by T. A. White
The village was a place that time had forgotten. It looked the same as it had the day it was founded, and in fifty years or a hundred, it’d probably still be the same. Same families living in the same homes, built of wood and mud by their father’s, father’s, father. Most of the buildings in the village were single story and one room. The really well off might have a second room or a loft. Nothing changed here, and they liked it that way. Propose a new idea or way of doing something and they’d run you out of town.
They didn’t like strangers, which was fine because most times strangers didn’t like them.
They tolerated Shea because they needed the skills her guild taught to survive. Shea tolerated them because she had to.
Well, some days she didn’t.
A small group of women and children waited to welcome the men.
A large boned woman with a hefty bosom and ash blond hair just beginning to gray flung her arms around a tall man with thinning hair.
“Where have you been? We expected you back yesterday morning.” She smothered his face with kisses.
“You know we had to keep to the pathfinder’s pace. The men didn’t feel it would be right leaving her behind just because she couldn’t keep up.”
There it was. Her fault.
Anytime something went wrong it was due to the fact she was a woman. Even looking less feminine didn’t help her. A taller than average girl with a thin layer of muscles stretching over her lean frame, Shea had hazel eyes framed by round cheeks, a stubborn mouth and a strong jaw-line she’d inherited from her father. Much to her consternation.
“What the guild was thinking assigning a woman to our village, I’ll never know,” the woman said in exasperation. “And such useless trail bait. They must have sent the laziest one they had.”
Trail bait. Dirt pounder. Roamer. Hot footed. Shea had heard it all. So many words to describe one thing. Outsider.
Shea turned towards home. At least she would have a little peace and quiet for the next few days. She planned to hide out and not see or talk to anyone.
Just her and her maps. Maybe some cloud watching. And definitely some napping. Make that a lot of napping. She needed to recharge.
“Pathfinder! Pathfinder,” a young voice called after her.
Shea turned and automatically smiled at the girl with the gamine grin and boundless enthusiasm racing after her. “Aimee, I’ve told you before you can call me Shea.”
Aimee ducked her head and gave her a gap toothed smile. She was missing one of her front teeth. She must have lost it while Shea was outside the fence.
“Pathfinder Shea. You’re back.”
Shea nodded, amused at the obvious statement. Of all the villagers in this backwoods place, Aimee was her favorite. She was young enough that she didn’t fear the wilds lying just beyond the safety of the barrier. All she saw was the adventure waiting out there. She reminded Shea of the novitiates that came every year to the Wayfarer’s Keep in hopes of taking the Pathfinder’s exam and becoming an apprentice.
“Um, did you see any cool beasts this time?” Aimee burst out. “Nightfliers, maybe? You said they liked to nest in the peaks around Garylow’s pass. What about red backs?”
“Whoa, hold up. One question at a time.” Shea took a piece of paper she’d torn from her journal last night in anticipation of this moment. “Here. I saw this one diving to catch breakfast yesterday morning.”
Shea handed her a sketching of a peregrine falcon in mid dive. It was a natural animal, but to a girl raised in a village where all non-domesticated animals were considered ‘beasts,’ it would seem exotic. Shea had sketched it during one of the numerous breaks the men had taken.
“Pathfinder Shea,” a woman said from behind them, disapproval coloring her voice. “The elders wish to speak to you.”
Shea’s smile disappeared as she schooled her face to a politeness she didn’t really feel. Aimee hid the drawing in her skirts.
The woman’s eyes shifted to Shea’s companion. “Aimee, my girl, your mother’s looking for you. I suggest you get on home.”
Aimee bobbed in place, suitably chastened and followed as the woman swept away, but not before aiming a small smile in Shea’s direction.
Shea lifted a hand and waved. Aimee had become something of Shea’s shadow in the past few weeks. It was a welcome change, given how most of the villagers pretended she didn’t exist or treated her with barely concealed hostility.
Shea looked woefully towards the tightly packed dirt trail leading to her little cottage. Her muscles ached and three days of grime and dirt coated her body.
She wanted a bath, a hot meal and then to sleep for twelve hours straight. She didn’t want to deal with the grumpy, blame-wielding elders who no doubt wanted things they couldn’t or shouldn’t have. But if she didn’t deal with them now, they would just show up and nag at her until she gave them her attention. They wanted something from her. Again. Better to deal with things now so she could have an uninterrupted rest later.
Her well-deserved break would have to wait
Her steps unhurried, she turned in the opposite direction of her bed. Even moving as slowly as she reasonably could, she quickly found herself in front of the town hall. It was also a pub and gathering place, basically anything the village needed it to be.
There were only two stone structures in the entire settlement. The town hall was the first and greatest, holding the distinction of being the only building large enough to shelter the entire village in the event of an attack. There was only one entrance, a heavy wooden door that could be barred from the inside. The thin slits in the upper levels kept attackers of both the four legged and two legged variety from slipping inside.
The building was the primary reason the founding families decided to settle here and was the village’s one claim to wealth. The rest of the village, small though it was, had sprung up around it as a result.
