by T. A. White
“Yeah. My name’s Fiona, in case you don’t remember. You were just a Daisy then.”
A Daisy was an untried scout, named for the yellow ribbon sewn into the collar and edges of the green jacket that all scouts owned. The jacket had been in a pack Shea had stolen on her way out of camp and was the reason why Eamon had assumed she was assigned to his scouting party.
Needless to say, she hadn’t worn the yellow long. Only until the Trateri realized the extent of her skills and promoted her to a full scout.
“I’d forgotten the name, but I do remember the face,” Shea admitted.
“Is that normal? How those men talked to you?” Fiona asked, tilting her head back at the Trateri they’d just saved.
Shea shot a glance over her shoulder. The Trateri massed around the vines. Most kept a careful distance, but some intrepid individuals poked at the vines with swords and jerked back when the vines tried to grab them.
“I’ve never had anybody be quite so blatant with their disrespect before.” Shea’s response was slow and careful. She wasn’t one to talk about such matters, especially with strangers. Lately, she’d been trying to be a little bit more open, having experienced some of the friendships with the Trateri scouts she had worked with. It was a work in progress.
“In other words, there has been disrespect.”
Trenton looked over with a frown. Shea ignored him and shrugged. Fiona could make of that what she would.
Fiona walked beside her in silence for a moment, her forehead wrinkled in thought. Shea was content to leave her to her internal musings, instead preoccupied with looking around the camp.
There wasn’t enough room in the treetop village for the entire Trateri army, though the villagers had offered hospitality to Fallon and his top officials. They’d rejected it, giving the excuse that they needed to stay close to their men.
The truth was that they didn’t trust the villagers, who had treated the Trateri horde as odd friends come to visit. The Trateri were used to at least a token resistance and were flummoxed at the lack of one upon their arrival.
Shea suspected that was because the villagers didn’t see the Trateri as a true threat. While their military prowess would guarantee them victory on the ground, it would be difficult to fight a battle where the opponent had the advantage of the high ground. Quite literally in this case.
The moment the Trateri tried to ascend to the world above, the villagers could fade into the forest, using the numerous interlocking branches that created a network of paths. The Trateri would be hard pressed to follow.
Fallon and his generals knew all this, which was why they couldn’t understand why the villagers had agreed to provide him with a tithe and a few of their hunters. Had in fact seemed overjoyed to do so.
Shea suspected it was because the villagers saw in the Trateri an opportunity. In many ways the tree people of the Forest of the Giants were advanced, more so than any in the Lowlands. They’d managed to build houses that defied gravity and logic. They did this because the dangers on the ground far outweighed those of the air.
There were two worlds in this forest, that of the below and that of the above. The forest floor had its beauty, but it was filled with numerous more dangerous plants and beasts than the canopies. Because of this danger, only the best hunters ventured to the forest floor. It led to their people being isolated with little trade with the rest of the Lowlands.
The Airabel saw the relationship with the Trateri as a way to become connected with the outside world again. Their population was small, and they were in danger of inbreeding. They hoped the exposure to the Trateri might lead to an influx of new blood.
Until the Trateri became a direct threat to the Airabel, they would act in good faith with Fallon. Since Shea was sort of responsible for their discovery, she hoped that continued to be the case. She’d like to avoid having their blood on her hands.
“I’m amazed these people could build that,” Fiona said gesturing to the village suspended high above them.
Shea looked up. It was impressive. Breathtaking—the first, second, and third time you saw it. A feat that defied the imagination as it integrated seamlessly with the nature around it.
This place was one of Shea’s favorite to visit. She respected them, and for her, that was rare. They worked with nature instead of against it, and it paid off.
“Are there more places like this?” Fiona asked.
“I’m not sure. I think there are a few other villages throughout the forest, but this is the only one I’ve ever visited.”
“I was raised to see Lowlanders as weak, ineffectual people who wasted the abundance of riches their lands provided. For the most part, that view has held true.”
Shea kept her own council. Fiona wasn’t necessarily wrong. Shea had said something similar to Eamon and Fallon once. Still, it was more complicated than that, and Shea knew that you couldn’t make sweeping assumptions with any accuracy.
“And now?” she asked. “How do you see them now?”
Fiona flashed a smile. “Still ineffectual and weak. Cowards for the most part.” They walked several more steps. “But I’m beginning to realize that might not be true for all Lowlanders. That maybe there are a few exceptions.”
Shea threw her a questioning look. That sounded like it was directed a little closer to home. Fiona looked back at her with an open expression.
“We Trateri are a hard race. We think we know a person’s measure as soon as we meet them and can be slow to change our minds.”
Shea looked away, wondering where Fiona was going with this.
Fiona continued after a beat. “Once our loyalty is given, though, it’s forever. You’ve already started on that path. Don’t let a few stupid people convince you to stray from it.”
Ah, Shea saw now. Fiona was trying to comfort her, give her something to hold onto when things got rough. Shea was tempted to tell her it was unnecessary, that she’d been here before, and the things said then were much worse. She hadn’t had friends like Eamon, Buck and Clark to stand up for her. She hadn’t had the support of a warlord.
