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.
CHAPTER TEN
Tressa knocked on the door, not heeding the warning left on the frame. The door slowly creaked open, a green eye the only thing they could see. “We’re sick. Go away.”
In the few times illness struck Hutton’s Bridge, the villagers left a warning to others outside their door. A slaughtered chicken and its blood spread over the doorway told everyone to stay away. Granna had never paid any attention, always willing to help any family who needed it.
“Let us in. We need to talk to Geoff,” Connor said, also uninterested in the warning.
“He’s sick,” the voice said again. It was so quiet, Tressa couldn’t tell if it was Geoff’s wife Brenna, or one of his children. Based on the height of the eye, she guessed one of his kids. “Go away. Save yourself. Momma’s dead. Not Papa, but he’s real sick.”
“Your mother is dead?” Tressa asked, slowly pushing the door open. The child stepped backward. “Do you want us to take her body out?”
“No,” Geoff’s voice came from the back of the dark cottage. “Leave her. It will only spread the illness further.”
“There are three bodies out in the town square right now,” Connor said. He squinted his eyes, peering back into the darkness. “Tressa and I are going to enter the fog. We came by to see if you would come with us.”
Tressa and Connor waited while a deep, barking cough pierced the air. Tressa’s eyes widened, seeking out Connor’s. They both knew Geoff wouldn’t be coming with them. A wet laugh followed the coughing. “I’ll be dead by nighttime. This is exactly how it went with Brenna.”
Tressa wanted to take little Lukas with her, but she knew he’d already been exposed. It would only help the plague spread faster through the village. Leaving him with his father was the logical thing to do, but it wasn’t right. Her heart ached, thinking of the young boy who’d seen his mother die and could only sit by and watch the same happen to his father.
She glanced down at the boy, his big green eyes wide. “Come with us. I can find a place for you to stay.”
He shook his head, his brown hair flopping over his innocent eyes. “I can’t leave my papa. I won’t let him be alone. I saw how he took care of my momma. I want to do the same for him.” Tears welled up in his eyes, but he held them back. In many ways he was stronger than some adults Tressa knew.
“If you need anything,” Connor leaned over and whispered, “you can go to my cottage. My wife will take you in.” Connor knelt down and drew a little map in the dirt with an X where his cottage sat.
The child nodded. He looked back over his shoulder at his father. “If he dies, I will probably die too.”
It was a very adult statement for such a little one. Her resolve to leave the village only doubled. If there was any chance she could help, she had to do it.
“Hopefully not. You look strong and you’re not sick right now. I bet you’ll be just fine. Like me.” Tressa ruffled his hair. She wasn’t afraid to touch him. After all, she nursed Granna before she died, never even guessing her sudden illness would be so insidious or virulent.
There were too many unknowns, but it only made her want to work harder to find the answer.
“Tressa and I are going to find a cure, Geoff,” Connor shouted back into the cottage.
A
nother wet cough came from the darkness. “Even if I was healthy, I’m not sure I would have gone with you voluntarily. I heard last night that it had been cancelled. Brenna and I were going to celebrate as soon as she felt better…” His voice trailed off, followed by a gasping sound. The little boy ran back into the cottage, the door swinging shut behind him.
Tressa moved to push the door open, to try to help, but Connor grabbed her arm. “Don’t. There’s nothing we can do for him now. You of all people know that. The best thing for us to do is to get out of here and find out where the plague is coming from and stop it from spreading.”
Tressa gazed into Connor’s eyes, trying to figure out if this was what he really wanted. His emerald eyes focused on hers, not once wavering. She saw strength, determination, and fear. It was the last one that made her question him. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am. When I see Geoff’s son, I can’t help but think of Hazel and my own little boys. This isn’t the ending I want for them. Even though going into the fog scares me, I’m willing to do it for them. Staying here is a death sentence. Who knows how many more people have been infected, or will be?”
“What if it’s already too late?” Tressa glanced back at the cottage as they walked away. She couldn’t get the image of that little boy out of her head. Alone and scared, but so brave. Did he even have a chance for survival?