For a place as backwards and isolated as Birdon Leaf, the town hall was a majestic building they couldn’t hope to replicate. Even without the skills to maintain it, they were lucky. Some of the larger towns didn’t have a structure this versatile that could act as both gathering place and shelter from danger.
Shea reached the doors and paused to brush the dirt from the back of her trousers and make sure her thin shirt was tucked in and her dark brown, leather jacket was lying straight.
She smoothed a stray strand of honey brown hair behind her ear and ran her hand over her sloppy bun to make sure it was holding. Loose, her hair would reach past her shoulders in a wild mess. That’s why she tied it back for the most part, but no matter how many times she tried to tame it into a sleek bun, it would look like a bird’s nest by the time she walked five feet.
It was difficult to project confidence and professionalism when she wasn’t even the master of her own appearance.
Giving up the attempt to fix her appearance as futile, she braced her feet to open the painfully, heavy wooden door. It was a struggle to move it with just one arm, but she couldn’t afford to show the villagers weakness, or she would lose what little respect she had.
A slow creak announced its opening. She slipped through when there was just enough space before letting the door bang shut behind her.
Despite the bright day outside, it was dim in the town hall. The narrow windows let in little light. Candles flickered with merry abandonment from their place on tables and in bracers.
Wooden benches were stacked around the edges of the space. During meetings they were broken out so the villagers could have a place to sit while they jaw jacked. Today, several tables dotted the area. When the hall wasn’t used for meetings, village members used it as a place to meet and drink.
A group of five huddled around one table, their voices a low rumble in the large room. The middle-aged man with his back to Shea was Zrakovi, the village leader. He lifted a mug and drank, tilting back a head of dark hair turning silver at the temples. Shea came to a stop behind him, waiting for her presence to b
e acknowledged.
Another man looked up and nudged the man next to him. One by one the others shot glances to where Shea waited patiently.
Zrakovi turned his head slightly. “Pathfinder.”
“Elder Zrakovi.” Shea inclined her head respectfully.
“I have a job for you.”
“I just got back from an assignment.” Technically, she was supposed to get five days off between jobs to prevent fatigue and to give her time to plan the next route.
That almost never happened.
“Well, you’re needed for this,” he said sharply.
“Oh?”
“Watch your tone, girl,” a man with reddish blond hair and blunt features said.
Shea fought against sighing and held herself still. Expressing frustration would only prolong the encounter.
Silence filled the room as she waited for the elder to get to the point.
“My son.” He stopped and cleared his throat, shifting so he could look at her. “James and one other were supposed to return this morning from a run. I need you to find him and make sure they’re alright.”
Shea crossed her arms in front of her. “If I recall correctly, they were heading for the north reaches to gather lumpyrite for trade. That area should be safe. The beasts avoid it because of the mineral’s smell. They probably just got delayed. If they’re not back by nightfall, I’ll head out to look for them tomorrow morning.”
Shea had turned to go when Elder Zrakovi’s voice pulled her back. “They didn’t go to the north reaches.”
She stopped dead. Of course they hadn’t.
The villagers were supposed to check with her when they left the village so she could make sure the areas they traveled were safe. She dropped her head slightly while she schooled her expression back to neutrality. Only when her face showed a placid blankness did she face the men.
“Where did they go?”
“Below the Bearan Fault,” Zrakovi said gruffly.
“You mean the Lowlands,” Shea said, each word pronounced very precisely.
More than one man found themselves avoiding her eyes.
She shook her head slightly. Fools. The Bearan Fault was a line of cliffs nearly two hundred miles long. It was the gateway to the Lowlands.
Lowlanders were dangerous. Crazy too. Shea had dealings with them in the past, but it was always with one eye on the exit and a hand on her weapons. You just never knew what they were going to do.
One time, they had set fire to her clothes. While she was still in them.
She hated Lowlanders almost more than Highlanders.
“I told you not to send anybody into the Lowlands without me there to act as guide,” Shea said, her voice as polite as she could make it given the pulse pounding at her temple.
Zrakovi slammed his hand down on the table. “I won’t have my judgment questioned by a slip of a girl barely past her majority.”
“Then how about a Pathfinder with fifteen years’ experience who told you that heading to the Lowlands at this time without proper preparation and without a guide was too dangerous.”
Slip of a girl, her ass. Shea was twenty five and had been guiding folks since she was ten years old and could finally keep up with the adults.
“You were on assignment,” a thin man with stringy hair and a beak nose on the other side of the table complained. “We didn’t know when you would be back, and the opportunity was too good to pass up. This wouldn’t have happened if we had more than one pathfinder.”
Shea’s shoulders tightened and her back became even more rigid. “You’ve been told in the past that pathfinders are rare and in high demand. Your village is too small and too new to warrant more than one.”
“Too new? We’ve lived here for more than eighty years. More like we’re being punished,” one of the men muttered.
Shea took a deep breath and bit her tongue. She had to do that a lot while she was in Birdon Leaf. Sometimes she was amazed there wasn’t a hole in it.
The simplest explanation was that there just weren’t enough pathfinders to go round and none who wanted to destroy a promising career by coming to this backcountry village.
