SHEA STEPPED out of the tent she shared with Fallon when he was home—a tent bigger than any house she’d lived in. It had to be to accommodate his guests on the occasions when he entertained. Shea had only been present for a few of those occasions, but she was glad to have the space.
She took two steps forward and stopped.
Daere waited for her, arms folded over her chest and an implacable expression on her face.
Shit. Trenton must have informed Fallon’s cousin of Shea’s planned activities for the day.
Shea hesitated before straightening her shoulders and meeting Daere head on. She was an adult and fully capable of letting Daere know that she was riding out to meet Fallon. The other woman could argue as much as she wanted, but it wouldn’t change Shea’s plans.
“Going somewhere?” Daere asked. Her expression left Shea no doubt that Daere already knew the answer to that.
“I’m joining Eamon when he rides out this morning to meet Fallon.”
“Are you now?” Daere’s eyebrow lifted.
“Yup. That’s what I’m doing.”
“And when were you going to inform me of this?”
Shea thought the answer to that question was fairly obvious. Instead of giving a response that would have guaranteed Daere’s wrath, she said, “I’m informing you now.”
Daere’s jaw tightened, a vein throbbing in her neck. Shea waited.
“You are a stubborn, stubborn woman.”
Shea nodded, acknowledging the claim. She was. There was no getting around it. She was also hardheaded and horrible with people. She fully acknowledged her failings.
“If I didn’t know Fallon as well as I do, I would question his sanity in choosing you, of all people, as his telroi.”
Shea narrowed her eyes but didn’t respond. She wanted this over with and continuing to engage would just prolong it.
“Nothing to say?” Daere hands went to her hips. “It’s like talking to a rock.”
Shea let a brief smile cross her face. She’d been told that before.
“You know Fallon asked me to do this.”
“That’s the problem,” Shea said. She didn’t see a way out of this encounter; Daere just didn’t seem in the mood to get fed up and stalk away. Shea would have to share. “He had no right to do that. I don’t need someone to mold me into a Trateri woman.”
“You think you can fit in without my help? Become the helpmeet he needs?”
Shea shook her head, frustrated. “Of course not. That would be impossible.”
Surprise registered on Daere’s face. “Then why have you been such a pain in my ass over the past few months?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing wrong with who I am. Fallon knew who I was when he made his offer.”
“Is that what you think?” Daere didn’t sound angry, just curious. “That he’s trying to change you?”
Shea shrugged, uncomfortable with the questions. What else was she supposed to think? He’d banned her from joining the scouts and wouldn’t let her go out with the regular army either. Eamon seemed to think that her path led to bigger things than just trail work, but she wasn’t sure if she believed that. What she did know was that she was not equipped to be someone who supported Fallon from behind the scenes. She needed something that gave meaning to her life, something that made her feel like she had purpose.
Daere’s sigh was resigned. “That’s not it. I’m not here to try to mold you into what I am.”
Shea arched an eyebrow at her. She could have fooled her.
Daere’s nod was an acknowledgement of her unspoken point. “That might have been my intention, but not Fallon’s. He believes that the more you know, the more power you will have to guide events in a direction you choose.”
Movement in Shea’s peripheral vision drew her attention. Shea glanced to the side, noticing Trenton and Wilhelm, the second Anateri Fallon had stuck her with. Wilhelm was striking in a way that had a good number of the women in camp making doe eyes at him every time he walked by.
Fallon’s Anateri were another point of conflict between them. Shea had argued that their presence would be a giant pain in her ass. Fallon had countered with that stone-faced expression he got when he thought she was being unreasonable. She’d lost by the sheer fact that he’d left before she woke the next morning and the two men wouldn’t take orders from her when those orders pertained to leaving her alone.
“Is everyone planning on coming with me?” Shea muttered.
“Despite what you might think, your station is not the same as when you were some faceless scout. You can no longer walk around the encampment unattended or venture out there without people to watch your back.”
“I’ve never had a problem before now.”
“Before, you were just one of many. Fallon has spent a lifetime accumulating enemies. You’ve helped uncover a few of them.” Daere gave Shea a meaningful glance. Shea looked away. She still had trouble thinking about her involvement in those deaths. “That was just the beginning. There are many who would strike at him through you. If you care about him at all, you won’t fight his men when they try to protect you.”
Shea didn’t have anything to say to that. Daere’s words made her feel like a willful child putting herself in needless danger.
The men joined them. Trenton’s gaze darted between the two women. He’d witnessed many of these scenes where Daere lectured Shea, and Shea steadfastly ignored it.
