by T. A. White
“Don’t leave us in suspense, man,” Caden said, his voice sour.
“The closest thing I’ve read fitting the glimpse I saw is something called a centaur, though those were reported to be a melding of man and horse.”
“The beast looked closer to an elk or deer to me.” Braden’s voice was thoughtful as he stared into the dark.
“Agreed,” her father said. “It’s the best description I have, however.”
“If they’re half human, that would mean they have some intelligence,” Fallon said.
“Sometimes,” Reece said. “But it would be a mistake to assume. Just because they have human parts, doesn’t mean they have a human’s logic or moral compass. We’ve seen other, similar creatures that have been just as monstrous, with a more pronounced taste for human flesh than your average beast.”
“What are they? Where did they come from?” Shea asked, curiosity burning through her. She couldn’t help it. She saw a puzzle and she wanted to solve it. It was just in her makeup, something she’d been born with that had been nurtured until it grew into this all-consuming fascination.
“They’re the mythologicals,” her father said, turning toward her.
Shea blinked, then blinked again. Words deserted her for a moment. “That’s not possible. Those are only stories.”
Practically every village in the Highlands and a good part of the Lowlands had some type of tale featuring the mythologicals—beasts only seen in stories, as fantastical as the imaginations they originated from. Impossible. Wondrous. Imaginary.
Shea’s mother used to entertain her with tales of the creatures when she was young, right along with stories of the first pathfinders who’d by turns worked beside and against the mythologicals. Their origins were old, stemming from a time when the great cataclysm ripped the world in two, leaving the survivors dim shades of what they once were. Entire civilizations were lost and what remained were isolated pockets of humanity too afraid to stir from their safe walls to take back the world they’d once taken for granted.
But the mythologicals were just that, stories. There were no verified reports of their existence. Shea had always chalked their origin up to the fevered imaginings of scared Highlanders who seemed to thrive on the fear of what waited in the wilds.
“Evidently not,” Reece said, his voice sour. “I’ve seen some of these things with my own eyes. They exist, and they’re a real bitch to deal with.”
Shea frowned in thought. What would this mean for the Highlands? Beasts were difficult enough, but at least they were animals. Maybe with a bit more intelligence and a lot fiercer than the average animal, but humans at least had a fighting chance against them, if only because they’d been pitted against them for generations.
Mythologicals were a different problem entirely. They were harder to kill than the average beast, and three times as deadly. Oftentimes—but not always—they had an uncanny intelligence that approached a human’s. Given no one had seen any sign of them in the last thousand years, most of those living in the Highlands and Lowlands probably had no clue how to keep them at bay.
“The frostling,” Shea said in a soft voice.
“What do you mean?” Fallon asked.
Shea’s voice was distracted as she remembered. “A few months back when I was still riding with Eamon and Buck, we encountered something straight out of a story. A creature I’d only heard referred to as a frostling.”
“The one who made people sleep as it froze the sentries, killing them,” Fallon said.
Shea watched him in surprise. How did he know that?
She felt more than saw his shrug as he guessed at the meaning behind her silence. “I read all the reports from your group before I decided to have you join the Anateri. Then I read them again when I found out who you really were.”
Shea didn’t know whether to be flattered or slightly worried. It didn’t help that she understood the reasoning behind his actions. He was the consummate hunter, only his prey were humans. He’d wanted to learn everything he could about her so that he could anticipate her next move even before she decided to make it.
“That’s not creepy or anything,” Reece muttered.
Shea spoke before Fallon could say anything in response. “I suspect the frost was a bi-product. It was more like the being was absorbing our life essence, and the frost and cold was the result. It was also sentient.”
Her father’s interest sharpened. “What makes you say that?”
She hesitated, not wanting to sound crazy. It was the reason she’d kept a few things back in her original report to Eamon. “It spoke to me. In my mind.”
“Are you sure you weren’t imagining things?” Reece’s question was predictable.
“No, I know what I heard.”
There was a long silence as they each digested that. It was one thing for the Highlands to be affected by whatever this was. It had always borne the brunt of the Badlands’ weirdness. The Lowlands had rarely been affected. For it now to be home to the same oddities, said something. Shea had a sneaking suspicion that it would mean trouble for them all.
“Either way, it’s not going to tell us why those creatures stampeded right through our camp,” her father said.
“We’ll increase the sentries,” Fallon said. “Our men should be returning from their patrol soon.”
“Hopefully, they’ll be able to help us make sense of this,” Braden said.
Fallon looked up at the sky. “There are still several hours until sunrise. It’d be best to use that time to rest. Tomorrow is going to be another long day.”
“I agree,” Shea’s father said. “Until we know what’s out there, it’s too dangerous to try to move.”
The dark would make navigating the trail treacherous—especially for the horses. No one wanted to risk them stepping wrong and breaking a leg. Or worse, someone falling down the side of a ravine because they couldn’t see well enough to avoid it. Their only option was to wait out the night.
The camp was slow to settle down after the excitement. Even once the patrols came back to report they could find no sign of anything out there, people were loath to find their sleep.
