But it wasn’t the growing back that concerned Tressa. She’d just turned thirteen and realized her feelings for Bastian were more than that of childhood friends. Later in the day, he’d told her he was glad her hair was short because it made her look less like a girl.
Tressa had slapped him, burst into tears, and tried to run away. Bastian grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to him. “I’m glad because now the other boys may not look at you the same way I do. I want you all to myself.”
That was the moment he’d first laid his lips on hers. A salty, sweet mix of gentle yearning, coupled with the innocence of youth. It lasted only a few seconds, but long enough to solidify itself in Tressa’s mind as the best kiss she’d ever have.
After the kiss, they’d awkwardly stared at each other until Tressa couldn’t handle it anymore and ran away. Kissing someone who hadn’t been chosen for coupling was against the law. Children who were caught doing it got in trouble with their parents and Granna. If Tressa and Bastian had been caught, Granna would have been furious. She indulged Tressa, but she also expected her to follow the rules.
“It’s a beautiful braid,” Adam said.
Yes, the braid looked exactly as it should. She’d learned a lot in the last few years when it came to weaving. That was the way Tressa contributed to their village. Everyone had a job. There was no payment, or money, though they still had a stockpile of it from the days before the fog fell.
“Thanks. It’s the result of many years of practice.”
Adam tapped the patterned vest he wore over his linen shirt. “Oh, I know. This is my favorite vest.”
A blush crept across Tressa’s cheeks. She actually enjoyed her work, unlike most of the others her age who complained about their jobs. She took pride in creating something beautiful out of raw materials. “I’m glad you like it.”
Tressa took another look at Granna. Everything was as it should be. There were no elaborate rites for burial anymore. About fifty years ago, the elders decided they no longer had enough land to bury the dead. The new ritual was a public viewing the same day as death, then passing the body into the fog next to the old cemetery. They had tried burning the dead, but the stench was too much to bear. The fog was their only alternative. It swallowed them whole, erasing their existence in the wink of an eye.
“Are you ready for this, Tressa? To lay her to rest?”
She wasn’t. She would never be. But she knew the practicalities of keeping a dead body around too long. Her grief didn’t outweigh anyone else’s. She had to do what everyone else in the village had done in the past.
“Yes.” It was a lie, but an expected one.
Adam pulled a shroud over Granna’s body. He opened the door and motioned. Three men stepped in, Connor, Geoff, and Sean. Together, they lifted the pallet under Granna. Tressa held the door open for Adam. They carried Granna’s body out into the village toward the stone slab in the middle of the main courtyard.
People stood to the side, respectfully allowing the procession to continue unhindered. A bell sounded, calling everyone to the town square. Those who hadn’t heard of Granna’s passing would know soon enough. It didn’t take long for gossip to spread and by the time everyone arrived at the town square, they would all be prepared to see Granna’s body lying there.
Tressa looked ahead. The elders had already gathered around the stone. Udor stood at the head. His expression was carefully set in place. It was one of sadness and concern. Tressa saw past the small smirk attempting to escape from the corner of his mouth. His eyes sparkled, knowing he was finally to become the ruler of the village. He wouldn’t have dared to challenge Granna, but with her gone, no one would try to usurp him. It was a peaceful village out of necessity. Anyone who broke the laws repeatedly was forced into the fog, a fate more frightening than death.
Adam directed the others to lay Granna’s body carefully on the stone. Her shroud fluttered in the breeze, slapping the sides of the slab.
They stood awkwardly for a few minutes, waiting for the last of the villagers to gather in the square. Tressa refused to look at Udor, but wouldn’t allow herself to look at Granna, for fear the tears would return. Instead she looked out into the crowd, locking eyes with Bastian.
She allowed herself only one moment of weakness. He stood quiet. Solid. Tressa let herself drown in his sympathetic eyes, remembering the day he’d first kissed her and wishing with all of her heart that she’d have the chance again, one day, to let herself love another.
