Mist's Edge (The Broken Lands #2) - T.A. White Page 0,37

the trunk of the tree. The trunk was the center around which life revolved; the village sprouting around it like a wheel, the branches being the spokes on which life flowed.

The villagers had risen to meet the challenges of life suspended hundreds of feet in the air by carving their homes directly into the tree. Some were nestled into the great trunk at the village’s heart. As the village population had grown along with the tree, they’d carved the base of their dwellings into the wood of the thick branches that reached out from the tree’s heart. They’d coaxed smaller branches to grow from the thicker limbs until they interwove, weaving them together to create the walls and roofs. Surprisingly, this process didn’t kill the branch or harm the tree.

Shea had asked how they were able to create living houses that grew and changed even as its inhabitants did but was told that it was a secret only the architects of their people knew. Though her curiosity had nearly consumed her, she had left them their secrets. The wonder she felt when she viewed these living houses was enough. She didn’t need to know how they were created to know they were special.

Around the base of the trunk, larger dwellings had been carved out to create meeting places for the entire village to gather. These buildings were much older than the ones further down the branches. As a result, the roofs towered high above the floor, the wood smooth and patterned with age.

The first time Shea had stood in one of those great chambers, she’d been left with an almost spiritual feeling—the space seeming almost holy with the lifeblood of the tree flowing all around it.

Today, Shea didn’t intend to show Fallon the trunk, as he’d seen it when he and his people had first come to a halt under the branches of the soul tree. No, there was something else she wanted him to see. Something that she had only discovered recently during one of the many times she had slipped away from Daere and the Anateri guards.

But first, she needed to locate one of the storytellers. They were her best bet in finding out some of the history behind why Airabel’s first inhabitants had chosen to settle here in the branches of the soul tree.

She led Fallon across one rope bridge after another, using the rope ladders to ascend or descend in a circuitous path that took them to the opposite side of the tree. They stopped in front of a red wooden door that sheltered a small hut. Though they were a fair distance from the trunk of the tree, the little house looked old and well cared for. The small branches to the sides and front of the building had little flowers sprouting from them, resulting in the house looking colorful and cheerful.

Shea raised her hand and knocked. She waited until the door creaked open and one pale-colored eye peered out through the crack.

“Good afternoon, Teller Laura. I was hoping I could have a moment of your time.”

The eye’s gaze shifted from Shea to Fallon and then disappeared into the darkness. The door yawned open.

Shea turned to Fallon. “I’ll just be a moment.”

Shea didn’t wait for a response, stepping in after the old woman as she shuffled to her back door. The little house had a small deck that the teller had set a rocking chair and a small desk on. It was a nice space, one that would allow the older woman to sit and enjoy the quiet and peace of the tree and its splendor without every passerby being able to see her.

“You’ve come about the mist,” Laura said as she lowered herself into her chair and picked up the yarn and knitting needles she had stashed in a basket at her side. She rocked back and forth as she worked the needles, the small scrap of knitting growing with each movement.

“I have. Is there anything in your stories about it?”

Laura’s smile was crooked as she looked up at Shea before turning her attention to Fallon who had followed Shea inside. “And who’s this?”

Fallon stepped forward, impressing Shea as he kept his nod polite and his voice respectful. “Fallon Hawkvale, Warlord of the Trateri.”

“Conqueror of the Lowlands. Would-be ruler of the Broken Lands,” Laura finished for him. “I’ve heard about you. Whoever tells your story in the end will be remembered for a long time.”

Fallon’s lips tilted into a grin. “Perhaps, lady, you will