by T. A. White
Braden held her eyes with his own. Whatever thoughts he had were hidden behind an impenetrable mask. He reminded her faintly of Fallon before she’d learned how to read him.
“That is unfortunate,” Braden said. “Without the Telroi’s abilities, it will be difficult to protect our forces from this new danger.”
He’d backed down. Shea had half thought he would continue to push. She took another sip of her ale and listened as the conversation moved away.
“We’re looking at a fifty percent attrition rate if we continue to lose our men to this. If reports are to be believed, this mist can appear and disappear in seconds with no rhyme or reason,” Darius said, looking around the room.
“And we can’t keep our men in camp for long. Our supply chains would collapse,” Henry of the Horse clan said. He was the oldest person in the room, his hair white but his eyes clear and sharp. Shea had heard rumors that he had founded the Stray Wind Troop, a group widely known throughout the Trateri as being spies.
“We could go into the Highlands. Find these so-called pathfinders and force them to show us how to tame the mist,” Braden suggested.
Shea tensed. She’d dropped her guard too soon. She should have foreseen this. Of course, they would want to go into the Highlands, which at the moment had the largest population of people with a skill now in high demand. The general was like a dog with a bone.
“The thought had occurred to me,” Fallon said.
Shea spun toward him, words of protest springing to her lips. His expression was shadowed and unclear, not giving her any hint of what path to take. She took a deep breath and let it loose. She couldn’t say what she was thinking. Not here with so many people listening in.
Politics didn’t come easy to her, but one thing that she did understand was the need to present a united front to their enemies. As far as she was concerned, anyone not Fallon had the potential to be an enemy. She would keep her knee-jerk objection to herself until she could confront him later.
Her decision turned out to be the right one when Fallon continued. “But it would be impossible. First, getting up the Bearan Fault cliffs would be a nightmare and would necessitate splitting our force in a manner that would leave us an easy target for our enemies. Second, we would be going into a territory that has even more problems with the mist than this one.”
“Your Telroi can guide us,” Braden said.
“She is only one person. She might be able to take a handful but not my entire army. We would need every person to breach the pathfinder’s stronghold if stories are to be believed.”
Not to mention his Telroi absolutely refused to do such a thing. She wouldn’t take them to the heart of her people, not where weapons of unimaginable power waited. Fallon knew that. He’d given her the maps himself, so she could destroy any evidence of the routes her people took into the Highlands. She was the only one in the Lowlands with that knowledge, and she’d take it to her grave before she saw it compromised.
She might not agree with her people’s stance on many things, but on protecting what the ancients had left behind, she would do all in her power to ensure those weapons remained hidden. Even if that meant leaving Fallon. Even if that meant her death.
Shea took a sip of her ale, keeping her face expressionless as they continued the discussion. He might believe she still knew how to get home, but she saw no reason to confirm it for him. What he didn’t know couldn’t be used against them.
She loved Fallon but his thirst for conquest sometimes scared her. What was he capable of in this mindless pursuit of uniting the Broken Lands? What was he willing to sacrifice? She still didn’t know the answer to that. It meant she kept her council on many things that might threaten the life she was building with him.
“This doesn’t leave us with a lot of options,” Braden said, dissatisfied. “If we can’t find a way to meet this challenge, we will lose much of what we’ve built here.”
Yes, they would. Everybody’s faces were grim as they considered the prospect.
“It is possible that this whole thing is a temporary situation,” Shea said into the quiet.
Fallon shifted to his attention to her. “How so?”
“Even in the Highlands, the mist waxes and wanes, coming in cycles. It is not an ever-present threat. In the Lowlands, the threat of the mist has faded until it is little more than a myth of the times after the cataclysm. It is possible that this is a fluke, one that will not remain.”
“Or it could be the first sign that the worst is yet to come,” Fallon said.
She nodded. That could very well be the case. They were in uncharted territory. Shea really knew nothing for sure.
“Are you able to teach some techniques for dealing with it?” Eamon asked. “Things like tethering to the soul tree? It might not be much, but it could be the difference between losing everyone and just losing some. You might not be able to teach us how to navigate it, but you might be able to show us how to survive it.”
Shea thought about his words. It was a long shot, but it was better to try than give up out of hand. “I will think on what might help. It would be wise to talk to the villagers above. They might have something worthwhile to contribute.”
“I thought you said the mist hasn’t reached down here in hundreds of years,” Darius said.
“It hasn’t, but I noticed something strange about the trees when we were in the mist. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that their ancestors chose this area to settle. There might be some nugget of information in their oral stories that could help us now.”
“Trenton and Wilhelm will help you.” Fallon’s words were an order thinly veiled as a request. Shea had no doubt he intended them to also guard her from danger—something she had little need of up there. The villagers had never been hostile, accepting her into their midst and treating her with a respect Shea was not used to.