“Glad to see you two are ready,” Wilhelm said in an affable voice.
Shea could never tell if he felt the tension or just failed to notice. Either way, he’d broken up several stare downs between Daere and her over the last few weeks.
Shea had met Wilhelm at the same time she’d met Fallon—when she saved both from execution by a mob of angry lowland villagers who were convinced the two of them were snooping around in preparation of stealing their horses. She hadn’t known who Fallon and Wilhelm were then, just that the villagers had tried to kill two of her own men, and she wasn’t going to let them have the satisfaction of killing anyone else.
Shea was grateful for his presence. Of the two Anateri, Trenton was more likely to egg Daere and Shea on, but then, he was a sadistic bastard. She had bruises from their latest training session that could attest to that.
“We’d better get going. I don’t think Eamon will wait,” Wilhelm said.
Trenton’s mouth quirked in a half smile as he observed the two women. His eyes gleamed as he took in their tense postures.
Daere gave Shea a considering look, her amber eyes giving no hint to her internal thoughts. Shea stared back with a calm expression. It was the same one she used to give to her charges when she fully intended to ignore whatever they said and do things her own way.
“Let’s get moving,” Daere said, shocking Shea by giving in. “As Wilhelm said, the Western Wind Division’s commander is likely to leave without us if we’re late.”
She turned and strode to where Shea just now noticed a pack similar to the one she was carrying lying on the ground. Daere shouldered it and walked off in the direction of the horse corrals near the Wind Division side of camp.
Shea blinked at Trenton and Wilhelm as they lost no time in following Daere. Trenton winked at her as he passed.
What had just happened? She’d expected a much bigger argument from at least two of them.
Not wanting to question her good fortune, Shea followed in their wake. If only getting her way was always that easy.
*
The horse shifted under her, its uneasiness reflecting Shea’s own. She’d been antsy all morning, her skin feeling like a swarm of angry bees buzzed under it. It was a familiar feeling, but not one she’d ever thought to have this deep into the Lowlands.
Daere, as had become typical over the last three days, stuck close to Shea, riding just to her left. She was always within one or two horse lengths. Shea didn’t know if it was because Daere worried she’d bolt or thought she could prevent Shea from doing something stupid if she stuck close.
The two Anateri were a little better, hanging back and giving Shea some semblance of space.
The rest of the party was spread out, Eamon and Buck somewhere in the front, and the rest of Eamon’s men bringing up the rear.
Despite the height of the horses, they were like ants next to the soul trees and the rest of the forest. Everything here grew on a massive scale—mushrooms that reached up to Shea’s shoulders, a flower that flourished in the shade of the trees and grew so high its leaves brushed the tops of their heads as the horses clopped their way past stalks as thick as Shea’s waist.
“How is everything so big?” Daere asked, staring up at the flat leaves of the flower. “It’s like it was built for giants.”
Shea agreed. “The villagers like to say that the gods were once giants and that they created this garden full of wondrous and terrible life. They fed it with their blood to help it take root and grow, then tended it by watering it with their nectar. That even when the gods left this world, their creation remained and grew, flourishing through the years.”
Daere looked over at Shea. “What do you believe?”
Shea tilted her head back, staring up into the canopy above. “That during the last years of the cataclysm, a great and terrible battle was fought near here. One that involved powerful magics that found root and affected everything nearby, causing some type of rapid and atypical growth in the plants and animals. I doubt gods had anything to do with this place.”
Daere didn’t comment on Shea’s observation, making a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat and going back to observing the forest around them.
Shea probably shouldn’t have shared her thoughts. They were the sort of thing that she had been taught from a young age to keep secret from those who weren’t part of the Pathfinder Guild. Most didn’t want to hear or believe what she knew to be true.
Since Shea had decided to make the Trateri her people in truth, she decided it would be best to share what she knew in little drops. It was why she’d taken a chance in telling Daere a bit about the history of this place. History that her people had uncovered piece by piece as the villagers shared their oral history.
The feeling under Shea’s skin surged, the angry buzzing turning into prickles just this side of pain, running along Shea’s spine and arms and down the backs of her legs.
She hissed.
This was impossible. It couldn’t be here.
She reigned her horse to a stop and slammed her eyes closed, ignoring Daere’s exclamation and Trenton’s questioning rumble. She listened, tuning out her companions as she strained to feel the world around her.
There. She was right.
Her eyes popped open, the fear in them silencing Daere’s question.
She touched her heels to the horse’s sides, sending it galloping for Eamon. Daere, Trenton and Wilhelm were right behind her.
“Rally your men,” Shea shouted as soon as she got within hearing distance of him.