“This is a sad day for the village.” Udor’s voice boomed over the crowd. “We have lost one of our founding mothers. Truly, Sophia was a mother to all of us. Let us have a moment of silence to remember how she graced Hutton’s Bridge with her love and caring.”
Tressa wanted to kick him in the gut or punch him in the mouth, anything to get him to shut up. He’d never even liked Granna. No one loved her like Tressa had. She glanced through the people crowded in the square, their eyes lowered, some with their hands folded in prayer. Tressa wished for it all to be over, but she knew there were at least a few more hours she had to bear.
During the viewing, anyone who wanted could walk by Granna’s body. They might linger only for a moment, but in some cases, people would stop for a long while. Probably worried about their own mortality. To Tressa, it was torture. Everyone in her village knew everyone else, but no one knew Granna like she did.
“Take your time saying goodbye,” Udor continued.
Tressa drew her eyes away from the crowd to stare at him.
“In the meantime, I will be meeting with the elders to discuss the future of our village.” With that final declaration, Udor spun on one heel, his cape floating behind him, and strode into the meeting hall.
Tressa itched to run after him. Her fate depended on their decisions. The next day she would either step into the fog never to return, or stay put in a village that was suffocating her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sunset was a strange time in Bastian’s village. The horizon was blocked by the fog, so the closer the sun traveled to setting, the fog turned a salmon color, just like the fish they cared for in the pond. It left their village bathed in an unsettling glow. They rarely had this much sun in the cool nights of late summer. Usually the sky was shrouded in low clouds, sealing the village in a tomb of misty tendrils.
Tressa’s eyes were trained on the fog. He knew what was going through her mind without even asking. He stood off to the side, sure she didn’t notice him.
She turned her attention back to Sophia’s prone body. “Oh, they’re gone.” Her voice carried over to where he was standing. She was right. Everyone except Connor, Sean, Geoff, and Adam had left.
“We’re going to put her to rest now. Do you want to come?” Adam beckoned to the younger men.
“I can’t,” Sean said. “I promised my mother I’d get back to work.” He turned to Tressa. “I’m so sorry.” He gave her an awkward hug, then took off in the opposite direction.
Adam looked around and saw Bastian. With two fingers cocked in the air, Adam motioned him over. Bastian looked to Tressa, but she’d already started toward the fog. If she wouldn’t object, then he was more than willing to help.
Bastian took over Sean’s position near Sophia’s feet. Connor and Adam took the lead. Tressa walked three paces in front of them. Sophia’s braid hung off the side.
The grass stood taller the closer they got to the fog.
Adam held his palm up. Connor, Geoff, and Bastian brought Sophia to a careful halt.
They all looked at Tressa, all except Bastian who looked at Tressa’s feet.
“Is there anything you want to say before we commend her to the fog?” Adam asked.
“Can I have a moment alone with her?” Tressa asked.
Adam nodded. They removed Sophia from the pallet and set her down gently on the ground, her back against a large rock.
Tressa took Sophia’s hand in hers again. She leaned over to whisper in her ear.
Bastian wa
nted to go to her side, lay a hand on her back, steady her, but Tressa wouldn’t have allowed it. The last thing he wanted was to interfere where he wasn’t wanted. If they had still been bonded, he knew his place would be next to her.
Tressa paused for a moment, just breathing, as if Sophia might speak if she hesitated long enough. Sophia’s chest remained still. Her eyelids didn’t flutter. It really was all over.
Tressa stumbled backward, a hand over her pink lips and a waterfall gushing down her cheeks. Bastian held out his arms. She fell into them, not even noticing who held her. Tressa’s head fell onto his chest, her eyes focused only on Sophia’s body as Adam scooped her tiny grandmother into his arms. His toes touched the fog and his arms passed through the tendrils of gray mist until he seemed armless. Her body disappeared. There was no noise. They didn’t know where the bodies went or if they lay just beyond their grasp. It was the way of the fog.
