by Colt, K. J.
“Oh, Tressa, you’re never dead weight. You’re twice as clever as I am in a tight spot.
Tressa rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I could weave a belt out of grass. Helpful, indeed.”
A keen rose out of the crowd on the other side of the building. A group of screams and clanging of swords followed.
“What the –”
Connor took off running, with Tressa on his heels.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TRESSA TURNED THE CORNER OF the village hall, out of breath. Arms were never raised in Hutton’s Bridge. In fact, as far as she knew, they were kept locked up in the village hall. No one had a reason to fight against anyone else in her little village. The scratch of steel on steel halted her in her tracks.
Connor ran ahead. “Bastian!”
Tressa stood on her toes, peering over the swarms of people watching the fight none of them had bothered to stop. Connor leapt onto Bastian’s back, wrapping his arms under Bastian’s, yanking him backward.
“Put it down,” he begged his friend. Bastian had Connor by a few inches and a few dozen pounds. His muscles bulged, straining against Connor’s unrelenting tugging. The sword he held was clean, unblemished. It was a virgin blade, never used in battle.
Tressa’s stomach sank to her toes. No one was allowed to create new weapons. There were more than enough stored in the armory. Bastian’s work in the forge was supposed to focus solely on essentials needed for the village, not on the production of weapons. He would be disciplined harshly. The stocks or maybe banishment into the fog. It depended on the elders’ moods and Udor’s sense of mercy.
Bastian tossed the sword at the other man. Tressa couldn’t remember his name, but he was one of the many who worked in the fields, planting and harvesting the food they relied on so heavily. The man went back to guarding the three bodies lying prone for the viewing.
“I better not hear another word out of your mouth,” Bastian said with a snarl in his throat. “You’ll pay.” Redness crept up his neck, matching the fiery hair on his head.
The other man laughed. “You’re the one who’s going to pay, boy. Where did you get that sword?”
“None of your concern.” Bastian shrugged Connor off. He probably could have thrown him easily from the start, but he and Connor were great friends. Bastian knew better than to hurt those on his side.
Connor clapped Bastian on the shoulder. “Let’s take a walk, okay?”
Tressa strained to hear the answer, but couldn’t over the sound of the crowd. They’d gone from silent, watching the fight, to talking amongst themselves again. Crisis averted, they went back to worrying about the illness and the three dead. A few looked askance at Tressa. She remembered Connor’s warning and slipped off into the shadows again.
She wrung her hands, not sure where to go or what to do. She could hide in her cottage until the anger waned. No one would think Tressa had done anything to purposely start an illness, not even if it meant cancelling the group set to leave through the fog. It was a stretch, even for the most paranoid person.
Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was following, Tressa rounded the corner of the building, only to run into Bastian’s chest. His hands grabbed her upper arms, helping her stay upright.
“Sorry.” Tressa stepped backward, stumbling into the side of the building. Every time Bastian touched her, it was like being struck by lightning.
“We need to talk to you.” Only then did she notice Connor standing next to Bastian.
“Oh, okay, um, I was just heading back to my cottage. Do you want to come with me?”
Connor nodded. Bastian followed a few paces behind the two of them. To anyone who noticed, it might look like Bastian was simply moving in the same direction as Connor and Tressa, not walking with them. The three of them knew it was better that way, without even communicating it explicitly.
Tressa opened the door to her cottage, holding it for both Connor and Bastian to slip inside. She glanced around. No one was paying attention to them, at least not that she could see.
She closed the door and leaned up against it. Connor sat at the table while Bastian paced the room. He hadn’t been in her cottage in a couple of years and Tressa was struck by how he seemed to have outgrown it. A memory of playing cards at the table seemed like a different life, almost as if all of them had outgrown their little village.
“Connor, you already filled me in on what’s going on out there. Bastian, do you want to tell me why you were fighting that man?”
“His wife just died.” Bastian said it under his breath.
“What is wrong with you?” Tressa couldn’t help herself. There wasn’t one good reason he should snap at a man suffering grief like that.
“He blamed you. He said this was your fault. I was only defending you.” Bastian stared at his shoes, unable to look Tressa in the eyes.
She took a step closer to him, then thought better of it. “Next time someone says something about me and you feel the need to fight back, do it with words. Not with some sword you made in your free time.” Her blood boiled, the anger rising. “And what do you think you’re doing, making swords at the forge? You know what the punishment is for a crime like that!”
“I have to agree with her, Bastian.” Connor tapped his fingers on the table. “You’re writing your own death sentence.”
Bastian punched a fist into his palm. His biceps rippled and Tressa forced herself not to notice it. “You both know why I protected Tressa. Don’t act dense.”
“We’re not acting dense, Bastian.” Tressa sat down at the table with Connor, purposely distancing herself from him. “Our lives are not ours. We have to live within the confines of this village and its laws.”
Connor laughed. “You two really need to get over each other.”
Tressa shot him a glare that could have melted a table full of candles.
“It’s getting old,” Connor continued, “Yes, we all had these ideas of what we’d grow up to be. I certainly never expected to love Hazel, but I did. Guess what? I love her now. If the two of you would stop being so selfish about your feelings, you might discover there’s someone else here who could make you happy.”