He didn’t waste time asking questions, putting a small bullhorn to his lips and blowing on it in three short bursts.
Shea didn’t wait for the rest of his men to assemble, swinging one leg over her saddle and digging through one of her saddle bags. She pulled out a coil of rope.
“Get off your horses,” she ordered those that were close.
“What’s going on?” a man asked.
“You want to live and see your family ever again, get off your horses and listen to what I say.” Shea’s voice brooked no argument—her eyes flinty.
Daere obeyed without question. Shea handed her a length of the rope and then did the same with Trenton and Wilhelm. Others followed suit, creating a chain of people holding rope when Eamon made it clear that Shea wasn’t to be questioned.
The sense of urgency under Shea’s skin grew, lending her movements a frantic speed. It was almost here. She was running out of time.
“What do we do with the horses?” Buck asked.
“Put as many of them on a string as you can, but don’t lose sight of us. If you do, you’re gone.”
One of the men gave a small laugh as if he thought this was a joke or that Shea had finally cracked, showing signs of Lowland weakness after all.
Eamon and Buck didn’t laugh, and they didn’t act like this was a joke—their faces deadly serious as they gathered the closest horses and threaded their own rope through their reins.
White mist blew through the trees fifty yards in front of them, swarming across the ground in an unstoppable, unavoidable wall. Tentacles of it rolled in front of the main body, like they were horses pulling ahead of the herd.
“Leave the rest and get back on the line!” Shea shouted at Buck and Eamon.
Eamon yelled at Buck and another man, telling them to go as he tied off the line. Buck sprinted the short distance to Shea and the line of rope she’d made everybody grab. Eamon was seconds behind him, the mist looming behind, threatening to swallow him. The third man scrambled after.
“Hurry!” she screamed.
If the mist swallowed him, if he lost sight of them, his chances of finding them again were slim. Shea wasn’t sure she’d be able to save him.
He reached her just as the mist engulfed them, bathing the world in a thick white that covered everything, including the man who’d been only a step or two behind Eamon. Holding her hand in front of her face, Shea was barely able to see the outline of her fingers.
“Richard,” one of the men on the line called. No answer came. He was gone.
“Whatever you do, don’t let go of the rope,” Shea ordered.
“What is this?” Trenton asked, his voice seemed to echo from everywhere.
Shea could only see Daere, grasping the rope next to her. The rest of the men were just voices in the mist, the visibility almost zero.
“It’s the mist,” Shea said.
“So?” someone asked. “We have this in the Outlands. Never this thick but it won’t hurt you.”
“Not like this,” Shea said. “I doubt you have anything like this in the Outlands. As far as I know this is something that only affects the Highlands and the Badlands. It’s the first time I’ve seen it this far into the Lowlands.”
“Where’s Richard? Why isn’t he answering?” the man who’d called for his friend asked.
Shea was quiet for a moment. “He’s gone. If he’s lucky, he’ll find his way out.”
“What is it?” Eamon asked, the mist making it nearly impossible to pinpoint where his voice was coming from.
“It’s the bogeyman parents warn their children about. Be careful of mistfall, lest you never find your way home again. You get lost in this and chances are you won’t come out. You’ll wander lost and alone, searching for the way out—never to find it.”
Even without being able to see them, Shea could sense the unease among the rest of the group.
“How is the rope supposed to save us?” someone asked. “We would have been better off trying to run and avoid it.”
“You’d never have made it,” Shea said. “It moves too fast, or otherwise I’d have tried just that.”
She peered out at the foggy world, even knowing it would do little good. This was one of the thickest mists she’d ever encountered, not just turning the world odd and dreamy but wiping it completely clean.
“Can you get us out of here?” Eamon asked.
Shea was quiet for a moment. “Yes.”
Relief filtered through the air.
“That’s not our only problem, though.”
Eamon understood without her needing to elaborate.
“Fallon.”
“Yes.”
There was a low curse.
Daere shifted next to Shea, her movements stirring the mist. Shea ignored her, needing to focus on the task at hand.
Eamon had given Shea a copy of the map, knowing she’d want to monitor their progress for herself. Also, it was a good way to check the accuracy of the maps. Neither one thought it was likely the cartographers would give them inaccurate maps—not after the last time, but it paid to not trust blindly and verify whenever they could.
By Shea’s estimation, Fallon and his entourage wouldn’t be too far from them. The mist could very well have swallowed them, and unlike Shea’s group, they had no pathfinder trained to navigate its miasma.
No one spoke as Shea wrestled with deciding the best course of action. She knew she could lead them out. It might take a day or two, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before.