“It’s not too late as long as people are still alive.” Connor didn’t need to convince Tressa with his magic. She knew his words rang true.
“So it’s just the two of us, then.” Her heart fluttered a little. She’d spent a year dreading it, had one night to be thankful she wouldn’t face it, and here she was back again to apprehension.
“No, it’s the three of us.”
Tressa spun on her heel. Bastian stood in the path behind her and Connor.
“You can’t go with us,” Tressa insisted. “You have a family.”
Bastian pointed at Connor with one finger. “He does too. And you’re more than willing to let him risk his life.”
She fought the urge to beat his chest with clenched fists. “Someone needs to stay and protect the village.”
“From what? A plague? Just how will I do that?” Bastian laughed. “Yes, I’m sure the sword I made will help with that. The truth is that my steel will do more protecting the two of you than anyone in this village.”
A loud screeching ripped through the morning air. All three looked up into the sky. Wings beat furiously from the broad body of an animal in flight, tearing through the veil of fog.
“What is that?” Tressa glanced over at Connor and Bastian. From their bewildered expressions, they knew about as much as she did.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The flying creature, covered in turquoise and gray striped scales, hovered over the village square. Fire ripped out of its open jaws, bathing the misty sky in orange. Villagers screamed, running for cover in buildings or under trees. The beast strained, its neck gyrating in the air.
Bastian pulled the sword out of a sheath under his cloak. Tressa hadn’t even noticed he’d been carrying it with him. If anyone saw, he’d be in trouble, especially after his scuffle earlier in the morning. The beast let forth another fiery breath and Tressa changed her mind. Bastian raced toward the flying lizard.
“What is that?” Tressa yelled to Connor over the villagers’ screams.
“Don’t know, but obviously it’s not from here!” He ran after Bastian.
Bastian waved the sword in the air, pathetically far below the beast. Connor threw rocks. They hit the beast, raining down on the few shrieking villagers left in the town square. It screeched at them, but didn’t come any closer, its wings flapping hard. The wind rushed around them in circles.
“Come down here and fight!” Bastian bellowed into the air. He stopped swinging his sword. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead.
Tressa grabbed a nearby rope and motioned to Connor. He tossed her a couple of larger rocks. She tied rope around them, making sure the knots were tight. Connor grabbed the rock and hurtled it toward the beast. After four tries, the rope looped over its back, dangling down to the ground from the other side.
“More!” Connor yelled. “Make three more, quickly!”
Tressa did as she was told, tying the rope as fast as she could. Bastian and Connor tossed them up over the beast, its head whipping around violently as if something far away held it in a leash.
Connor and Bastian each grabbed two of the ropes hanging from the beast. They yanked hard, pulling it down, closer to the ground. The beast sputtered, its head hanging down.
Udor stomped out of the village hall, waving his arms in the air. “Are you crazy? We need to find a way to get it away from here, not bring it closer!”
Bastian and Connor ignored him, dragging the beast ever closer to the ground. Its clawed feet scrabbled on the dirt and rocks, not far from the dead villagers who’d been all but forgotten in the chaos.
Connor stalked closer to the beast, laying his hand on the muzzle. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The beast’s eyes drooped to the grass beneath it. Its chest heaved up and down, slowing with each breath.
“What is it?” Tressa whispered to no one in particular.
Carrac, the oldest person in the village since Granna’s death, emerged from the village hall with a book in his hand. “It’s a dragon. I remember Sophia telling me stories of them when I was a wee boy on my momma’s knee.” He opened the book, pointing to a colorful drawing, made with dyes they no longer had access to in the village. Another relic from before the fog.
“Dragon?” Connor leaned into the beast. “Is that what you are?”
It didn’t respond, but it didn’t burn Connor into a crisp either.
The dragon opened one eye, pupil slitted like a cat’s and an iris as violet as the setting sun in the dark of winter. Smoke puffed out of the nostril opposite of Connor. Warily, it eyed Bastian, standing next to Tressa, his sword at the ready.
