Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands #2) - T.A. White Page 0,17

step or two behind Eamon. Holding her hand in front of her face, Shea was barely able to see the outline of her fingers.

“Richard,” one of the men on the line called. No answer came. He was gone.

“Whatever you do, don’t let go of the rope,” Shea ordered.

“What is this?” Trenton asked, his voice seemed to echo from everywhere.

Shea could only see Daere, grasping the rope next to her. The rest of the men were just voices in the mist, the visibility almost zero.

“It’s the mist,” Shea said.

“So?” someone asked. “We have this in the Outlands. Never this thick but it won’t hurt you.”

“Not like this,” Shea said. “I doubt you have anything like this in the Outlands. As far as I know this is something that only affects the Highlands and the Badlands. It’s the first time I’ve seen it this far into the Lowlands.”

“Where’s Richard? Why isn’t he answering?” the man who’d called for his friend asked.

Shea was quiet for a moment. “He’s gone. If he’s lucky, he’ll find his way out.”

“What is it?” Eamon asked, the mist making it nearly impossible to pinpoint where his voice was coming from.

“It’s the bogeyman parents warn their children about. Be careful of mistfall, lest you never find your way home again. You get lost in this and chances are you won’t come out. You’ll wander lost and alone, searching for the way out—never to find it.”

Even without being able to see them, Shea could sense the unease among the rest of the group.

“How is the rope supposed to save us?” someone asked. “We would have been better off trying to run and avoid it.”

“You’d never have made it,” Shea said. “It moves too fast, or otherwise I’d have tried just that.”

She peered out at the foggy world, even knowing it would do little good. This was one of the thickest mists she’d ever encountered, not just turning the world odd and dreamy but wiping it completely clean.

“Can you get us out of here?” Eamon asked.

Shea was quiet for a moment. “Yes.”

Relief filtered through the air.

“That’s not our only problem, though.”

Eamon understood without her needing to elaborate.

“Fallon.”

“Yes.”

There was a low curse.

Daere shifted next to Shea, her movements stirring the mist. Shea ignored her, needing to focus on the task at hand.

Eamon had given Shea a copy of the map, knowing she’d want to monitor their progress for herself. Also, it was a good way to check the accuracy of the maps. Neither one thought it was likely the cartographers would give them inaccurate maps—not after the last time, but it paid to not trust blindly and verify whenever they could.

By Shea’s estimation, Fallon and his entourage wouldn’t be too far from them. The mist could very well have swallowed them, and unlike Shea’s group, they had no pathfinder trained to navigate its miasma.

No one spoke as Shea wrestled with deciding the best course of action. She knew she could lead them out. It might take a day or two, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before.

“If you can navigate this, shouldn’t you be able to find Fallon and get him and his men out?” Buck asked.

That was the crux of the problem. Leading people out was one thing. Finding them in the mist was another. Shea knew of no pathfinder who had walked into the mist blind and been able to accurately find the lost to lead them out.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

Shea wasn’t sure who’d asked that.

“It means I don’t know if that’s even possible. No one I know of has attempted it. Once the mist takes you, that’s it. If you’re not anchored or with a pathfinder, you’re just gone.”

There was a long silence as they digested that.

Shea stared into the mist, angry and scared in a way she hadn’t been in a very long time. She wasn’t ready for this to be the end—for Fallon to disappear, not dead, but not alive either.

No, she wasn’t ready at all.

“I have a theory about the mist. It’s a risk though and could end with all of us dead.”

There was the sound of something hitting another thing.

“Ouch.”

“I knew she would have a plan. Didn’t I tell you?” Buck asked.

“Like I said. It’s a risk.”

“We’ll take it,” Buck returned. “I’m sure it’ll work.”

“I’m not,” someone muttered.

There was another thud and then a different person said, “Hey.”

“Sorry,” Buck apologized.

Shea was very much afraid that Buck’s faith was misplaced this time. She wasn’t lying when she said it was a