Bastian held tighter as Tressa’s trembles turned to gasping breaths.
“I love you.”
It was only a whisper. Bastian was sure he was the only one who’d heard Tressa tell Sophia one last time how much she meant to her.
Adam stepped backward, his arms empty. He turned around. “I’m so sorry, Tressa.”
She nodded. Her muscles relaxed. She turned her head and saw it was Bastian holding her so tenderly. Tressa gasped and ran off toward the village, taking Bastian’s heart with her.
CHAPTER SIX
Tressa stumbled into the town square. She’d run from the edge of the village to get away from the memory of Granna disappearing into the fog and from Bastian’s embrace.
She nearly steadied herself on the slab where Granna had lain, but stopped just short of touching the cold stone. It was too soon. Time would never heal her wound of losing Granna. She was alone in a village with no family and no way to escape.
“Ah, you’re back.” Udor strolled out of the gathering hall, his hands looped into the belt cutting into the flab around his waist. His gray goatee trailed down his chin into a point just above the potato bobbing in his throat. “Everyone else has just left. I was closing up the hall and blowing out the candles. Would you like to join me?”
Tressa hesitated, but only for a moment. With or without Granna, life would go on. Better to face it now than put off the inevitable. She nodded, dipping her chin only once, and followed Udor back into the hall.
Wax dripped from candles, forming valleys and rivulets along the wooden shelves. The scent of beeswax hung in the air. Before the fog fell, Hutton’s Bridge had been known for their honey. Granna told stories of exotic travelers coming in and out of the town just to buy it. Their clothes made of silk in colors as bright as the flowers dotting the meadow. Languages Granna didn’t understand mingled with the accents of high society from the castle. Tressa loved it when Granna imitated the lilting, high-pitched accents.
“We’ve come to a unanimous decision.” Udor wound his way around the table in the center of the room, blowing out candles as he passed them. Three stood next to Tressa, flickering light in the drafty room.
She didn’t ask what that decision was and she doubted it was unanimous without some struggle or bribery. At least two of the elders had been fiercely loyal to Granna, even in the face of dissent. They’d never wavered in their conviction. Until today.
“You don’t have to leave now, Tressa. You can stay here in the village.”
Her heart lurched. She didn’t want to stay. Staying meant seeing Bastian with Vinya. Staying meant living alone in the cottage she’d shared with Granna her whole life. Staying meant never seeing if Granna’s visions were real.
But she didn’t want to leave unless she knew there was something other than death waiting for her in the fog. She belonged nowhere.
“I meant what I said this morning.” He cupped her cheek. She’d been so busy thinking she hadn’t even noticed he’d sidled up next to her. His thumb rubbed her chin, and then he grabbed it, hard, forcing her to look at him. “I will take you in. No one else will and you know that as well as I do. The entire goal of our village is to keep life going for our people. A woman who cannot bear children has no use. She consumes resources others need to survive. Don’t think anyone will take pity on you because you were related to Sophia.”
He pinched her chin. If she’d had any tears left to cry, they might have inched out of her eyelids. But she was a dry husk now, unable to respond.
“It may not happen tomorrow or next month, but eventually everyone will start to look at you out of the corner of their eyes. They will wonder why they are crowding seven to eight people in a home when you sit in luxury, enjoying all that space for yourself. Eventually, they will find a way to get rid of you, whether by poison or setting up an unfortunate accident.”
It had happened in the past, and only to the single people. No one publicly questioned those unnatural deaths. They simply accepted them for what they were—survival strategies for the majority. No one ever took responsibility for the deaths. No one ever asked.
Adam was an exception. He had never been bothered because of his healing skills. He saved the lives of others, but it also helped to ensure his own.
Udor’s hand dropped to his side. Tressa’s chin throbbed as the blood rushed back. She didn’t dare reach up and massage it.
“If you’re under my protection, you will have nothing to fear.” He wouldn’t stop. She wondered if he was trying to convince her, or himself.
