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 be 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.