“If you can navigate this, shouldn’t you be able to find Fallon and get him and his men out?” Buck asked.
That was the crux of the problem. Leading people out was one thing. Finding them in the mist was another. Shea knew of no pathfinder who had walked into the mist blind and been able to accurately find the lost to lead them out.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“What does that mean?”
Shea wasn’t sure who’d asked that.
“It means I don’t know if that’s even possible. No one I know of has attempted it. Once the mist takes you, that’s it. If you’re not anchored or with a pathfinder, you’re just gone.”
There was a long silence as they digested that.
Shea stared into the mist, angry and scared in a way she hadn’t been in a very long time. She wasn’t ready for this to be the end—for Fallon to disappear, not dead, but not alive either.
No, she wasn’t ready at all.
“I have a theory about the mist. It’s a risk though and could end with all of us dead.”
There was the sound of something hitting another thing.
“Ouch.”
“I knew she would have a plan. Didn’t I tell you?” Buck asked.
“Like I said. It’s a risk.”
“We’ll take it,” Buck returned. “I’m sure it’ll work.”
“I’m not,” someone muttered.
There was another thud and then a different person said, “Hey.”
“Sorry,” Buck apologized.
Shea was very much afraid that Buck’s faith was misplaced this time. She wasn’t lying when she said it was a risk, and the chances of success were small. If she were still a pathfinder, still answering to the guild, she would never have been allowed to even consider this option. There were too many things that could go wrong, costing her not just Fallon’s life but the lives of everyone with her. It was a heavy burden to contemplate.
Her plan meant finding a large enough object, preferably living, to anchor this group to. Villages in the Highlands rarely went missing. The mist might pass them by but could do little to totally displace them, unlike those wandering the forest.
The soul trees might work. They were definitely big enough and were firmly rooted in this world. It was still a risk—something that had never been attempted before—but it wasn’t as great a risk as leaving them standing in place awaiting her return. She could end up losing all of them, Eamon, Fallon and all the rest.
She kind of wanted to kick her own ass for even considering a plan so asinine. Then she thought of what her life would be like without Fallon in it, and she was willing to risk the world itself for the chance to see him again. It was a selfish desire. Dangerous and at odds with a pathfinder’s duty.
“What’s your plan?” Eamon said.
Last chance. She could follow her training, lead her charges to safety.
What had playing it safe got her before? Betrayal, punishment and heartache. No, she was Trateri now and life was a calculated risk. She could do this. She would do this.
“The soul trees. In the myths, it’s said their roots and branches stretch between many worlds. I know they are rooted deeply in this world. If I can find one here in the mist, it should give you an anchor to our world. After you’re anchored, I’ll head out to find Fallon.”
“Thought you said it had never been done before.”
“It hasn’t, but there’s a first time for everything.”
Shea didn’t need to see Eamon’s face to know the concern that would be on it.
“Fallon wouldn’t want you to risk yourself on such a thin margin of success,” Daere said in a soft voice.
“He’s not here to stop me.” Shea’s voice was hard. “I decide what risks I take.”
The mist stirred, giving a brief glimpse of the hazy silhouette of the figures clinging to a thin rope that was all that anchored them to her.
“Do it,” Eamon said. “We’ve been in tough situations before. I have faith that you’ll find a way. The Hawkvale is worth the risk. We owe it to him to try.”
“My life for the Hawkvale,” Wilhelm said, his words making it clear he found the potential risk in this plan acceptable.
“If we make it out alive, it may very well be our lives when he finds out we let her do this,” Trenton said. He sighed. “Oh well, at least it means we’ll be alive to face his wrath.”
Shea took a deep breath and released it.
“What now?” Eamon asked.
“Everyone needs to be as quiet as possible,” Shea said.
“Understood.”
The others settled, only the faint sound of feet scuffing against the ground letting Shea know that she wasn’t alone. The rope tugged gently in her hand as someone shifted.
Shea’s breath rasped in her ears as she breathed deep and exhaled. She stared out at the whiteness, unseeing. Her eyesight worthless.
Humans have many senses beyond vision— hearing, touch, taste, smell. None of which were any more reliable here where the mist caused sound to echo, the warmth of the sun to be a faint memory, and the only smell that of damp earth and desperation. No, the normal senses would be all but useless, waiting to betray you at the soonest opportunity.
In the last test before an initiate was elevated to the rank of pathfinder, they were led deep into the wilds and abandoned in an area that was constantly ravaged by the mists. Their only hope was to find their way out on their own. Many lost their lives, some made it out but were mentally broken from their time spent in its grasp. Only those remaining gained the ability to navigate its treacherous heart.