Tressa wanted to sink under the floor, grind herself into specks of dirt that could never be swept from between the planks. Connor knew how they felt, but he’d never said it so boldly before. And even though both Tressa and Bastian refused to act on their feelings, sometimes to the point of making life awkward and miserable for everyone around them, neither of them could deny it either.
“I’m happy with Vinya,” Bastian mumbled under his breath. “She gave birth to my little girl. I will always be grateful for that.”
“Now that we’re no longer obligated to enter the fog, Tressa could continue coupling until she finds the right man,” Connor suggested. He bumped Tressa’s elbow.
“That’s easier said than done. I’ve been a part of coupling four times now. I haven’t conceived once. I think I’m barren.” Her voice lowered on the last word. Speaking it aloud, outside her cottage, would result in angry stares from other villagers. No one wanted to allocate resources to a woman who couldn’t help the village continue with her progeny. “Besides, I’m getting a little old for finding a husband, don’t you think?”
“It’s true. Many of the men our age have already been bonded. Tressa shouldn’t be forced into a relationship with a boy of fourteen or fifteen. It’s disgusting.” Bastian shook his head, then sat down next to Connor.
Tressa didn’t argue with his statement. She’d thought the same thing many times.
An awkward silence draped over the three friends.
“It would just be easier if I went into the fog.” Tressa said with a resigned sigh. “There’s nothing left for me here.”
“It’s suicide.” Bastian sank into the chair.
She considered slipping Granna’s note out from under her pillow. What if her rantings weren’t far fetched? What if there was actually something to them? Even the image on
the parchment gave Tressa pause. It was possible Granna knew more than she had ever told the others in the village. There were nights she’d leave and not come back for hours.
Tressa hadn’t ever asked her about it. She’d waited, hoping Granna would confide in her. Tell her where she and her little owl friend, Nerak, would go in the darkness. She couldn’t conceive of anything in the village being so important that Granna could only do it at night.
She’d kept Granna’s secret her whole life. She wasn’t comfortable sharing, not even with her best friends. Granna had told her to follow her heart, but it only led to Bastian. If she couldn’t follow it, then perhaps it was best to move in the opposite direction.
“I will go tomorrow.”
“Not alone.” Connor put a hand on Tressa’s arm. “I will go too and we should see if Geoff wants to go. No one should go into the fog alone.”
“No.” Tressa shrugged his hand off. “You have a wife and two sons. Geoff has a son. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Just because the council has decided the group of three shouldn’t go, doesn’t mean we can’t. There’s a reason Sophia sent people out every year. Maybe it’s our turn to find out why. Besides, we need medicine. Or a cure. Our village could become a ghost town without it.”
Tressa couldn’t help but smile. Connor always knew the right thing to say. She glanced over at Bastian and his brooding face. He didn’t offer an opinion.
“We just have to be the first ones to succeed,” Connor said.
Granna was gone. She knew Bastian could never be hers and she wouldn’t come between a bonded couple. Staying meant giving in to Udor, either by becoming his concubine or suffering at his hands for refusing.
“I’m with you,” Tressa said.
CHAPTER NINE
CONNOR OPENED THE DOOR TO Tressa’s cottage. They’d planned to slink out unnoticed and find Geoff, to see if he would still leave with them. He’d been chosen and he’d been preparing just as they had. But when the door creaked open, a crowd milled around outside of Tressa’s cottage.
“You!” Someone called out. “She’s the one who started this.”
Murmurs of assent traveled across the mob. Tressa intended to push past them all, but Connor nudged her gently to the side and held up both arms. “Come on, now. Do you really think that’s true? Who started this rumor?”
Tressa strained to hear their response, but instead of one clear voice answering Connor, a new wave of rumors swirled.
“They’re having an affair.”
“No wonder they didn’t want to leave.”
“They did this to protect themselves.”
“His poor wife.”
Tressa nudged Connor. “Let me handle this. I don’t want to damage your relationship with Hazel.”
Connor laughed. “She won’t believe a word of it. Hazel knows exactly where my heart is.” He turned back, looking Tressa in the eyes. “She’d also encourage me to defend you.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
“Don’t I know it?” Connor winked. “Now help me make her proud.”
Connor grabbed Tressa’s hand and tugged. He pushed through the crowd, ignoring their growing cries for justice. Villagers grabbed at her dress and hair. She shrugged them off and tried keeping up with Connor. It wasn’t easy. She tripped over the feet of the angry people surrounding them, but Connor’s grasp didn’t loosen. He continued to drag her along behind him toward the village square.
She brushed back her hair with her free hand, removing the veil falling around her face. It fell right back down and made it impossible to see. Tressa quickly wove her hair into a braid. She’d never tried with one hand before and was concerned her hair was knotting itself into a mess she might not be able to fix later. Vanity forced her to slow her trembling fingers down. She didn’t want to cut her hair off again.
The braid fell over Tressa’s shoulder. She almost regretted making it. The angry eyes of the accusing villagers could make contact with hers. She saw the pain in their eyes. Some of them probably didn’t want to blame her, but didn’t know where else to focus their fear. Tressa didn’t know how fast the plague was spreading, but it was clear that fear was spreading faster.