“In the meantime, I’m giving the order to keep all patrols in camp unless its mission critical,” Fallon told the rest. “Until we know how to deal with this, I don’t want to risk losing men on nonessential tasks. All expeditions are to be cleared by myself, Darius or Braden.”
There was a murmured assent from those at the table. It wasn’t a long-term solution but it would do for now.
By some unspoken command, Eamon and his men stood, giving Fallon and Shea respectful nods before departing. They were followed by several others, people Shea guessed were in similar positions as Eamon. Trenton and Wilhelm stood and followed them.
The group was whittled down, leaving behind only the clan heads, Braden, Darius, and Daere.
Shea glanced around, not knowing if she should remain. Whatever they planned to talk about was probably important, and she doubted she would play any part in it. She set her glass down and began to stand. Fallon’s hand on her wrist forestalled her, asking without words for her to remain.
She kept her sigh internal and settled back down. She was still not sure how she felt being included in these discussions. On one hand, she was flattered that Fallon respected her enough to have her be part of the decision making at the highest level. On the other, she hated the responsibility such a position gave her.
“As many of you know, I have spent the last few months journeying through much of the conquered southern Lowlands and inspecting our strongholds there.”
It was why he’d been gone for the last few months. He’d wanted to see how his commanders were handling the larger city states and see the state of things for himself. It’s why he had left Shea behind, despite her objections.
“What you don’t know is that I also visited the Outlands and our people there.”
This was the first time Shea was hearing of it.
Judging by the surprise on many of the faces around them, this was news to the Trateri as well. Darius was the only one who didn’t look taken off guard.
“One of my purposes was to convince Braden to lend his help to the efforts here. The other was to assess the situation there. Braden wil
l share more.” Fallon gave Braden a nod to begin.
Braden leaned forward and looked around the table with a grave face, his eyes pausing on Shea before moving on. Shea got the sense he would have been happier if she hadn’t been present but had decided not to make an issue of it with Fallon sitting next to her.
“Things have gotten worse in the Outlands,” he said. “There is a plague affecting the plants and animals. It started small but has taken hold of nearly half of the land. There is a rot at the root of the long grass. Insects and animals that feed off it have begun to sicken and die. Those that survive show madness. We lost an entire herd before we figured out the cause.”
There was murmur of unease in the room as those around the table wore similar looks of dismay or grief. The loss of a herd was a hard blow. The bloodlines bred into that herd would be difficult for the Trateri to replace and the effects of their deaths would be felt for several generations.
“We’ve burned what we could before the dry season made burning too dangerous, but I fear it is only a matter of time before this rot infects the rest of our lands.”
“Has the Sun clan been able to study it? They must have some way to treat this rot,” Ben said.
Braden shook his head. “I’ve had Chirron’s people working day and night to figure out a treatment, but they’ve had no luck. They are now hesitant to approach, as the rot started affecting those that worked with it. Chirron lost three of his people to madness after they handled the diseased plants. I’m not sure they will be able to figure out a solution before we reach a point from which there is no return.”
The rest of the group sat back, the normally antagonistic banter that presided over one of these meetings absent for once.
“What is to be done?” Henry asked Fallon.
“I’ve given orders that the remaining herds are to be moved to the border with the Lowlands. There is less grazing room for them there, but that also means the blight is unlikely to reach them anytime soon.”
“And our people?” Ben asked.
Braden looked at Fallon for permission to continue. Fallon inclined his head. “We’ve left half of the Sun Clan healers behind, so they might continue their work in finding a cure. The rest of our clans will follow the herds.”
“You want to bring them all to the Lowlands?” someone Shea didn’t recognize asked. “If we abandon those lands, the Azelii and the Keric will claim them for their own. We’ll have lost our ancestral home.”
“They’ll claim nothing but a wasteland,” Fallon said, his voice hard. “This is our only option if we want to survive. The resources in our lands already cannot support our current population. Those lands may be where our father and his father and his father before him were given a sky burial, but our oldest stories say it is not where our ancestors lay. It is simply the land we ended up in when we were driven from our homes during the cataclysm. Our ancestors will understand if we abandon them to ensure our survival as a people.”
Fallon met each person’s eyes with an implacable expression. The one that Shea had dubbed his warlord expression because it said that there would be no arguing with him, no challenging his wishes. He’d made a decree and he expected it to be followed.
The men and women at the table looked like they didn’t have the energy to oppose him. The news Braden had brought seemed to drain them.
Daere stared into the distance, her thoughts far away. Henry seemed resigned, as if he had been expecting this but had hoped for better. Darius’s expression was thoughtful and grim. Shea could almost see thoughts and plans being considered and discarded when they failed to meet his expectations. Darius was a strategist—the best besides Fallon. It looked like he was already factoring the news into his calculations.
