Pathfinder's Way

by T. A. White

  “Unlikely,” braids said as he dismounted. “Face it, you’re going to be giving that knife to me before we leave this miserable cesspit.”

  “Come on, Shane,” Buck said quietly at her elbow.

  Shea looked helplessly down at him. She didn’t know if she could turn in anybody she might find.

  “We have to help them look,” he said. His eyes were understanding but resolute.

  She closed hers and bowed her head. No getting out of it. Time to grit her teeth and bear it. She’d help who she could and if she couldn’t- well, that could be a matter for a later time.

  He waited as she dismounted. For the first time since that first night, after her conscription into Fallon’s army, her legs were unsteady and unsure they wanted to hold her. She carefully laid her horse’s reins over its head before turning and trudging after Buck.

  They passed several of the mud huts, Buck leading, Shea in the middle and Eamon bringing up the rear. It felt strange not to be in front.

  From the sounds coming from the huts, the Trateri were being thorough in their search and not at all gentle. There was a woman’s sharp cry and a triumphant shout. At least one had found success in their hunt.

  “Shane,” Buck said.

  Shea pulled her attention away from the direction of the shouts to find Buck standing in front of a hut.

  “In here,” he said.

  She nodded.

  He drew the short sword from a sheath at his waist.

  Ah, yes. Of course. Only made sense to take precautions. These people almost certainly regarded the Trateri and by extension, Shea, as enemies. They might act accordingly.

  Shea fumbled for her own short sword. A calloused hand stopped her before she could draw it.

  “We’d prefer if you left that sheathed for now,” Eamon told her with a wry smile.

  Shea stared dumbly at him, not understanding. Then suddenly she got it.

  She snorted and let go of the blade’s hilt. He had a point. She was still a new entity to the team, and these were her supposed people. A person might think her willingness to help in the field would undergo a drastic change when her fellow Lowlanders’ lives were in danger.

  Hell, they probably thought she was going to turn on them in a blaze of misguided fury.

  She held up her hands to signal her compliance. Eamon removed his hand and stepped back, giving her a chin tilt of approval.

  “So are we going to do this or just stand around outside all day,” Shea said, looking between the two of them. “I’m good either way.”

  Eamon raised an eyebrow and looked at Buck. “The lad says he’s good.”

  Buck smirked back. “Guess I’ll lead on then.”

  Shea didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t to see Buck turn to the door and give it a solid kick, sending it flying inwards.

  “A little dramatic, but points for flair,” Shea muttered following after him.

  The interior of the one room hut was dim. There were no windows to provide extra light. No doubt as a deterrent to beast attack. A window would have only provided another avenue for entry into the small home. They probably also lacked the skill to create openings in the walls without also creating severe weakness in the structure.

  It was so stuffy and dark in the building. Shea didn’t know how they could bear to spend much time in it. She’d go crazy inside of a week. The walls already felt like they were closing in on her,

  “It stinks. How do they live like this?” Buck asked, covering his nose.

  It did stink. The pungent smell of the morning’s meal still lingered in the air. It also smelled of unwashed bodies, mold, and earth.

  The floor was dirt and covered in dead grass.

  “No windows means no ventilation,” Shea commented as she passed a small wooden table. “Smells get trapped.”

  Two bowls rested on it. One was half filled with empty bean shells, the other with the unshelled beans. The woman was probably preparing for that night’s meal. Shea hoped she got the chance to make it.

  Buck shook his head in disgust and started opening and shutting what few cupboards there were. Eamon looked under the only bed. There were no other places to search.

  Shea was drawn to a baby’s crib in the corner. What would the Trateri do with the children? Would they face the same fate as their parents?

  She ran her hands along the smooth, hand carved edge. It was simple but finely made. The feel against her fingers wasn’t right. She rubbed them together, noticing the slight grainy texture that lingered.

  There wasn’t enough light to tell what she’d touched so she stepped closer to the door. The grayish film on her fingers was easily identifiable as dust.

  Her forehead wrinkled. That couldn’t be right. Even a Lowlander wouldn’t lay their child down without dusting the crib.

  Could their child already be grown? There was no other bed.

  “Shane, you ready? I don’t think there’s anybody in here,” Eamon said.

  She rubbed her fingers together slowly as she pondered this riddle.

  “Just a minute,” she said in a distracted tone of voice.

  “What’s he doing?” Buck asked Eamon as she strode to the crib and lifted the small baby’s blanket from it. “There’s nothing here.”

  She examined the material carefully and held it up to her nose, inhaling deeply. She promptly sneezed. And then sneezed again.

  She walked back to the door way. Stepping into the light, she gave the blanket a vigorous shake. Dust flew. Enough to illuminate the small rays of sunlight.

  “Okay, what’s the deal with the blanket?” Buck asked, folding his arms over his chest. Eamon leaned against the door, watching Shea as she thought.

  “Did either of you see any children?” she asked.

  Buck shook his head. “I don’t think so, no. What about you, Eamon?”

  Eamon looked deep in thought before he shook his head. “You think they might be hiding them?”

  Hiding them? Possibly.

  “How many people were supposed to live in this village?”