The mood was tense, the night stifling in a way it hadn’t been before.
Shea lay next to Fallon, the side of her body touching his. She knew he was awake but didn’t speak. Rest was a long way off. She suspected she wasn’t the only one who felt that way.
It was a long time before she closed her eyes and sleep took her.
She woke the next morning feeling no more refreshed than she had before she lay down.
Her body felt slow and sluggish, her eyes gritty and full of sand as she prepared her mount to ride.
“Please tell me we’re almost there,” Buck said, yawning as he prepared his horse next to hers.
“We’re almost there,” Shea parroted.
He snorted and slid her a disgusted glance. “Now, try to make me believe it.”
Her smile almost took her by surprise. “What’s the matter, scout? I thought you were happiest on the trail.”
His eyes rolled so hard he resembled a spooked horse. Her smile widened. “Please. It’s you who gets antsy if you’re around people too long.”
“Fair enough.”
He looked around him with an assessing stare. “I’ll admit, our destination may be no better than the journey this time.”
Shea lifted the reins over her mount’s head, a creamy white mare with dark spots along its body. She was pretty and fast, and totally wasted on someone of Shea’s riding level.
“We’ll be trading a nest of beasts for a den of vipers. I doubt our sleep will be any better behind the Keep’s walls than it is here,” Shea said after checking to make sure her saddle was on securely.
She stuck a foot in a stirrup and then muscled her way into the saddle as Buck held the reins and looked up at her.
“At least we’re not having to babysit whiny greenies,” he said
, using a term for a new commander who had no clue what they were doing but nonetheless tried to throw their weight around in the worst possible ways.
“Somehow, that’s not the comfort it should be,” Shea said. She had a feeling that before this was through they were all going to wish they’d never set foot in these infernal lands.
CHAPTER THREE
Mist curled in on itself in a roiling cloud. Tentacles crept along the ground before returning to the main body. A wall of gray stretched as far as the eye could see in the narrow valley, shrouding what lay behind it.
Most of the time, the mist here was wispy and thin, more of a suggestion than a reality. On a good day, you might get a glimpse at the Keep that waited at its heart. Today was not that day, the mist thick and impenetrable even as its edges meandered and swirled.
“We have to go through that?” Buck asked, his face apprehensive as he watched the cloud.
The mist’s edges stirred, almost sentient in the way it reacted to his words, as if it welcomed their attempt to pass.
“All who visit the keep must first pass through the mist,” Shea said in a soft voice.
The sight was unsettling, even for her. She didn’t blame her companions their hesitation. She’d traversed this stretch of ground more times than she had fingers and toes, and still the sight filled her with a sense of unease, a discomfort—like a pebble in your shoe or the feeling that danger was near, waiting just behind the next boulder.
There was no way around it, not with the nearly vertical hills on either side. The only way through was forward.
Eamon stood near them, no happier about the prospect of going into the mist than any of those around him. The sharp planes of his face were chiseled with grooves he liked to tell Shea were there because of her antics. Normally appearing stone-faced to those who didn’t know him, his expression was nearly as familiar as her own, his wise brown eyes studying their surroundings with an intense focus.
He and Buck were among the few Shea trusted at her back even in the worst of times. Both men had ridden down more than one dark path with her, never questioning her reasoning. They might have complained—in Buck’s case there’d been a lot of complaining—but they always trusted her to have a plan, to have some idea of where they were going. She’d saved their lives, and they’d saved hers two-fold.
This wasn’t the first time the two had encountered the mist. She knew they were probably remembering another time, where trees grew as tall as mountains and the mist had nearly claimed their lives.
Reece sauntered up to where they stood by their horses. A break had been called so they could figure out a way to get everyone through the mist without losing anyone. The pathfinders would be fine, but the Trateri were as susceptible to getting lost in that soup as any Highlander who hadn’t undergone the trial.
The problem of getting through the mist had created a greater obstacle than her father had perhaps intended. The Trateri didn’t trust the pathfinders and the pathfinders felt the same about the Trateri. Fallon’s men weren’t happy about placing their lives in the hands of a bunch of strangers. Not when it meant being led blind through the mist, while hoping that the person on the other end of that rope was leading you into safety and not to your death.
“Your friends aren’t afraid of that little scrap of mist, are they?” Reece asked with a sly smile.
“We’re Trateri,” Buck said, jutting his chin out and giving the other man a crazy grin. “We’re afraid of nothing.”
Eamon grunted, his expression even more severe than usual.
Reece’s lips twisted. “Then, you’re stupider than you look. Only a fool feels no fear in the face of that.”
He jerked his head toward the mist that waved at them with smoky tendrils.
“Doesn’t look too bad to me. No worse than the last time, at any rate.” Buck clapped a hand on Shea’s shoulder and tugged her in front of him. “And you forget, we have this one on our side. She wouldn’t lead us astray.”
A crafty expression dawned on Buck’s face. “Or is it that you’re the one afraid and you’re hoping for a little solidarity on this side?” His face turned understanding. “It’s okay. Not everyone can be as great as us. We understand and will console your pitiful fears.”
