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Pathfinder's Way(8)

By:T.A. White


Shea didn't believe it was evil, but she had first-hand knowledge that  there were creatures dwelling within its borders that hadn't been seen  since the first great cataclysm.

It was close to Edgecomb, closer than the passage Shea and her party had  used to descend from the Highlands. Gaining entrance to the Badlands  would be infinitely easier than trying to climb the cliffs with an  injured man.

But, there was a reason they hadn't made a straight path for its borders  after the rescue. People who went in to the Badlands rarely came out.

"I don't think Cam can make it up some of those passes," Witt told her.

"Look. I don't like this option any better than you, but we won't make  it to the Highlands. They're gaining too fast, and we're about to run  out of safe ground for the wagon." Shea nodded at the shadowy hills that  marked the Badland's edge. "The incline up is gentler and less rocky.  We can use the wagon longer, and we can get to high ground before  Edgecomb's villagers catch up to us."

A beat passed before the wagon veered sharply right.

"The Badlands?" a gravelly voice said next to her ear. "Sounds ominous."

Shea turned to find whiskey eyes very close to her hazel ones. He waited  expectantly for an answer, but Shea hesitated. Everyone from Highlander  to Lowlander knew about the Badlands. They shared stories around  campfires and scared little kids about what waited there.

"I take it you're not from around here?" She watched as they pulled closer and closer to the Badlands.

He shrugged his massive shoulders.

Shea frowned slightly. Evasion.

They really knew nothing about these strangers, though she very much  suspected they were some kind of warriors. Neither had a mark on them  whereas James and Cam were covered with bruises. They both had small  scars on their hands and forearms, the sort that came from extensive  sword practice. From what little Shea had witnessed, she knew both could  handle themselves in dangerous situations.

He waited expectantly, his focus entirely on her as she puzzled through the implications.

James chimed in before Shea could come to a decision. "The Badlands? I  thought it was overrun with beasts. My father told me stories of men who  tried to settle that territory. They never last long. The people are  either found dead, or the villages abandoned as if its occupants just  disappeared one night. I've never even seen a map, not even a generic,  rudimentary one of that land." He paused and looked at Shea. "How are we  supposed to find our way out if you don't have a map? Have you ever  been there?"

Shea had shifted to watch their pursuers as James took up the  explanation, hoping her part in the conversation was finished. The  scenery passed by unnoticed as Shea's focus turned inward at his  question.

"Shea?"

She looked up, her gaze sliding past James to the string of sharp hills  looming large. "Once." Sadness whispered through her. She'd barely made  it out that one time. Many others had not. Clearing her throat abruptly,  she shook off her thoughts. "We shouldn't have a problem. We're on the  very edge, and we won't go any further in than we absolutely have to."         

     



 

The stranger's gaze sharpened on her, picking up on her hidden  expressions and making her feel exposed. A sharp crack forestalled any  questions.

"Damn it. I can't hit shit like this." Dane adjusted his grip on his  weapon, shifting forward and wedging himself into the corner of the  wagon. He took another shot and then cursed roundly as it missed. "I'm  just wasting ammo."

"No, wait. Look," the stranger Dane had drafted said, pointing as the  mob split to either side of the wagon, while still maintaining their  distance.

"That's not better. Now I have two groups to try to hit."

"Yes, but they're being careful not to get in range now." The stranger  with the gray eyes turned to Shea. "That's what you were hoping for,  isn't it?"

"It is."

"Now you just wait until they start edging closer again before firing," the stranger instructed.

The next few minutes were tense as Dane tried to hold off the mob with a few well-timed rounds.

Witt urged the wagon faster. There were a few hair-raising seconds where  the wagon almost tipped as the ride got rougher. All it would take was  one good bump, and they would all be sent flying.

The Badlands were just ahead.

"Drive along their edge. We need to find a good entry point," Shea shouted at Witt.