She didn’t say any of that though, taking the advice in the vein it was meant. She gave Fiona a respectful nod.
“Don’t worry, I’m a lot more stubborn than I look. It would take more than a few harsh words to run me off,” she assured.
Fiona snorted. “Good. I’d expect nothing less from the Warlord’s Telroi.”
The two parted ways shortly after, Fiona heading to see if her commander had any need of her and Shea off to see the scout commander of the Western Wind Division. She wanted to see if she could twist the commander’s arm into sending her out on a mission. He owed her a favor or two from all the times she’d saved his ass.
CHAPTER TWO
SHEA STOPPED in front of a canvas tent with a dark blue banner that had a stylized image of a bird with wings spread on it. The tent dwarfed the last quarters she’d visited the commander in. He was certainly coming up in the world.
A man ducked out of the tent and blinked rapidly at the sight of her before freezing. By the looks of the stack of rolled parchment under one arm, he was a mapmaker.
Shea waited. As one of the cartographers, he would recognize her. She’d been instrumental in having one of their own executed for treason. To be fair, the man had passed out hideously inaccurate maps and tried to lure Fallon to his death. Somehow, she wasn’t too torn up about his fate. For a scout, a map could mean the difference between life and death. Fuck with that and you get what you deserve.
The man gathered himself and offered a brusque nod and a low rumble of a greeting. Shea nodded back as he passed her.
Huh. That had been almost cordial. It made her want to chase the man down to ask him what was going on.
She had friends among the cartographers, but he wasn’t one of them. The rest tended to see her as a mild threat at best and an ogre intent on their destruction at worst. It had led to some tense discussions when she ran into a supporter of the
former head cartographer.
She stepped inside to find the commander of the West Wind Division surrounded by a mound of paper as he stared down at his desk with a perplexed frown. Trenton followed her moments later.
“Eamon, you look like that paper is going to jump up and bite you on the nose,” Shea said with a grin.
It was a scene so at odds with the environment Shea normally associated him with. She was used to him as the scout master, the one fearlessly leading them into the great wilderness and possible death. The person who insisted they complete their mission even when sanity said they would be better served to give up and go home. Death by an avalanche of paper was not even in the realm of possibility for her old scout leader.
Eamon Walker lifted his head and aimed a grin her way. He was in his late thirties with brown eyes and a face chiseled with grooves. He liked to tell her that some of those grooves had her name on them. The sharp planes and valleys of his face made it easy for him to appear a stone-faced cynic. A fact he’d used to his benefit to intimidate idiotic commanders when he and Shea used to run missions together.
“Look who finally arrived. You were only supposed to be here several hours ago.” Despite the harsh words, the smile in his voice let her know he didn’t mean anything bad by it.
Shea gave him a careless shrug. “I got a little sidetracked.”
He aimed a look her way that said she wasn’t fooling anyone. “You mean you wanted to avoid her at all costs.”
Shea’s lips twitched at the corners.
“You know you can’t do that forever.”
Shea snorted. Who did he think he was talking to?
He grimaced and rephrased. “You know you shouldn’t do that forever. Running isn’t doing you any good, girl.”
Maybe not, but it delayed the inevitable and it made her feel like she had a tiny bit of control. Something she desperately needed without the release valve that scouting provided. Before, when her emotions threatened to boil over, she could disappear into the wilderness. By the time she came home, whatever had been bothering her would have disappeared, given up, or resolved itself with no effort or emotional distress on her part.
Her safety valve was gone, and for the first time in a long time she was forced to directly confront how truly ineffective she was at dealing with other people. She hated feeling that way, which was why she’d taken to dodging things she didn’t want to deal with.
“Well?” Eamon asked.
“Well, what?”
“What happened to cause your guard to glare at you in such a fashion and the warlord’s cousin to corner me and interrogate me regarding your whereabouts?”
“Daere was here?” Shea glanced around as if the woman might spring out at any moment.
Eamon inclined his head. “Don’t worry; she left a while ago.”
Shea breathed a sigh of relief.
“You know whatever she’s done, she’s only trying to help.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not the kind of help I need,” Shea said.
“Hmm.”
Shea narrowed her eyes at Eamon. That sounded like the opposite of agreement. She folded her arms and leaned back in the pillow chair, this one had a back, thankfully. She chose to ignore his comment for now.
Eamon worked in silence as she sifted through her thoughts. She glanced briefly at Trenton, wishing he’d step outside. She was a private person and having someone watch every interaction made her want to hold back even more than she did normally.
“I’m not Trateri. Trying to shape me in their image isn’t going to make everyone around me any more likely to accept me.” There, that sounded neutral enough.
“I seem to remember you taking our venom. Your very survival says you’re Trateri.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
There was quiet as Shea sorted through her thoughts, choosing and discarding words that didn’t quite convey what she wanted to say. It was difficult to explain to someone who had never questioned who they were or their place in the world.
