Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands #2) - T.A. White Page 0,18

risk, and the chances of success were small. If she were still a pathfinder, still answering to the guild, she would never have been allowed to even consider this option. There were too many things that could go wrong, costing her not just Fallon’s life but the lives of everyone with her. It was a heavy burden to contemplate.

Her plan meant finding a large enough object, preferably living, to anchor this group to. Villages in the Highlands rarely went missing. The mist might pass them by but could do little to totally displace them, unlike those wandering the forest.

The soul trees might work. They were definitely big enough and were firmly rooted in this world. It was still a risk—something that had never been attempted before—but it wasn’t as great a risk as leaving them standing in place awaiting her return. She could end up losing all of them, Eamon, Fallon and all the rest.

She kind of wanted to kick her own ass for even considering a plan so asinine. Then she thought of what her life would be like without Fallon in it, and she was willing to risk the world itself for the chance to see him again. It was a selfish desire. Dangerous and at odds with a pathfinder’s duty.

“What’s your plan?” Eamon said.

Last chance. She could follow her training, lead her charges to safety.

What had playing it safe got her before? Betrayal, punishment and heartache. No, she was Trateri now and life was a calculated risk. She could do this. She would do this.

“The soul trees. In the myths, it’s said their roots and branches stretch between many worlds. I know they are rooted deeply in this world. If I can find one here in the mist, it should give you an anchor to our world. After you’re anchored, I’ll head out to find Fallon.”

“Thought you said it had never been done before.”

“It hasn’t, but there’s a first time for everything.”

Shea didn’t need to see Eamon’s face to know the concern that would be on it.

“Fallon wouldn’t want you to risk yourself on such a thin margin of success,” Daere said in a soft voice.

“He’s not here to stop me.” Shea’s voice was hard. “I decide what risks I take.”

The mist stirred, giving a brief glimpse of the hazy silhouette of the figures clinging to a thin rope that was all that anchored them to her.

“Do it,” Eamon said. “We’ve been in tough situations before. I have faith that you’ll find a way. The Hawkvale is worth the risk. We owe it to him to try.”

“My life for the Hawkvale,” Wilhelm said, his words making it clear he found the potential risk in this plan acceptable.

“If we make it out alive, it may very well be our lives when he finds out we let her do this,” Trenton said. He sighed. “Oh well, at least it means we’ll be alive to face his wrath.”

Shea took a deep breath and released it.

“What now?” Eamon asked.

“Everyone needs to be as quiet as possible,” Shea said.

“Understood.”

The others settled, only the faint sound of feet scuffing against the ground letting Shea know that she wasn’t alone. The rope tugged gently in her hand as someone shifted.

Shea’s breath rasped in her ears as she breathed deep and exhaled. She stared out at the whiteness, unseeing. Her eyesight worthless.

Humans have many senses beyond vision— hearing, touch, taste, smell. None of which were any more reliable here where the mist caused sound to echo, the warmth of the sun to be a faint memory, and the only smell that of damp earth and desperation. No, the normal senses would be all but useless, waiting to betray you at the soonest opportunity.

In the last test before an initiate was elevated to the rank of pathfinder, they were led deep into the wilds and abandoned in an area that was constantly ravaged by the mists. Their only hope was to find their way out on their own. Many lost their lives, some made it out but were mentally broken from their time spent in its grasp. Only those remaining gained the ability to navigate its treacherous heart.

The ability gained was hard to describe to the uninitiated. The closest Shea had ever come was likening it to a homing pigeon. There was some sense that enabled her to hone in on the direction that was home, whether that be the Highlands or the Lowlands. It was a tug in her heart that pulled her from the