  Both shook their heads. “The party who first came through here probably got a head count. It’s necessary to determine how big a tithe they can afford to give, but we don’t know what that number is. We’re scouts. We don’t need to know.”

  “Right.”

  So she’d have to do this the hard way.

  “Either of you got a guess as to how many people were gathered when we arrived?”

  Shea paced in a circle counting the huts. It didn’t take her long. The village wasn’t that big.

  Buck shrugged. “Twenty maybe twenty-five.”

  Eamon nodded. “I agree.”

  “I doubt your men recovered more than five people hiding.”

  “You’d be correct.”

  “There’s, what, thirty huts I’d say. Unless every person in this village has their own home, there are a lot of people missing,” Shea said.

  Eamon’s eyes shot to the huts, counting as she had. He straightened as realization dawned.

  “Buck, head back to the village center and get them to do a headcount.”

  Buck’s face was grim as he moved, without another word, to follow Eamon’s orders.

  “What’re you thinking? That they’ve got their people stashed somewhere?” he asked, following her as she moved through the village.

  It didn’t take long for her to find what she was looking for, a building with a rowan branch pinned to the door and two revenant skulls with blue flowers threaded through the eyes mounted on pikes on either side.

  “If only that were the case,” Shea said softly.

  “Are those skulls? Revenant skulls? Shane? Where are you going?”

  Shea spun and took off, nearly running, as she headed back to the villagers. Eamon, with one last look at the skulls, trailed behind her.

  “Shane, stop. Stop, right now,” Eamon ordered when he saw where she was heading.

  Shea didn’t listen, intent on he
r prey. She didn’t know who it was yet, but she’d know him when she saw him.

  Pushing past the Trateri still mounted, she paused to survey the crowd, barely noticing as Eamon stopped beside her.

  “Shane, you cannot do this. Whatever this is. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “In a minute,” she said in a distracted tone of voice.

  “What’s going on?” a Trateri asked from behind them.

  Shea tuned them out, not caring what was said. She’d found her target. As she’d thought, she’d known him at a glance. He stood out from the rest of the villagers. They were simple folk. Not him though. His hair was bedraggled and untamed, but the clothes he wore were high quality, if dirty. Most damning of all, he wore a necklace made of the same blue flower as was threaded through the eye sockets of the skulls. It was a pretty flower by itself and harmless if not for what it symbolized.

  In nature, the flower’s scent repelled most predators as it deadened the sense of smell and lured its victim by causing hallucinations. So naturally its likeness was adopted by a religious sect who vilified and deified beasts, making them into both monsters that needed to be feared and gods that could be appeased through worship and sacrifice.

  Their presence was more common in the Lowlands than the Highlands. Shea’s guild would not deal with any village that hosted one of the sect’s priests. They fed on superstition and fear, building it until it reached hysterical extremes and turning once decent people into a terror maddened and crazed imitation of themselves.

  “Where are they?” Shea snapped as she strode to the priest.

  A village woman stepped in front of Shea, holding her hands up in supplication. Thrusting the woman away from her, Shea continued, ignoring the building undercurrent of fear and hostility, both from the villagers and the Trateri behind her.

  “Where. Are. They?”

  The priest, to give him credit, did not retreat in the face of Shea’s onslaught. He held firm, looking at her from behind eyes such a dark brown they almost appeared black. Or perhaps that was how Shea saw them given what she knew of his practices.

  Reaching him, she grabbed his robes and jerked him down towards her. His struggle was laughably weak, barely even phasing her. Extreme fasts and safe living had made him weak while she pushed her body to the limits on a daily basis.

  Later she would be stunned by her actions. Knowing that she could have easily been injured or killed by the wary villagers surrounding her or the Trateri who had not a clue what was happening, besides the fact that their scout had suddenly turned crazy. Right now, none of that mattered. Anger filled her near to bursting and cleared sane thoughts from her mind. Right now, all that mattered was finding out how far these people had gone in the pursuit of safety.

  The priest maintained his silence, giving her nothing but a blank stare. That stare said he wouldn’t answer to the likes of her. No matter how she pushed or prodded, he wasn’t giving the information up.

  Fanatics. God, she absolutely loathed them.

  “Not gonna answer, huh?” She bared her teeth at him, much like the revenants had days before. One by one her fingers loosened their grip, letting go and then smoothing the robes down on his chest. “That’s alright.”

  She turned and walked away, only now noticing Fallon watching her from his upright position on his mount. All of the Trateri watched her, some with suspicion, others with curiosity.

  “What’s going on here?” Fallon asked. His expression made it clear if she didn’t have a damn good reason for her little outburst she would be sharing the villager’s punishment.

  “My lord, if I may?” Eamon waited for permission to continue. Fallon tilted his chin down. “The scout discovered the village is missing somewhere near a third to half of its population. I believe he was trying to determine where they went.”

  “You believe?” Fallon’s face made it clear he didn’t care for this turn of phrase.

  “He didn’t exactly share his plans.”

  Fallon’s attention shifted to Shea. “Is this true, Scout? You were trying to determine where they’ve hidden the rest.”

  “Sort of.”

  Eamon cleared his throat loudly.

