The remains of the wall consisted of a few rows of stones stacked on top of one another. If its purpose had been to keep out beasts, it had failed miserably. In places, the wall had fallen entirely, leaving huge gaps for any beast to slip through.
Shea slid off Orion’s back and stared past the stones toward what she had once called the heart of the Badlands. She knew better now. The heart was much further in and even less welcoming than these ruins of a fallen civilization.
The others dismounted behind her and Shea turned to watch them. This wasn’t just another break. It was clear the mythologicals intended to part ways. From here on out, they were on their own it seemed.
They couldn’t be far behind Griffin now. It was even possible they’d arrived ahead of him. Only time would tell.
She adjusted her pack on her shoulders as the other four readied themselves. Shea stepped up to the wall before hesitating. It seemed wrong to leave without expressing some gratitude for the ride. Orion and the rest weren’t their equine cousins. They were sentient and had allowed themselves to be used like common beasts of burden. The sacrifice deserved some type of appreciation.
She turned back to Orion, a serious expression on her face. “I know you had your own reasons for helping us, but nevertheless, I thank you. I won’t forget this.”
“We thank you,” Trenton chimed in, aiming a reverent look at his own mount as he leaned forward in a slight bow.
Orion dipped his head and let out a snort. Shea didn’t know if she should interpret that as a ‘you’re welcome’ or whether it was an insult only another winged horse would understand.
Either way, she’d said her piece. That was all that mattered.
The horses leapt into the air, their powerful wings carrying them away as Shea’s group watched. She was the first to face the ruins once more, grim resolve filling her. She resettled her pack and took a deep breath. Time to confront her past.
She stepped through the opening and set off, not waiting as the other four followed one by one. She took the lead, setting a punishing pace as they left the wall in their wake.
The group was quiet as they moved. They’d agreed the night before that silence was necessary unless there was danger. Their task was to slip as quietly as possible through this land, not attracting the notice of any of its denizens. Easier said than done.
The landscape began to change the further into the Badlands they ventured, accompanied by a cloying feeling of wrongness that steadily grew. The place felt evil, for lack of a better term. Normally, she wouldn’t use such a word since the concept of evil was a subjective one. Nature wasn’t bad just because it could kill. It was part of the world and couldn’t be judged by human concepts.
The Badlands, however, were different. It was almost as if they had taken on the attributes of the people who’d destroyed them so long ago, all their anger and hatred and pain soaking into the ground, turning it into something else, something that felt almost sentient.
It left only fear and rage behind, emotions so damaging it felt like the land surrounding them was objecting to their presence, a silent scream that called for the death of any who dared trespass.
To a casual observer, this part of the Badlands might lead a visitor into complacency from all the sameness. It lacked the gentle beauty of the Lowlands or the stark, rugged splendor of the Highlands. This was the slightly drabber cousin to the other two, its dusty browns and faded reds hiding the nightmare all around.
Further into the Badlands, the landscape transitioned to twisted contrasts of sharp, towering monoliths and deep ravines that ravaged the land. These were two things the Highlands had in abundance, but where the Highlands possessed a certain beauty that endured despite the harsh climate, the plants clinging to life with a fierce dignity, this place was bleak.
They moved quickly and quietly, dipping into the ravines and gorges when necessary, but mostly sticking to the higher plateaus and ridges where they could have a clear view of potential threats.
The land was silent around them, not even insects or birds stirring. It was this quietness that often disturbed those venturing into the Bandlands. The world was not meant to be so lacking in sound. Even the wind blowing past seemed muted and subdued.
It wasn’t until the afternoon of the fourth day of their trek that they came across the first sign Griffin had taken the same route—human tracks in mud created by rain the night before.
“This is too easy,” Reece said in a soft voice, staring down at those prints. “Why wouldn’t he have tried to disguise his tracks?”
Shea shook her head. There was more than one reason he hadn’t been deemed fit for the pathfinders’ ranks. Laziness was an important part of the determination.
The Griffin she knew might have reasoned the likelihood of pursuit was small and not bothered taking the effort of hiding his tracks.
“Arrogant puppy,” Trenton said in disgust.
“This could be part of it,” Patrick said from where he crouched several feet away.
Shea stood and made her way to him, careful not to leave any tracks of her own. She squatted next to him, noting with interest that a red back and grindle had come this way as well.
“He’s relying on beasts to protect him,” Patrick told her.
“How do you know?” Trenton asked.
“Because grindles and red backs don’t normally travel together,” Shea explained.
“They also don’t share territory,” Reece said. “If either one had settled in this area, the other would have hunted it down and killed it. That, or moved on.”