No. Shea was the one to receive that privilege.
“What village did they go to?”
If Shea was lucky they had chosen one of the more stable villages. Though just as dangerous as the rest, they usually had a reason before they went bat shit crazy.
“Edgecomb.”
She sucked in a breath. Well, then.
Edgecomb was crazier than most. They did not like outsiders and were very easy to insult.
“We had reports earlier,” another elder said gruffly. “Mist is rolling down from the eastern border. It’ll cover this place in less than two days. They’ll be cut off.”
Mist. Damn. That complicated things.
She’d had a feeling it was coming. It was one of the reasons she pushed the men so hard going up Garylow’s pass. They were overdue.
Pointing out just how foolish these people were would be a waste of breath and cover the same ground as previous arguments. Shea decided not to address the issue. But she wanted to. Boy, did she ever.
“I’ll need four men if we hope to recover them.”
“Can’t you do it by yourself?” a man sitting next to Zrakovi asked.
“No.”
“You’re a pathfinder. Isn’t that your job?”
The rest of the men spoke over each other to voice their agreement about how this was impossible.
Shea didn’t bother listening, instead tuning them out while she went over her packing list. She’d need at least five days rations for five people, best-case scenario. Her field pack was still packed, but she’d have to replenish some of the items used on her last journey. Hopefully, she had clean underwear and socks in her cottage. Hmm. When did she last do laundry? A week ago? Two? She could live in the same clothes if she had clean socks and undergarments.
“Are you even paying attention, girl?” Elder Zrakovi asked.
Shea brought her attention back to the matter at hand. “My contract stipulates that I may request help from the local population if I think it’s necessary.” She looked each man in the eye as she continued, “If your men are still alive, I will have to rescue them, and I can’t do that alone. You will give me four able-bodied men accustomed to trail work and able to keep up on the distances we will be required to travel.”
“We may not be able to spare that many men,” Zrakovi said. “The tali will be flowering in a few days and if the mist holds off long enough, we’ll need all the people we can get to bring in the yield.”
The tali was a flowering vine that grew all through the rocks and mountains near the village and was a primary staple of the village’s diet. Its stalk could be used in weaving and cloth production, while the fruit could be dried out or eaten raw. It was used in nearly every dish they made. It only flowered twice a year and during that time every man, woman, and child helped with the harvest.
“I’m not asking, elder. If you don’t give me the men I require, I won’t be going out after your son.”
Shea knew harvesting the tali fruit was important. Without it the villagers faced the possibility of starvation, but she wasn’t about to venture into the Lowlands by herself. It would be suicide. The elders had been warned of the dangers. If they couldn’t supply the men, they could accept the consequences of ignoring sound advice.
The five conferred among themselves while Shea waited. Finally, they sat back.
“I can’t give you four,” Zrakovi said.
Shea nodded and turned to go.
“I can’t give you four,” he reiterated, raising his voice. “But I can give you two. It’s all I can spare during the harvest.”
Shea waited a beat. To be safe she needed four, but she’d known from the start the elders wouldn’t spare the manpower. The contract’s wording said she could refuse since they hadn’t provided the necessary resources.
Doing so would mean
death for the two men. If they weren’t already dead.
Despite what the villagers thought of her, she didn’t make her requests to make their lives difficult. James, the elder’s son, was one of the few who didn’t try to make her feel like a hindrance. He was a decent sort who had a smile for everybody. When she needed assistance on some of her more dangerous jaunts, he would sometimes volunteer.
She needed four, but she could make do with two.
“Tell them to be at the front gate at midday.”
Relief filled the chamber. A few looks were traded back and forth, and several men nodded.
“Good.” Zrakovi turned his back on Shea and took another drink. As she turned to go, he said, “I’ll be sending a missive requesting a new pathfinder be assigned to replace you in Birdon Leaf.”
“If that’s what you feel is best.” Shea inclined her head and strode away without a backward glance.
It would be the third such request since she arrived. The first two had elicited a carefully worded refusal that politely told all parties to suck it up and figure out a way to make it work.
As soon as she was outside, she put all thoughts of the elders and their barely concealed disapproval out of her head. There was a lot to get done in two short hours. Edgecomb was a two-day journey if they traveled fast and took few breaks. Depending on who they gave her, she might be able to cut that time down even more.
That wasn’t what worried her though. Last time she had scouted the route she’d noticed several of the more dangerous beasts had nested in some of the cliffs. This wouldn’t be a problem under normal circumstances because she could detour around the nests. This time, however, the quickest route skirted right along the edge of their territory.
She spent most of the next two hours securing supplies for her journey. Since they had to carry their own packs and would be on foot, every item had to be absolutely necessary. That meant no more food than necessary and just enough water to get them to the next watering hole. It was a delicate balancing act that required Shea to draw from previous experience as well as intuition.
Her last stop was her cottage, the only other stone building in the village. In many respects, it reminded Shea of the older ruins found deep in the Highland’s heart. It just had that feel to it. The kind of feeling that said it had been forgotten by time and man.