by T. A. White
He had a point. She had been closemouthed when it came to life before her adoption into the Trateri. She had been so focused on not inadvertently revealing something that might tempt the Trateri in the direction of the Highlands that she now wondered whether that energy might have been better spent elsewhere.
“Once we pass our last phase, we take an oath.”
Trenton closed his eyes and leaned his head back, his face one of resignation. Shea smiled knowing he could guess where she was going with this.
“We vow that those we lead into the wilderness will not be left behind—even if it costs us our lives. So, you see, I can’t leave you behind. It would violate my oaths.”
He snorted. “You’re not a pathfinder anymore. You’re Trateri remember? And we do what we need to survive.”
“I’ll always be a pathfinder. It’s not a piece a clothing you can put on and take off at your convenience. It is the bedrock upon which I am built. Just like now I am Trateri. Both form who I am, for better or worse. Split loyalty or not.” Shea needed to find a way to reconcile the two pieces of herself. It was the only way to survive with her sense of self intact. The only way she could live with herself.
“That still doesn’t change the fact that our resources are limited and our time is short. You can’t afford any delays,” Trenton said, his face a grimace.
“Then I suppose you’d better dig up some of that Trateri stubbornness and get your ass moving.”
Trenton aimed a glare her way. “I was trying to be conscientious of you.”
“Well don’t,” Shea snapped. “I can take care of myself.”
“You know Fallon is going to be livid if you don’t make it out of here,” he groused.
“Well then, I suggest you get your ass in motion, so we can avoid that turn of events.”
She grabbed him by the arm and helped him stand. He grimaced as he gained his feet, his weight leaning hard against her.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
*
“Do you hear that?” Shea asked.
It was faint, the bell-like sound falling and rising as if wind were playing a symphony.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.” She listened and walked a few steps further, keeping one hand on the smooth rock of the passageway and the other in front of her. Trenton held onto the back of her pant loop as she tested the ground before her with every step.
She’d managed to make a torch out of scraps before they began their trip but had chosen to conserve its light until they really needed it. It had left them wandering blind and necessitated a slow and steady progress.
The sound now felt like it filled the chamber, vibrating in her bones as it rose and fell. There were tones that rippled and tangled together. It sounded very similar to the wind chimes the Airabel hung outside their wooden hunts, only here, the sound was purer.
“There’s a breeze,” Shea said as wind tickled the hair on her neck. “Could be a natural phenomenon.”
Wind rushing over a natural hole in the rock could create a similar sound. However, given the number of tones, she would say there were several holes of varying sizes for the wind to play. It gave her hope. Where there was wind, there was usually a way out.
“Come on, let’s keep going,” Shea told Trenton.
As they traveled, the music-like sound became louder and louder, echoing off the rock until the air vibrated with it. Shea could feel it in her chest as her entire body tuned itself to the sound.
She bumped into something and took a step back. The chimes came to a discordant halt. She reached out to feel for whatever had brushed against her, but her hand met air. With no sight, she couldn’t tell if what she felt was a danger to them or not.
Fumbling with the torch that she’d created and then stuck in her belt, Shea brought it around front before fishing the flint and steel out of her pocket where she’d placed them so she could find it easily.
“I’m going to light the torch,” she told Trenton.
“I thought you wanted to wait so you could preserve it in case we need it later.”
She had. “There’s something in front of me that I can’t make sense of. I’ll light the torch, figure out what’s blocking our path and then douse it again.”
Shea sensed the shrug he gave her and took his lack of argument as agreement.
With a few strikes of the flint, she got the torch going and held it up. The way in front of her was unobstructed.
Her eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. How was that possible? She had run into something. She was sure of it.
She stepped forward and her foot brushed against something. Shea brought her foot back and crouched down next to the object.
On the ground in front of her was a branch of some old tree, much like the one she held in her hand. Wrapped around the end was a wad of white fabric. She thought she even detected cobwebs, which made lighting torches simple because they acted as kindling would for a campfire.
She picked up the torch and held it close to her face. The smell wasn’t familiar, but Shea would bet everything she had that it was some sort of slow burning accelerant.
“Is that a torch?” Trenton asked from behind her.
Shea made noncommittal sound.
“How did a torch happen to land right in front of you?”
That was a very good question. One she suspected she knew the answer to.
“So, the stories were true,” she said in a soft voice.
“What stories?”
Shea stood and dusted off her pants. “The ones that say we’re probably not alone in these caverns.”
Trenton’s hand went to the knife sheathed at his side as he looked around the passageway with a sudden suspicion. She shook her head. Whoever had left this was long gone.
Shea looked at the torch for a moment before tucking it into the belt of her pants. She lifted her other torch high above her and looked around. The passage they were in was narrow with no offshoots that another person could hide in.
How did their gift giver get so close without making a sound? As the chimes picked up again, Shea conceded that it was likely that the person’s approach had been masked. But how had they known where to set down their gift so that Shea would find it? It was far more likely that she would have walked right past it.