The crowd followed them through the village, their footsteps stamped behind Tressa. Sure, unending, determined. The ground transitioned from grass to dirt, signaling their proximity to the town square. Tressa gave Connor’s hand one last squeeze, then let go. She wouldn’t look like some kind of victim or criminal. She would stand proud and tell the truth, just like Granna had always taught her.
A hole opened ahead of them. Connor stood to the side, letting Tressa stand next to him. He’d taken her through the first part, but he knew her well enough to let her stand on her own in front of everyone.
The three bodies still rested in the middle of the square, but it was Udor, near the entrance to the village hall, who held everyone’s attention.
“So they’ve decided to show their faces,” he boomed across the square. “Maybe you’d care to tell us why people are dying, Tressa.”
His glare ripped straight into her chest. So this was her punishment for refusing him. She hadn’t realized he’d act so quickly, but it was possible the additional deaths gave him exactly the impetus he needed.
Tressa stood tall, elongating her spine out of the slump she’d been in since leaving her cottage. Her raven braid fell to her back, showing everyone her squared shoulders and firm stance.
“I plan to leave tomorrow. Just as Granna told me to do. Maybe I can find help.” She looked out over the mob. A stunned silence blanketed the crowd.
“Preposterous!” Udor shouted, followed by a deep guffaw. “She’s only hoping you will feel sorry for her. Convince her to stay. Make a martyr out of her. She has no plans to help anyone.”
The crowd swung back to Udor. From the looks on their faces, it was clear they didn’t know who to believe. Tressa spent most of her life away from the crowds, not attending most social events. She preferred to be home with Granna, weaving or just making conversation. Few in the village had really gotten to know her. Only Connor and Bastian knew her heart.
Tressa didn’t bother to address Udor’s ridiculous statement. There was no point. People would either believe him or her.
“Don’t let her ramblings dissuade you from the truth,” Udor said. He strolled over to Connor and Tressa. “She’s only trying to save her own skin after murdering her great grandmother.”
Tressa’s anger boiled up and before she could think better of it, she stalked over to Udor and slapped his cheek. “How dare you? I loved Granna with all my heart. I would never have killed her.” Tressa took a deep breath, her chest rattling with the exhalation. It was too late to change her mind. She turned back to the villagers. “I’m going ahead with the plan. Connor and I have already agreed, we only need to confer with Geoff to see if he will go with us. We will find help from the outside and save all of you, even if you insist on listening to this lying bastard. Would he do that for you? Ask yourselves that question when you lie in your beds at night, fearing that the plague will kill you too.”
The crowd burst into angry shouts, but Tressa didn’t wait to see whose side they were on. Udor grabbed her arm, pulling her close to his lips. “How dare you say any of that?”
“What? Tell the truth?” she snarled in his face.
Connor grabbed Udor’s arm and squeezed until he let go of Tressa. “Don’t ever touch her like that again.”
“Why? Do you want her, boy? Is that what this is about? Just a ploy so the two of you can run away together?”
“You’re a sick old man, do you know that?” Connor dropped his arms to his sides, but his hands remained in fists. “Tressa is one of my best friends. But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? Have you ever had a real friend or just people who follow you around in fear?”
“We’re concerned about the safety of the village, Udor. Aren’t you?” Tressa asked. “You’re supposed to be the leader
of the elders now that Granna is gone. Act like a leader, not a lecherous old man. Put the needs of your people ahead of your own.” Tressa folded her arms across her chest, daring him to put aside his own agenda.
Udor sneered. “No matter. The two of you will die soon enough once you enter that fog. There is no outside. Not to us. And there never will be. You want to enter the fog? Fine.”
Udor spun, kicking up a cloud of dirt, and stalked away. The angry crowd milled around them, but no one vocalized another accusation or protest. No one came out and supported Tressa and Connor either. Slowly they turned away, the line to view the dead reforming. Vengeance could wait until later.
“No one’s going to believe us.” Tressa rubbed her arms. “Why should they? We don’t even know what we’re talking about. He’s right. We’ll just die.”
“If you say Udor’s right, I’m going to encourage them to hang you.” He nodded toward the crowd.
Tressa rolled her eyes. “That’s not going to happen.” She tugged on Connor’s shirt and started walking toward Geoff’s house. She hadn’t seen him in the crowd, so hopefully they’d still catch him at home. If not, they’d head out to the fields and see if he was harvesting the wheat.
“Good. I’d really have to wonder if you were sick too.” A frown crossed his face.
“What’s wrong?” Tressa asked. She picked up her step, anxious to find Geoff.
“If this really is a plague. If the things we’ve seen really do mean what we just told everyone, then my wife and sons are in danger. I have to protect them.” His face clouded over.
“If you want to stay,” Tressa said, puffing as she walked faster, “then stay. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”
“Staying won’t do any good. Our only chance is to find a way out.”
Tressa stopped abruptly in front of the door to Geoff’s cottage. A dark red swath of blood dripped from above the lintel. “Illness,” she whispered. She held a hand up, her fingertips just inches from the wet blood.