Pathfinder's Way(28)

"Gee, thanks."

Eamon dragged Lorn's body to join the other and bent down, fussing with his neck.

"What's he doing?" Shea asked.         

     



 

Buck looked down at the top of her head with a thoughtful expression. "You're not Trateri are you?"

Shea's shoulders stiffened.

He was asking the sorts of questions she really didn't need him to be  asking. For her disguise to work, people couldn't be curious about her.  They couldn't look twice because if they did they might see that her  bones were too small, even for a seventeen-year-old boy. That even a boy  would have an Adam's apple and that her cheeks were entirely too  smooth, missing the pimples and baby fine hair that came with puberty.

"Is that a problem?"

He pursed his mouth and shrugged. "Just strange is all. Normally the  Scout's trainers don't take any but a Trateri as an apprentice. They  don't usually trust throwaways."

Shea shot him a sharp look.

He smirked at her. "That's what we call those that we take from the  villages. Because their people threw them away for a few months more of  safety."

Throwaways.

Huh.

Shea crooked one side of her mouth. Unbelievable. Cruel but true.

"Thought us being integrated into your army was the whole point of us becoming ‘throwaways'?"

He nodded. "In theory, but in reality throwaways aren't trusted. They're  used as filler. Most of you go to the frontlines or work as cooks or  launderers. You're the first to die in battle with your own people, or  you're given jobs that you can't cause a lot of damage in."

"So we're thrown away twice."

"Not you, though."

Shea slouched and looked away. She needed him off this topic.

"He's preparing them for their trip to the afterlife."

Shea looked up in alarm. "We don't have time for a burial. Shadow beetles live in pairs."

"Relax, our people aren't interred beneath the ground like you mud  squatters. If a body can be taken back to camp, we offer them up to the  sky and give them a funeral pyre."

Shea blanched. That was even worse. No way could they lug two dead  bodies smelling of blood and meat all the way back to camp without  encountering beasts.

"Since we're a very warlike people and most of us die in battle, this  often isn't possible. Eamon will cut their hair and take their amulet.  Later, he'll burn the two items so their spirits have a path to follow  to the other world."

Shea relaxed. That wasn't as bad. Though she would prefer to be out of here sooner rather than later.

"You really think there are more?"

"I know so." She gestured at the bodies. "The shadow beetle didn't eat  the bodies. Means it probably has young it wanted to feed. Where there's  young, there's usually a mate."

"Great."

Pretty much.





Eamon insisted they head back to the horses first to see if the others had returned.

Shea didn't like the idea much, but with Lorn dead, Eamon was in charge.  Since she'd given up her opportunity to escape, she was back to playing  the obedient soldier.

One day she was going to get control of herself and stop doing stupid shit to save ungrateful idiots.

For now, she waited by the horses with folded arms and a tapping foot.  She wanted to be gone. Hanging around wasn't smart. Not with a mate and  possible young still out there.

Vale and his team weren't back yet.

Shea had a strong feeling they weren't coming. She'd noticed at least  one burrow hole in the rock walls. It probably led all the way to the  other canyon. Chances were good the other group had encountered the same  problems as Eamon's.

"We need to go after them," Eamon said, coming to stand beside Shea.

She sighed. She knew he was going to say that.

"Is there any way to see that thing before it strikes?"

She tipped her head back. That was a good question.

"Chances are it's gotten to Vale and his team. If it has glutted itself  on blood, it'll lose a little of its camouflage. If it hasn't eaten any  of them yet, it will only be seen once it moves."

"Where's my rope?" Buck asked from behind them. He held his saddlebag up  and then glared suspiciously at Shea. "I'm also missing a knife."

She turned away and made a face at the canyon. She'd forgotten about  that. That meant her pack was still sitting at the top of the cliff.

"Uh-"

"You took it, didn't you?"

"I may have, in my haste, gone through your bags, looking for anything that might be of use."

"And you thought my rope would be useful?"