Shea gave up on solving the mystery. It was far more important to get back to the group than to go hunting for the denizens of these caverns.
She knew whoever had left this was likely long gone by now, but still she didn’t feel right without giving thanks. Shea was pretty sure that they would have been in a lot of trouble without the gift.
She bent her head and said a silent prayer of gratitude, before lifting it and humming a melody that rose and fell with the chimes. It sounded rather nice, if she did say so herself.
“What do you mean we’re not alone?” Trenton asked.
“Let’s get going,” Shea said, not wanting to lose any more time. That sense of urgency was still riding her hard. “I’ll explain as we move.”
Trenton hobbled after her as Shea prepared to tell him a story—one she barely remembered since it had been so long since she’d heard it herself.
“I don’t remember what started it or why it came to be, if I ever knew in the first place, but it’s said this place is named after a man called Lodi. He was said to be a great protector in the old world, someone who led his people with strength and wisdom.” Shea held the torch so Trenton could see where to duck. “I’m not sure if this happened during or after the Cataclysm, but it’s said that he and his people were attacked by a great army. To save them, he retreated to this place. That plain we were on—a great battle waged there as he and his men made a last stand to give his people time to retreat and seek shelter in the Highlands. It’s said that after that battle finished, Bearan’s fault grew by several feet and the entrance was smoking rubble.”
Shea paused to catch her breath. Spelunking through a small
passageway was more physically demanding than she remembered—all of the twisting and bending.
“If the entrance was reduced to rubble, how were your people able to uncover it,” Trenton asked as he took a break.
Shea shrugged, the dim light making the movement more dramatic than it was. “I don’t know that part. All I can tell you are the parts I remember, which aren’t many.”
“How does that story relate to what left us that torch?”
Shea unfolded from the bent over position she’d had to use to get through that last section. The tunnel before her opened up, allowing her to stand upright and proceed without having to turn sideways. She was grateful for that fact because Trenton’s progress was getting slower each time he had to bend over.
The torch she held flickered. It was close to being spent. She pulled out the one that had been left for them and held it against the guttering flame. It caught fire easily, the flame brighter and steadier than it had been on the torch she’d created.
“Well, Lodi’s battle was waged with magic and sword. When it became clear that he was going to lose, his magic users cursed his men to become terrible beings that would haunt these caverns, keeping those that meant his people harm from passing.” Shea looked over at Trenton, concerned about his labored breathing. She might have to leave him somewhere after all.
“Magic?” he scoffed. “I’m surprised to hear that from you. You’ve always struck me as too practical to believe in such things.”
“I’ll admit that most events that are ascribed to magic have perfectly logical and natural explanations.” Shea tilted her head in thought. “But I also know that magic is very real. I’ve seen it. Some say magic, or rather the war over its use, is what caused the cataclysm and the world as we know it today.”
Trenton’s face was skeptical as he made his painstaking way through the cave. “I’ve never seen anything but a few tricks that could easily be explained by sleight of hand.”
Shea shrugged. “The major magics have been gone for a long time, but echoes still remain. Even among the Trateri. Take Chirron for instance.”
“His healing isn’t magic,” Trenton said.
“You are correct. Most of what he does isn’t magic, but have you noticed how his patients seem to heal faster than they should? I bet people prefer him over another healer. Even when he does the exact same thing as others, it is more effective when coming from him. Take the wound on my head for instance; that should have taken weeks instead of days to heal and left a scar.” Shea touched the spot in question. “Instead, it’s all but disappeared.”
“Maybe it’s all in your mind.”
“Maybe.” Entirely possible, but Shea didn’t think so. There had been a brief moment when he’d had his hands on her head where she could have sworn a numbing coldness had spread through her. “No one is sure if it’s the original soldiers, their descendants, or beings that had nothing to do with Lodi and his battle, who haunt this place.”
“Great. Another mystery. Is there anything in these lands that isn’t mysterious and deadly?”
Shea shot him a grin. “What would be the fun in that?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“FORM A LINE. Spearmen at the front, archers to the rear,” Caden ordered. “Don’t let any of those creatures inside.”
The cavern they had sought shelter in protected them from aerial attacks, but any of the beasts could follow on the ground. Several of his men had already lit torches to see what might be lurking inside that could attack their rear. The light illuminated a chamber so big and vast that Fallon could fit his entire army in it and still have room leftover. The ceiling was so high above them that the torches did little to penetrate the shadows.
They needed to keep the winged beasts out or they’d have similar problems as before.
One of the torches’ light reflected off wooden panels carved with strange symbols.
“Stop,” Fallon told the man holding the torch. He advanced toward him, taking the torch and holding it up to the wood. It was a door, one nearly as tall as the chamber they stood in. Caden, seeing what Fallon was interested in, grabbed another torch from one of the men and crossed to the other side of the entrance, illuminating a similar wooden panel.
“They’re doors,” Witt said, his voice surprised and full of wonder.