Shea studied Fallon, his face like stone and his thoughts hidden behind a stern expression. She’d known that their home in the Outlands held limited resources for their people, but she had not realized the situation was quite so dire. It sounded like he was preparing to migrate all of the Trateri from their territory in the Outlands, instead of trying to extend their reach to the Lowlands.
This would change things, but Shea had yet to figure out how.
“That will be all. I have given you much to think on. I suggest you take the next few days to consider what I’ve said here. We have dark days ahead, ones where we will have to make hard decisions that might mean sacrificing to survive. I expect every one of you to be prepared if the worst comes to pass.” Fallon dismissed the group.
He gave Shea a significant look, telling her without words to remain where she was as the others departed. When they were finally on their own, he turned to her, studying her face with a considering expression.
“Most of my army does not know how far things have deteriorated in our homelands. I’d like to keep it that way for now. Knowing could cause dissension and would distract them from where they need to be focused.”
Shea frowned at him. She’d assumed as much, otherwise he wouldn’t have dismissed Eamon and the other commanders before having Braden make his announcement.
Seeing the confusion on her face, he gave her a half smile, a small twist of the lips that managed to convey his ruefulness. “I know you understand, but I needed to make sure you didn’t reveal this to your friends just yet.”
“Of course.” She understood, perhaps better than most, how important information was and what effect it could have on people. After all, controlling the flow of information and knowledge was how the pathfinders began.
He reached out and tugged on a strand of hair that had fallen out of the small braid she’d attempted. “Would you spend the afternoon with me?”
There was a hint of vulnerability to his face that took Shea off guard. The word, “Yes,” was out of her mouth before she could stop it, even though she’d thought to follow up with the Airabel on the problem of the mist.
His half-smile widened, lighting up his entire face. An answering warmth filled Shea. She frowned, nonplussed that someone else’s emotions could have such an impact on her own. She wasn’t sure she liked it.
“I was planning to head to the treetop to get started on research, but I can take you around the village up there instead.” She gave him small smile of her own. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you.”
“Oh, and what’s stopped you before?”
She gave him a reproachful look. “Who is the one who decided to sneak out while I was asleep?”
He grinned repentantly. “You were sleeping so soundly; I couldn’t bring myself to bother you.”
Her glare said she was not amused. His statement reminded her of the argument they were going to have soon. The one she had put to the side in favor of the twin issues of the mist and the blight on his homelands distracting them.
“We will be talking about that,” Shea informed him. “And soon.”
He inclined his head. “I would expect no less.”
She huffed at him and stood. The moment wasn’t right, her issue seeming inconsequential in comparison to the other dangers they faced. She’d wait a little longer, maybe after she’d shown him some of the village.
She turned to the door saying with a backwards glance, “Are you coming?”
He rolled to his feet, his stride that of a lethal predator as he stalked behind her. “An army couldn’t keep me away.”
She snorted and shook her head. Such a way with words.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT TOOK over an hour to reach Airabel, a tree-top village made up of an interconnected maze of pathways built by rope bridges and ladders. These shortcuts from thick branch to thick branch allowed the inhabitants to travel throughout the village without having to backtrack to the trunk of the tree. The trunk was the center around which life revolved; the village sprouting around it like a wheel, the branches being the spokes on which life flowed.
The villagers had risen to meet the challenges of life suspended hundreds of feet in the air by carving their homes directly into
the tree. Some were nestled into the great trunk at the village’s heart. As the village population had grown along with the tree, they’d carved the base of their dwellings into the wood of the thick branches that reached out from the tree’s heart. They’d coaxed smaller branches to grow from the thicker limbs until they interwove, weaving them together to create the walls and roofs. Surprisingly, this process didn’t kill the branch or harm the tree.
Shea had asked how they were able to create living houses that grew and changed even as its inhabitants did but was told that it was a secret only the architects of their people knew. Though her curiosity had nearly consumed her, she had left them their secrets. The wonder she felt when she viewed these living houses was enough. She didn’t need to know how they were created to know they were special.
Around the base of the trunk, larger dwellings had been carved out to create meeting places for the entire village to gather. These buildings were much older than the ones further down the branches. As a result, the roofs towered high above the floor, the wood smooth and patterned with age.
The first time Shea had stood in one of those great chambers, she’d been left with an almost spiritual feeling—the space seeming almost holy with the lifeblood of the tree flowing all around it.
Today, Shea didn’t intend to show Fallon the trunk, as he’d seen it when he and his people had first come to a halt under the branches of the soul tree. No, there was something else she wanted him to see. Something that she had only discovered recently during one of the many times she had slipped away from Daere and the Anateri guards.
But first, she needed to locate one of the storytellers. They were her best bet in finding out some of the history behind why Airabel’s first inhabitants had chosen to settle here in the branches of the soul tree.