She shrugged. "Well, it did come in handy."

"And my knife?"

"You can never have too many knives."         

     



 

He threw his saddlebag down and glared at her. She spread her hands. "It  was either take the rope and save your life or let you get eaten. Are  you really going to tell me that you'd prefer to be beetle food?" She  jutted her jaw out stubbornly.

"Enough," Eamon said, stepping between them. To her, "Where's your jacket?"

"My what?

"Your jacket. The green one with yellow trim."

Ah, that. "It's with the rest of my stuff on top of the cliff."

Buck swore. "Hell, he was running."

Shea dropped her arms. Eamon's sharp eyes caught the movement and his face darkened.

"I wasn't running," Shea defended. "I was just moving myself to a better position in case things went bad."

Buck looked skyward and shook his head. Eamon folded his arms across his chest.

"Do you really think I would have come and saved your asses if I'd  planned on running?" She could tell by the shift in Buck's stance that  she had their attention and pressed her advantage. "If I'd wanted to  run, I could have just left you to your fate. Nobody would have been the  wiser, and I could have made it half way home before anyone noticed. If  they noticed at all."

"Doesn't matter now," Eamon said, his voice a deep rumble. "He saved us. End of story. We need to find the others."

Buck pointed a finger, "We'll be taking this up later."

Shea rolled her eyes. Yeah. Only if they were all still alive.





The canyon walls narrowed to a slim slip of space that made it  impossible to walk side by side, and Eamon's broad shoulders blocked  Shea's view of the path ahead. In several spots, the men had to squeeze  to fit through. Shea, being smaller, had an easier time of it, though at  certain points she had to contort her body too.

She glanced up at the sky. The gray of the rock nearly blended into that  of the thin strip of cloud that was visible, making it difficult to  distinguish one from the other.

Shea stepped up onto a half buried boulder, checking the ground on the  other side for any potential dangers before stepping down. Buck  followed, placing one hand on the wall to steady himself as he looked  over their heads.

So far there hadn't been any sign of a struggle. No blood, no bodies or discarded items.

The three had agreed to maintain silence in case the shadow beetle was attracted to noise.

As they pushed further into the canyon, the path became more and more  impassable and they were forced down twisting corridors and had to climb  over fallen rocks. They passed several more burrows, which Shea made  sure to point out to the other two. After the last one, Eamon's face had  gotten tight and his eyes hard.

Why hadn't the men turned around the moment it became clear the path would be impossible for the horses to travel?

Shea looked above them again, running her hands slowly down the ravine's mottled gray walls. So far, no sign of movement.

Buck stopped when she did, his hand going to the pommel of his sword. It  wasn't the first time she'd gone still, thinking she had seen  something, but no matter how many times she stopped to take a closer  look at her surroundings, they didn't complain.

Eamon held up a closed fist signaling a stop. Buck stepped back and to the side while Shea froze where she was.

Eamon crouched and pointed at a shred of cloth snagged on a rock about  ten feet above the ravine's floor. Movement on the opposite side caught  Shea's eye. There one moment and gone the next as if something had just  slid out of sight.

She tapped Eamon on the shoulder and then pointed to where she thought  she saw movement. Together, they backed out of sight very slowly until a  boulder shielded them.

"Fuck." Buck's voice was low and strained.

Eamon pressed his back against the wall and peeked around it, trying to spot the shadow beetle.

"I can't see it." The skin around his eyes was tight, and the knuckles  of the hand clenched around his sword were bleached white. "That means  it hasn't fed, right?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" Buck hissed. "You said if it wasn't black it hadn't fed."

"You're acting like I've spent my life studying these things," Shea  snapped. "The closest I've ever been to one was the one I just killed.  Usually when I come across beast sign, I know enough to avoid the damn  things. Not stroll into its den and poke it with a stick. I've only seen  this thing twice. Once when it was feeding and had turned black.  Judging by the fact these suckers are usually the color of a rock, I  figured eating turns them black. But that's still just a guess."