Steep rolling hills that lurked like giant beasts announced the boundary  of the Badlands. Very little vegetation broke up the stark browns and  grays.

"There." Shea pointed at a slim dip between two sheer rock faces. "Get as close as you can before stopping."

Shea was hoping the path would be narrow enough to prevent their  pursuers from following on horseback. She needed the men chasing them to  dismount. Otherwise, Shea's group would just be run down before they  could hide.

Witt pulled the horses up sharply, almost sending the wagon crashing  into their rears. Dane and the stranger jumped down while Shea and the  whiskey-eyed man helped lower Cam to the ground.

The mob surged forward.

Dane dropped to one knee, cradling the weapon's stock to his shoulder  and bracing his elbow against his raised knee. Without the obstacle of  the wagon, he picked off two men while Shea and the others raced toward  the small gap.

He followed quickly after them.





Chapter Three





The narrow space forced their group to run single file. It wasn't long  before the defined depression between the two hills turned into a narrow  gorge. Granite cliffs towered over them on either side, allowing only  thin rays of light to filter down. A river must have run through there  at one time, the water eating away at the rock over millions of years  before eventually drying up.

It was perfect. The villagers wouldn't be able to ride their horses after them. They'd have to follow on foot.

A hundred feet in, the crevasse cut sharply right, hiding them from sight.

They moved quickly.

Witt and one of the strangers supported Cam as Shea slipped past to race ahead to scout possible routes. A dead end meant death.

Dane brought up the rear, turning every couple of feet to make sure their pursuers weren't getting too close.

Shea didn't hold out much hope that the villagers would let superstition keep them from following.

Sure enough, the sound of pursuit began quickly, shouts echoing in the tiny space.

Up ahead, the canyon abruptly widened, and the path became uneven and difficult to traverse, slowing the group.

She fairly bounced on her toes as she waited for the others to catch up.

She'd already scouted ahead and needed them to pick up the pace.

Must move faster, repeated over and over in her head as the sound of pursuit grew closer.

There was little talk as Shea led them further and further into the  Badlands. The mood was tense, and they moved quickly, not taking the  time for breaks or rest.

They couldn't. The villagers were never far behind, and they all knew what would happen if they were caught.

Shea held up a hand signaling a stop.

"What is it?" Witt asked, coming up beside her.

"We have time for a short break."

A very short one.

"Are you sure?"

Shea listened. She couldn't hear the villagers.

"Yes. We have a few minutes. No more."

"I'll tell the others."

Witt approached the rest and after a short conversation they began  finding places to sit. James helped Cam sink down and sat beside him.  Dane moved back down the path and found a place to crouch where he had  line of sight down the canyon but could still keep an eye on the group.  He raised his canteen and took a sip before throwing the canteen to  James who gulped some down and passed it to Cam.

The whiskey-eyed stranger approached Shea.         

     



 

She spared him a brief glance before turning to examine the canyon's  walls. She couldn't see a way up them. They were too steep. Even without  the handicap of Cam, it would be impossible to climb them. The dirt was  too loose, and it was just shy of being a vertical climb.

Maybe if they had an area of hard rock face.

"Your boy's not going to make it," Whiskey said, nodding to Cam.

Shea followed his glance, seeing the pain on Cam's face and the sweat dripping down his body.

Though it frustrated her, she had to agree.

"You'd be better off stashing him and leading the others away."

Shea grunted.

She'd thought of that but hadn't found a good hiding place. Yet.

The two of them fell silent again.

She snuck a sideways glance at him, noting the way he seemed to notice  everything around him. He didn't seem worried about their situation.  Neither did his companion.

Why?

She envied him his apparent calm. Nerves and tension were the only  things she could feel. Being in the Badlands again, even if it was only  the edge, was playing havoc with her emotions. The added obstacles of  the villagers and an injured man only heightened the tension.

"We shouldn't rest too much longer," he advised. "Our pursuers will be getting close."