patches on the men from the sleeper vine incident were similar to that of the stranger’s.
“That does not surprise me,” Trenton said. “Rain took a lot of the exiles from Snake Clan when Fallon disbanded it. Their clan leader was good friends with Indra. They seem to hate everyone who is not them. It doesn’t matter what clan or division you’re in.”
“You’ve got an interesting concept here,” Braden told Charles. “It could use a little work and fine tuning, but the idea is sound.”
Charles blinked at the general as if just realizing who he was. His mouth dropped open as surprise dawned on his face. “You’re General Braden Thorisdon. You’re responsible for the victory against the Oorumicon.”
“I did fight in that battle, but there were many who fought alongside me.” Braden’s words were humble, sparking Shea’s curiosity.
Who were the Oorumicon? Were they another enemy of the Trateri that she didn’t know about? Had they been conquered and assimilated into Fallon’s clans? There was so much to learn about the Trateri, their culture and history. It seemed never-ending.
“This is such an honor,” Charles said. “I have listened to the stories and songs about you and have followed your path up the ranks.”
Before Braden could respond, a woman with blond hair pulled back in a single braid and wearing a determined expression approached. She was trailed by a tall thin man with a long face and a pained expression. He was Trateri; Shea was willing to bet the woman wasn’t.
“Eva, don’t,” the man warned in a soft voice.
His words caused the other woman to hesitate before she shrugged them off and lifted her chin. Her eyes fastened on Shea’s. “I’m told you can help us.”
Trenton turned and looked at the woman, edging her away from Shea with a subtle movement. “And who might you be?” he asked with a flirtatious grin.
Eva stopped short, eyeing Trenton for a moment before dismissing him and looking past him to Shea. “We’re having problems in the pasture. We’ve lost three horses in the past week and two others were injured. We need help from somebody who knows this place.”
“You should direct your complaints to your clan,” Braden said.
The woman’s face turned frustrated, her petite features belying the force of personality behind her eyes. “We have. They’ve neglected to do anything meaningful, and meanwhile we stand to lose even more.” Her eyes turned to Charles, an accusation in them. “This is the second time I’ve come here for help and have been turned away.”
Charles blustered, “The beast class isn’t here to help a throwaway do their job. We have important business that takes priority.”
Eva snorted. “You would think you people would care for your horses a little better, instead of just leaving them to be picked off one by one.”
“Eva,” the other man cautioned again, his eyes flicking from Braden to Trenton to Wilhelm.
Eva’s mouth tightened, and her chin lifted, stubbornness written on every line of her body.
“Do you know what’s attacking the herd?” Shea asked.
Eva’s eyes turned to Shea, a cautious hope in them. Shea didn’t know how this woman came to be among the Trateri, but it was clear she felt passionate about her horses.
“I found tracks. They look like bandisox, but they’re about four times bigger and a lot meaner.”
Bandisox were a rat-like animal that had bands of black circular rings around its body and white feet. It had a rodent-like face and a tail. They were normally not a threat. While carnivorous, they were too small to bring down a human and were mostly scavengers.
“You should take this to Mountain division,” Charles complained. “The herd belongs to them.”
Eva made a sound of frustration, one that sounded very like a growl. “I’ve already told you I did. They haven’t been able to help. Aren’t you all part of the same people?”
“While I sympathize with your plight, we are unable to help,” Braden said, his tone a clear dismissal.
Eva’s face fell before she rallied enough to hide her thoughts.
“I’ll help,” Shea said. “Can you show me where your herd is?”
Hope lit in Eva’s eyes, and she gave a sharp nod, before shooting the rest of the group a grim look.
Charles looked offended. “The Telroi is too important to waste her time on such insignificant matters.”
“I think I should be the judge in how my time is spent.” Shea kept her voice gentle to soften the rebuke.
Charles felt the sting of it, nonetheless. His face flushed and his mouth tightened in a frown.
“If you don’t mind the company, I’d be interested in seeing this as well,” Fiona said. She and two other men stood off to Shea’s left, watching them with curious eyes. “My men and I have a lot of energy to spend since we’ve been cooped up in camp for the last few weeks.”
Eva studied Fiona and her men before nodding. “We’ll take any help we can get at this point.”
Eva’s friend looked no less worried than he had before Eva had confronted Shea, but he did squeeze her shoulder in support. “If you’ll follow us, we can show you where we keep the herd and the tracks we found.”
Shea gestured for them to lead the way.
*
Fiona crouched a few feet away and pressed her hand down into the track. “Piss and bollocks. This thing is huge.”
“Looks like more than one of them,” one of Fiona’s men said from where he crouched.
“The smaller bandisox tend to scavenge in packs,” Shea said, standing and walking along the tracks. “I wouldn’t be surprised if these are the same.”
While big compared to their smaller cousins, the bandisox in this forest would still be small when compared to many other predators. Horses, dangerous in their own right, and perfectly capable of killing their predators, were probably less aggressive than some of the other animals here. They would be easy prey if enough bandisox attacked en masse.
“What are you looking for?” Trenton asked as he shadowed Shea. She’d followed the tracks to a tree.
“A nest. There are too few tracks for this to be a colony. My guess is a few broke with their original colony when resources became plentiful and that they’re setting up their own nest close to a food source.”
Eva followed, listening with an attentive expression. “Are you saying there are going to be more of them?”
“Probably sooner than you think,” Shea warned. “It’s good that you brought this to our attention when you did. A colony can grow to several hundred strong. At that point, they wouldn’t have only attacked the horses. You would have been prey as well.”
Eva looked apprehensive at that news, her eyes going to the forest around them as her body tensed.
Seeing the alarm in her face, Shea gave her a reassuring smile. “Your warning came in time. I think this is a small nest so far. We shouldn’t have a problem uprooting it.”