  Shea tacked on a “my lord” to satisfy him.

  “Perhaps next time you should go through the proper chain of command,” Caden said archly from beside Fallon.

  “What is it you think you know?” Fallon asked, giving Shea the full intensity of his attention.

  She grimaced, “It’d be easier to show you than try to explain. Not to mention more believable.”

  “Of course,” one of the Trateri muttered.

  Fallon held up his hand, signaling for silence. Then gestured for her to continue. “By all means.”

  She gave him a short nod before walking to her horse. Speaking over her shoulder, she said, “I’ve learned a thing or two during my travels. The first and probably the most important is that all of these backwards, inbred, uneducated armpits of the Lowlands mainly fear one thing. Beasts.”

  Shea riffled through the pack still attached to the back of her mount. Finding a small vial buried at the bottom, she smiled briefly. That should work quite nicely.

  Turning back to the villagers, she composed herself, “Every aspect of your lives are spent trying to minimize any contact. You tell your children stories so they might inherit your fear and stay locked inside these mindless prisons you’ve created until their dying day.”

  Could she do this? The repercussions of what came next could very well wipe this place from existence. Her mind turned to the empty baby’s bed. Yes. Yes, she could do this and so much more.

  Her eyes found the priest watching her with deep suspicion.

  “Do you know what this is?” she asked, showing him the vial contained in her hands. She didn’t wait for him to answer, “It’s Pyke’s blood, and do you know what Pyke’s blood does?”

  By the dawning realization and hint of fear beginning to show on his face, she suspected he did. The villager’s looked confused, as usual.

  “Interesting properties this blood has. In easiest terms, you could call it an attractant. All sorts of beasts think this stuff smells tasty. You spill a little bit here and there, and it’ll be the dinner bell announcing a banquet by night fall. Now me and my friends are going to ride out of here.” There was a slight protest behind her that was cut off almost as soon as it began. Fallon no doubt had motioned for silence. “But before we go we’re going to spread this stuff and several other vials worth all around the perimeters of your village. Maybe you’ll survive. Probably not. But maybe.”

  She watched the villager’s faces as she let that settle. Fear does funny things to people. Some it turns brave, as it had Eamon and Buck when they rescued their men from a shadow beetle’s nest. Others, as was the case with these villagers, turn into cowards willing to sacrifice anything and everything for just one more minute, one more day, one more week of living. They didn’t care what they had to do or who they had to hurt as long as they could keep breathing.

  These people fell into the latter category. Figure out what they fear, apply a little leverage and they would do whatever you asked.

  It started slow. A little bit of talking, some people crying, another shouting, ‘you can’t do this’, but soon there was arguing, threatening and finally shoving.

  Shea’s smile was cold as she said, “Well, you’ve had your chance. If you don’t want to tell me the location of the altar, you can take your chances with the beasts.”

  She uncorked the bottle.

  “Wait.” A woman stumbled from the crowd. “I’ll show you where it is.”

  “Marnie, no,” a man shouted.

  “Thanks, but I don’t trust one such as you. Just point me in the right direction.”

  “It’s on top of that hill.” She pointed to her left. “We wanted them to always be able to see us, you know?”

  Yeah, Shea was sure they appreciated that.

  “I’m going to give this to m
y friend over there. If I don’t return or I find out you lied, he’s going to dump it and several others all over your village.”

  “I’m telling the truth. I swear it.”

  Fat lot of stock Shea put into her words.

  Shea walked over to Buck and handed him the bottle.

  “You had this on you the whole time?” he asked.

  “Yup.”

  “You could have used it to create a decoy with the revenants.”

  She snorted. “I don’t think it would have worked very well. It’s what I use to polish my tack.”

  His eyebrows rose. “You lied?”

  She smirked at him. “Yup.”

  “You little sneak. We’re going to have to start watching you closer. Wait, does that mean you lied about the pisser fish in that pond we bathed in?”

  “What do you think?”

  She left him gaping behind her as she climbed onto her horse and looked over at Fallon. “If you still want to see, follow me.”

  “Lead on.”

  In the end, they took a party of ten that included Shea, Eamon, Fallon and Caden. It didn’t take long by horseback before they were cresting the hill. The villagers had cut the forest back, leaving a small clearing at the top that looked down on the small settlement.

  “The ancestors take them,” Eamon breathed as he pulled his horse up beside her.

  Shea had no words to respond. The sight broke her heart.

  Pikes rose from the ground like grim headstones in a macabre imitation of a cemetery. Bodies in various states of decomposition were tied to each one, some with their hands above their heads, others wrapped so they were facing the pikes.

  Even with the wind blowing in the opposite direction, the smell was over powering. Shea’s nose hairs felt singed from the smell of decay.

  A few of the bodies had been here long enough for the elements and beasts to strip them of all flesh, leaving only white bone behind. Others were newer. That was somehow worse, because those had been half chewed and were missing hunks of skin and organs.

  No wonder the revenant pack had been so large. They had a steady meal to sustain them. They wouldn’t have needed to hunt.

  “What is this?” Fallon asked quietly, his voice holding the beginnings of a thunderous rumble.