“That they are,” Fallon said.
Braden called a retreat from outside and the Trateri that had covered Fallon’s escape poured in. Fallon grabbed several men.
“Get these doors closed,” he ordered, putting his shoulder to the one closest to him. Braden fell into place beside him. Gawain and Zeph put their shoulders to the door on Caden’s side.
With a scream of protest, the wood slid forward.
“Again,” Fallon shouted.
His men heaved at the doors, as the archers filled the mouth of the cave with volleys of arrows, the pikers defending the line from any creatures that got too close. The heavy doors resisted for a long moment, the centuries they had stood in the same position making them stubborn, but Fallon’s men persisted. With a groan they began to slide shut.
Eamon called for the men to retreat as the opening narrowed. They backed up in an orderly fashion, the last few slipping inside as Fallon and the others got the doors closed. He stood back, grabbing the metal bolt next to him and sliding it into the loop on the other door. Caden repeated that with the bolt above him. There was a third bolt below that Fallon shoved forward.
The doors secured, they stepped back, prepared to jump forward should the locks fail. The wood bulged inward once, dust cascading down, before settling.
There was a whoop as his men realized the battle was over and they’d come out victorious.
Zeph stood beside Fallon and gave the doors a cautious look. “This is a very odd land. I have never seen creatures acting in such a manner. I counted at least five winged species out there.”
Fallon grunted. He had seen the same.
“Since when do these beasts attack in a coordinated fashion? If your Telroi hadn’t opened this place when she did, we would have been slaughtered,” Zeph said.
The Ember clan leader made a very good point.
“Bring me the pathfinder,” Fallon ordered one of his Anateri. He needed to locate Shea. Every moment that passed without seeing her safe while giving him her grumpiest expression tied the knot in his chest tighter.
Van and Chirron approached, the two men giving each other a wide berth. Fallon fought the oath that he wanted to spit out at the sight. The two had never gotten along. Chirron, a man who spent his time healing and saving people, was the exact opposite of Van, a man who used his skills to keep Chirron busy.
Fallon had need of both in his army. Though he preferred to deal with each separately and not when he had more pressing matters on his mind then their ongoing feud.
“We need to get moving,” Van said without any preliminary conversation. He gave the doors Fallon stood by a look of distaste. “There’s no telling how long these will hold, given how old they probably are. The beasts could break through at any moment. It would be best if we were far from this place when that happens.”
“We can’t leave,” Chirron said, giving the other man a scathing look. “There were many wounded. I need time to stabilize them, or you risk them perishing on the move.”
Van turned to fix Chirron with an exasperated glare. “Chi, we can’t risk these doors breaking. You’ll have way more patients than you can handle at that point. Sometimes you have to make hard choices; this is one of those times.”
Chirron scoffed. “Don’t give me that load of horse dung. There’s been no sign of the doors weakening. There’s no reason not to take the extra time to ensure these men get the care they need.”
“If you and your healers haven’t been able to stabilize them by now, the chances of them surviving this journey are slim,” Van returned, his face drawn into grim lines. “We can’t leave them here nor can we accommodate their pace going into the Hi
ghlands.”
“You want me to give them mercy,” Chirron accused.
Van’s expression didn’t lighten or offer quarter. “You do them no favors by prolonging their deaths.”
“I’m not going to do that just so your life can be a little easier,” Chirron hissed.
It was easy to forget that the smaller man had gone through the same training as the rest of the Trateri. The same training that produced some of the best warriors in the Broken Lands. His interests might have turned to healing instead of killing, but in many ways Chirron was just as deadly as any other man in Fallon’s army.
“Enough,” Fallon said, breaking up the brewing fight. He couldn’t afford to have two of his highest officers break into fisticuffs over a disagreement. The blow to morale would be crippling. Not to mention, he had more important things to turn his attention to, like finding Shea, and then finding a way out of here. “How many are beyond even your skills?”
Chirron expression turned stubborn, his mouth turning down and his body tightening as if in preparation for battle.
Fallon gave him a warning look, in no mood to humor his principles.
Chirron relaxed, his expression smoothing out, though some of his unhappiness showed. “Three are in a bad way. I am not sure they will survive until sunset.”
“And the rest?”
“Two might pull through, if given adequate rest and care. The rest have minor injuries that, if treated immediately, shouldn’t pose a risk to their health as long as they keep the wounds from getting infected.”
“Offer mercy to the three. If they choose not to take it, we’ll give them a week’s worth of rations and water and find them a place with decent cover to remain. Stabilize the rest. We’ll leave as soon as that’s done.” To appease Van, Fallon told Zeph, “Gather several men and have them stand watch at these doors. At the first sign that they’re failing, we’ll leave, regardless of whether the injured are ready or not.”
Seeing his Anateri approaching with Reece in tow, he dismissed the other men and summoned Caden and Braden with a flick of his hand.
“Where is she?” Fallon didn’t waste any time cutting to the heart of the matter.