“Adam might take me in. He’s been more of a father to me than anyone in this village.” Tressa chose her words carefully. The last thing she needed was for Udor to think she had romantic feelings for Adam.
Udor’s smile fell, erased from his face. “You don’t need a father. You need a husband.”
Tressa’s eyes narrowed. Did he really think it was necessary to do this now? If the elders had agreed to stop the chosen three from venturing into the fog, then Tressa would have time to figure things out. She wouldn’t have a random man as her husband, not for pity, and not for Udor’s twisted desires.
“So I don’t have to prepare to leave tomorrow?” Tressa chose to ignore his entreaties. She would never be his. Never.
Udor glared at her. He knew better than to force her into something against her will. The townspeople may not appreciate her using up resources when their children might need them, but they wouldn’t stand for forcing a woman into coupling.
In such a small place, the criminals were few and far between. Jealousy, conniving, and persuasion all ran rampant, but no one dared cross the line of propriety. The sentence for crime was simple: banishment into the fog, blindfolded and bound. In case there was life out there, they had to fight to find it, hampered by their bindings. But they wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the village. There was no offer for rehabilitation.
“I’ve saved your life.” Udor opened the door to the hall, holding his arm out to the side. “Maybe you should think on that tonight.”
Tressa held her head high, and strode out the door. She did have much to think about. In less than a day, everything had changed. Just yesterday she had thought she was moving toward death in the fog. Then Granna suddenly fell ill and passed. She hadn’t been prepared for that. Now Tressa had her reprieve.
Everything was backward. She didn’t know which way to turn. Her cottage looked the same, but empty.
Tressa lay down in her bed, pulling the covers up tight to her chin. The only light came from the faint moonlight that tore through the fog’s unrelenting veil. She rolled over, scooting against the wall. Something scratched her back. Tressa reached a hand behind her, and was surprised to find a worn piece of parchment crumpled up between the bed and wall.
Tressa set the paper on her lap and lit a bedside candle. Bringing the candle closer to the parchment, she squinted in an attempt to read it.
Age had cut into the folds of the parchment, slicing through image. Orange foxing framed the edges. It was a faded picture of a man, bound in a tree. Shock pulsed in
her veins.
Tressa had never seen this before. All of the documents they held at Hutton’s Bridge were kept in the hall, guarded under lock and key. Long ago, the elders had taken this step to preserve their past. They’d lost the ability to purchase parchment after the fog fell. Most in the newer generations didn’t know how to read or write. It wasn’t important anymore. But Granna had taken great pains to teach Tressa.
At the bottom of the picture, a hastily written message stood. Smudged, it looked like it had been written with a stick and the remnants of the black soot on the end of a candle’s wick. Tressa glanced at the candle in her other hand. The wick listed to the side.
She held the parchment up to the candle, careful not to catch it on fire.
Tressa,
My visions were about you. You must enter the fog. It is your destiny. It was my intention to live long enough to see you through the fog and welcome you back into my arms when you returned, but this sudden illness has rendered me weak.
I love you always. Never forget this. I have always followed my heart. All I can do is ask that you do the same.
Granna
Visions. Not that again. Tressa sighed and folded up the note. Granna had been further gone than she’d thought. No one returned from the fog. Ever. There was no reason to think Tressa would be any different.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The gong of the town bells woke Tressa from a deep sleep. Images of Granna flickered in and out of her memory, but the shouts outside her door roused her quickly. Tressa shimmied into her dress, pulling it over her underclothes. She tied a woven belt around her waist, one of her own design, gathered her hair into a sloppy ponytail, and ran out the door.
Three more dead bodies rested in the town square. A knot formed in Tressa’s throat. Granna’s illness. Now more were dead.
Tressa walked over to Mariah, her neighbor. “Who died?”
“I don’t know yet. I still need to feed the baby before I can go and see. I sent Marcus, but he hasn’t come back yet.” As if to back up her story, Mariah’s baby cried out from inside the house. “You’ll excuse me?”
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