Then it took one big breath and exhaled in one final gush of air.
It no longer moved, lying prostrate on the ground, joining the dead of their village.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Everyone stood in shock, staring at the dead dragon in the town square. A creature of myth that none one of them had ever seen before and few believed was anything more than a figment Sophia’s aging imagination.
Connor rubbed the silent creature’s muzzle. “Do you need more proof that the outside is knocking on our door? Yet we cannot answer their call. We have no way to defend ourselves.”
“What defense is needed against a dead dragon?” Udor countered. “It came here to die, not to fight us. It’s chance, nothing more.”
Tressa looked around at the gathered crowd. It had swollen after the dragon died. Children crept out of their cottages to get a look at the fabled beast, while still hiding behind their mothers’ skirts. Their eyes betrayed their new belief in Connor and Bastian’s theory that a world might exist beyond their borders. It wasn’t so easy to discount anything as a wild supposition anymore.
“Send them into the fog,” one voice from the crowd shouted. The chant began quietly, growing with each repetition.
Connor nodded at Tressa, and took her hand. They stood in front of the crowd, determined. Out of the corner of her eye, Tressa saw Bastian advance toward them. She hoped he would think better of throwing away his life with Vinya and his daughter. Instead he walked right up to Connor’s side and clapped his best friend on the shoulder.
“We are prepared to make the sacrifice,” Connor said. “Tressa and I were supposed to leave, along with Geoff. But he’s fallen ill, so Bastian has volunteered to join us.”
A cry rang out from the crowd. Tressa cringed inside, knowing it was Vinya, Bastian’s wife. “You will do no such thing. We are bonded and you have responsibilities here.” She pushed through the masses, elbowing anyone in her way. “Don’t do this. Please.” But she wasn’t looking at Bastian, V
inya stared at Tressa. The weight of the reality of his choice weighed on her.
Tressa looked over to Bastian, but he stood stone-faced, looking only at Vinya. “This is my decision. If Connor believes our families are in danger, I will stand with him. If I don’t go, who will?” Bastian turned to the crowd. “Who among you will volunteer to risk your lives to save everyone else?”
Eyes turned away from them. Women grasped onto their husband’s arms, letting them know they weren’t to volunteer. No one else stood up to their mate, choosing to take the risk Connor and Bastian were.
Everyone knew Tressa had nothing to lose.
“I have to go.” Bastian turned back to Vinya, his teeth gritted.
“You don’t have to do anything,” she snarled back at him. She shot a glance at Tressa, huffed, and stomped away. “Make sure you tell your daughter goodbye before you freely walk to your death,” she tossed over her shoulder.
Hazel grabbed Vinya’s arm, sending the three a look of sympathy. Her understanding was beyond comprehension.
Bastian turned his back on his retreating wife. “When do we leave?”
“We need to gather any supplies we can carry.” Connor turned to Tressa. “Did you unpack your bag?”
Tressa shook her head. “No. There wasn’t time. I’m ready to go as soon as the two of you are.”
“It’ll only take me a few minutes,” Connor said. “Bastian, go home, get a change of clothes, some food, and whatever else you think we’ll need.”
Bastian looked over his shoulder. Vinya was gone. “I don’t need to. I keep extras of everything at the forge.”
Connor looked at him in surprise.
Bastian shrugged his shoulders. “I sleep there sometimes.”
Connor laid a hand on Bastian’s shoulder. “You should say goodbye to your daughter. I’m going to give my boys big hugs and kisses before I leave.”
Bastian mumbled something to Connor, but Tressa couldn’t hear. She fought the urge to listen in. If it wasn’t for her ears, then she’d have to live without knowing. When they were kids, Connor and Bastian would cook up plots to terrorize her. Spiders in her hair, that sort of thing. One day, she kicked Bastian between the legs, on purpose, and told him that’s what he’d get if they ever kept secrets from her again. That was the last time they’d spoken in whispers in front of her. Until today.
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