He held his arms out and gestured for Reece to come and give him a hug.
Reece looked at her friend like he thought he’d lost his mind. An apt reaction given Buck’s nature. Shea had to conceal a smile or else risk tipping Reece off to the game. It was rare for her cousin to be out-Reece’d, but it looked like Buck was more than capable of matching him.
“Go on,” Eamon rumbled. “His hugs are miraculous. They’ll soothe your mind.”
Reece got an odd expression on his face, and he slowly started backing away from the three of them. This time Shea’s mouth trembled with the need to laugh. She got her face under control and gave her cousin a sympathetic look, her eyes big.
“Yes, cousin. They’ll change your life.” Her voice sounded slightly strangled by the end.
Trenton snorted from where he leaned against the cliff.
Reece gave them a disgusted look and he stalked off without responding. Shea’s laugh burst from her before he’d even gone a few feet. It came from deep inside and nearly doubled her over.
Buck watched her with exasperation. “What was that face at the end? You looked like you were trying not to shit yourself. I’ve told you before that you have to fully commit or you’ll never be convincing.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Shea said, her laughter finally petering off. “Trying to make him hug you. What were you thinking?”
Buck shrugged and gave her a cat-like smile. “I was thinking his face irritated me and I wanted him to go away.”
Eamon lips tilted up as he watched the two of them with amusement. It was the equivalent of a laugh in the normally serious man.
“Pretty impressive stronghold if this is the only way into it,” Trenton said. “I assume few ever breech it.”
“Nothing human anyway,” Shea agreed. “Every once in a while, a beast gets through, but for the most part my people have ruled from the other side of that mist for over a thousand years. It’s not usually so thick, however.”
“I’m surprised they’re letting us just walk in,” Eamon said, his face sobering, any trace of humor disappearing.
Shea was too.
She thought she’d known what to expect from her people. All her life, things had been done one way. Now they were acting contrary to everything she knew about them. It left her uneasy.
Fallon’s fierce frown caught her attention. He shook his head and folded his arms across his chest, his legs spread wide as he fixed the pathfinder speaking to him with a hard stare.
Braden and the clan leaders who’d made the journey looked no happier about whatever was being discussed, their faces by turns disgusted or angry.
The pathfinders, her father among them, looked equally frustrated.
“What’s that about, you think?” Buck asked, tilting his head at the arguing cluster.
“Probably trying to figure out how we’re going to get everyone through,” Shea said.
Buck snorted. “That’s easy, right? You just do what you did last time. Tie a rope around everyone and lead us through.”
Shea shook her head. “That won’t work here. The trail is too winding and runs along several narrow paths. There are sharp drop-offs on both sides. You make a single misstep and you’ll drag everyone down with you.”
Both Eamon and Buck fixed her with intent looks before directing their attention back to the mist.
“Horse lords curse it,” Buck muttered. “I was counting on this being the easy part of the journey.”
“This is the Highlands,” Shea said in a light voice. “There’s nothing easy about this place.”
“Got that right,” Eamon said, looking up and around him with a frown. “We haven’t seen the sun in three days. I
t’s the middle of summer but even the air feels like it bites.”
Shea knew what he meant. It’d been gray and dreary since the encounter with the human-like beasts, the sun no more than a suggestion in the sky. It lent another layer to the air of hopelessness that permeated this place. For the Trateri, the lack of sun would be even worse given they’d grown up on the plains. They could count the days they didn’t see the sun in a year on one hand.
“It’s not going to get any better,” Shea said. “Summer here is a lot shorter than it is in the lower lands. Even then, there are more cloudy days than sunny.”
Her mother used to say that was why everyone up here was so grumpy all the time.
The clump of people broke up and Fallon strode toward them with a scowl fixed on his face.
“Looks like they settled on a plan,” Eamon murmured.
“They don’t look happy about whatever that plan is,” Shea said. She had a feeling she knew exactly what had put the look on Fallon’s face.
“Wonder what was said,” Buck responded. He looked at the other two and raised his eyebrows.
“Probably something along the lines that Fallon’s scowl alone was enough to scare away the mist,” Clark said from behind Shea.
She looked over her shoulder with a smile. A slim youth looked back at her with eyes far wiser than his short years would suggest. The normally engaging grin that could make you smile just from being its recipient was missing. Grief had carved maturity into that baby face, transitioning it further from the youth he’d been to the man he would become. His frame still held the leanness of his age, but he looked older than when he started this journey.
Shea was to blame for some of that, and it pained her to think of the part she’d played, even if it had been through no fault of her own.
He gave her a small, barely-there smile, just a tiny up-tilt at the corner of his lips that didn’t touch the stark grief in his eyes.
He’d withdrawn since Charles’s death and Shea didn’t know how to bring him back. Instead, she’d left him to his sorrow, knowing he had to find his way back to them on his own. This was the first time he’d made an overture since they’d been forced to kill Charles. She gave him a happy look, letting him see how glad she was that he’d reached out.