The ability gained was hard to describe to the uninitiated. The closest Shea had ever come was likening it to a homing pigeon. There was some sense that enabled her to hone in on the direction that was home, whether that be the Highlands or the Lowlands. It was a tug in her heart that pulled her from the mist even when it was at its thickest and most dangerous.
She resisted that tug, trying instead to hone in on something closer. Something that could keep her friends safe until the mist relented.
She strained, sensing things in the mist that she hoped would continue to ignore the small existences of her and her friends. There were creatures here that made beasts look like tame puppies. She had no desire to run into them.
There. Her sense caught on something bright and warm. It felt big, an immense presence eclipsing the denizens of the mist by many factors. Her mind’s eye sensed that it wasn’t just of this world, its branches reached into many. Her curiosity sparked. If there had been time, she would have liked to study this effect. Perhaps explore those branches—see where they led.
“Follow,” Shea ordered, moving forward. Her footsteps were sure and confident as she headed toward what she hoped was a soul tree.
The others made no protest as she led them through the whiteout. There was the faint nicker of the horses as someone tugged on the lead. Their hoof beats echoed in the air, seeming to come from everywhere.
Time passed, slow and fast at the same time. That was the way of the mist though. It was hard to judge how long you spent wandering. It could be hours or days as they made their way to the tree, a shining beacon in this colorless world. Shea had to push down the sense of urgency growing in her chest. If Fallon was caught in this too, time would have that weird distortion to it as well. She sensed that if too much time passed, her opportunity to find him would close.
At last, the great tree loomed in front of Shea— a dark figure that rose high above them. Shea tugged on the rope, sliding it through her hands until Daere’s hands touched hers. Daere looked up at the tree with trepidation.
Shea caught her hands and placed them on the tree. “As long as one of you is touching this, you should be fine. Wait here until the mist dissipates or I come for you.”
“How do you know this will work?” Daere asked.
“I don’t. It’s the only hope I’ve got, but it’s better than nothing.” Shea didn’t mention she’d based this theory off two sentences of a tale that was so old that her people didn’t even know when or where it had originated from. It was a story Shea’s mom liked to tell her when she was younger—a cautionary tale about a man who’d been separated from his wife by the mist. Shea hoped their outcome was a little happier than that man’s.
Whispers echoed through the mist. Voices barely heard, their words indistinguishable.
“What is that?” Buck asked, his voice hushed.
“Ignore it,” Shea ordered.
Damn, it looked like something had found them after all. She’d hoped they wouldn’t have to deal with them.
“I think I recognize that voice,” a man she didn’t know said.
“You don’t. They’re shadows taken from memories. Whatever you hear, whatever you see, it’s not really there. They’re temptations meant to make you stray from safety. Don’t fall for it.”
“Will they attack us?” Eamon asked.
“They shouldn’t. The shades don’t have form. They attack by imitating the voices and faces of loved ones, usually those lost in tragedy. As long as you stay with the soul tree, you should be safe.”
She felt decidedly less confident now that she knew shades had found them. It made her hesitate, question what she planned to do.
Sensing she was waffling, Eamon said, “We’ll be fine, Shea. I’ll make sure we don’t leave the safety of the tree. You concentrate on saving Fallon. That’s your task, that’s what’s important.”
Shea took a deep breath and released it. That was what she loved about the Trateri. They didn’t take the easy path, even when death lurked on the harder road. They didn’t leave their people behind just because it was dangerous. They were stubborn, hardheaded and courted a death wish more often than not. She fit in perfectly.
“I should go with you,” Daere said.
“No, you’ll only slow me down. I need to be able to move fast and without distraction if I’m going to do this.”
What Shea didn’t say is she didn’t want the responsibility of another soul if this went wrong. She was as sure as she could be that they would be fine as long as they ignored the shades and kept in contact with the tree. Even with the shades present, what she was about to do was infinitely more dangerous.
“If it’s possible, I’ll bring him back.” It was a promise Shea intended to keep.
Shea could sense that Daere was torn, not wanting to let Shea take this chance but also not wanting to be the one responsible for Fallon’s death.
“Don’t fail,” she ordered.
Shea made a small sound of assent. She didn’t intend to.
“And come back safe,” Eamon added.
Shea took a deep breath. Her hand dropped, the rough texture of the rope sliding from her fingers. She took a step back and then another. A thick wave of mist blew between them, obscuring Eamon, Daere and the rest, muffling their voices until Shea was standing alone with only the sound of her own breathing to keep her company.