“I’m not sure I can explain.”
“Try.”
Her smile came involuntarily. “There are degrees of acceptance. You were born Trateri. You grew up learning every social cue, breathing in the culture and molding yourself to fit. Even if I had twenty years to do the same, I wouldn’t fit here the way you do. For you, being Trateri is instinctual.”
His face was thoughtful as he considered her words. “I see your point.”
Shea released a breath. Eamon’s opinion meant a lot to her. He and the other scouts on their team had managed to become a quasi-family during their months together. Extreme danger had a way of deepening relationships at a quick pace.
“Have you considered that Fallon and Daere aren’t trying to mold you into a Trateri woman, but rather are trying to give you a set of tools that you’ll need to navigate our society?”
Shea sat back and studied him. “What makes you say that?”
Eamon peered at her with a pensive expression. He had the look of a man who was weighing his words and trying to decide how much truth he wanted to share. He set his papers aside and sat back.
Shea braced herself. The last time he had shared truths, he’d pointed out how her lack of people skills made her inefficient at scouting. It had been something she had always known but not necessarily wanted to face.
“What future do you see for your life?”
Hm, not the tack she thought he was going to take.
“What do you mean?”
“What’s your ultimate goal? Where do you see yourself years from now?”
She’d never really put much thought into the future, content with surviving the present.
“I’ve only ever seen myself as a scout.”
It was mostly the truth. She’d once wanted to be a gatherer, a rare type of pathfinder responsible for gathering and safe guarding knowledge from the time before the cataclysm, an event so catastrophic that much of what had gone before had been lost, leading to the current state of the Broken Lands. The gatherers recorded the history of the world for future generations. That dream had died after a mission in the Badlands had destroyed any hope of achieving that future.
Eamon’s expression said he knew she wasn’t telling the entire truth but was willing to let it go for now.
“That would be a shame,” he said instead. “There’s so much more to you than someone who acts as a glorified guide to those much stupider than yourself.”
“That’s not all a scout does,” Shea argued, outraged. “It takes hard work and extensive training.”
Eamon held up a hand, forestalling any further protest. “You’re right, but you’re capable of so much more. I see that. I’ve seen it since that first mission. Fallon sees it too. You’re wasted as a simple scout. I think you know that too. It’s why you had so much trouble keeping your thoughts locked down tight when you’re given an order.”
He did have a point there, loath as Shea was to admit it. Seeing someone she led make stupid decisions and not being able to call them on it was akin to feeling like her skin was being stripped away one piece at a time.
“All I’ve known is this life. I don’t know if I can do anything else.”
“Evolve, adapt, learn. It’s the only way to get through,” Eamon said. “A Trateri scout typically only stays in the life for a short time before moving on to other endeavors. This lifestyle is too stressful on the body to stay at indefinitely.”
He gave her a look that said ‘come on’. She had to give him that point. It was similar for the pathfinders in her former guild. Once they got to a certain age, they started transitioning into other roles. They became trainers or rotated to one of the easier assignments, some took on roles in leadership and the governance of Wayfarer’s Keep.
Eamon spread his hands to encompass the tent around him. “Look at me. I loved scouting just as much as you did. Now I’m the commander of the Western Wind division. T
hings change; learn to change with them or life will right stampede over you.”
Shea studied Eamon and then she looked around the spacious tent. It was sparse compared to Fallon’s tent, which was decorated with the spoils of war and items made from the best Trateri craftsmen. Eamon’s quarters were considered sparse even by other commanders’ spaces. That was probably because Eamon hadn’t taken the time to outfit his tent with what his station now required. As a scout, he wouldn’t have had much, and it would take time to accumulate furnishings and luxuries.
Still, Eamon seemed to be doing well. More surprisingly, he seemed to be enjoying the challenge of the position. Something Shea would have sworn was impossible before seeing him in action.
He was like her. Happiest on the trail doing what he loved.
“You still get to go out. Leave all this behind on occasion and enjoy what’s waiting beyond the camp’s perimeter,” Shea pointed out, not willing to concede.
“Not as much as I would like.”
“How do you do it?” Shea asked, curious. “How do you stay when you want to be in the thick of things?”
His forehead wrinkled as he considered her questions. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it sometimes—the adventure, the surprises lurking in the shadows, but I’ve found happiness doing this. I suppose it’s because there are challenges to be faced and overcome here. I might miss the trail sometimes, but not all the time. Not even most of the time.”
Shea was quiet for a long moment. Eamon, used to her long silences, went back to his papers.
“You think I should give Daere a chance,” Shea stated.
Eamon lifted his head. “I think you should see what she has to offer before you make any decisions. No running and no avoiding.”
Hm.
That would take some effort. Shea didn’t know if she was up to that or if she even wanted to try.
“What are you working on?” Shea asked, shifting the topic.
Eamon gave her a look that said he knew exactly what she was trying to do. That avoiding the conversation would work for now but it wouldn’t work forever. He played along anyway.