by Megg Jensen
Tressa had somehow skipped over the part where she felt anger. There was only a deep, abiding sadness. One she couldn’t stomach in Bastian’s presence.
“I have to take care of Granna’s body.” Tressa moved to the side. Granna’s death, Udor’s advances, and now Bastian’s concern. She needed to get away, but living in a trapped village, there was nowhere she could go to be alone.
“Uncle Adam is already there. One of the children was sent to fetch him after you emerged from the cottage. He will care for Sophia, just as he’s cared for all of our dead since you and I were just children.” Bastian’s eyes softened. They’d always reminded Tressa of the meadow in spring. The same meadow where he’d picked flowers for her. The meadow where she shared her first kiss. Not just with Bastian, but with anyone. His eyes held too many memories for her.
“Still, she is my only kin. I should be there. Watch over her. If you’ll excuse me.” Tressa picked up her dress a little to keep it away from her feet, then took off in a run. Away from Bastian and Udor. Toward the only person who’d so intimately shared her past and future, and now had left Tressa alone and adrift.
Arriving outside her cottage in a cloud of dust and dirt, Tressa was glad to see the crowd had dispersed. The shock of Granna’s death would wear off quickly. It was expected, had been for many years now. Yet she’d managed to hang on. Many whispered it was her will to raise Tressa that kept her alive. But Tressa knew different. It was Granna’s heart’s desire to see them escape from their village. Deep in her soul, she believed they’d find a way out. She wanted to live to see it with her own eyes.
Whether it was for vindication for all of the people she’d sent to their deaths beyond the fog, or because her fighting spirit wouldn’t give up until she’d reunited her people with those who’d left them behind, Tressa wasn’t sure. Granna never expressed her feelings on those she sent into the fog. She refused to speak of it and Tressa had stopped asking many years ago. While Granna’s joy was infectious, and Tressa loved reveling in it, her silence carried the weight of the world, a weight Tressa knew she wasn’t strong enough to bear.
And now that she was alone, she had a choice to make. Allow Udor to influence the council and cancel the yearly trek into the fog or believe in Granna’s deathbed ramblings, that somehow Tressa was destined to leave and, perhaps, to survive?
Chapter Three
Bastian watched Tressa run away. Same as always. Unless their best friend Connor was there, Tressa wouldn’t stand in Bastian’s presence any longer than necessary. Not even today, when she needed him.
He turned to the direction of his cottage, not eager to go home. He’d been at the forge for a couple hours, pounding out metal for the farmers’ tools. He was ready for a break, but hearing of Sophia’s death was not what he anticipated for the day.
Bastian’s intention had been to grab a snack and a long drink of water, but going back to his cottage meant facing his wife.
They had come together the same way every other couple in the village had. Once the council checked the lineage charts, they placed ribbons with the eligible men’s names written on them. The woman would choose a ribbon and that man would be her mate for three months. If the woman conceived, they were bonded. If not, the process began again.
Bastian had his chance with Tressa. He’d loved her too and when it was confirmed she hadn’t conceived, both of their worlds fell apart. They were forced to move on with others. His coupling with Vinya was successful the first month – and he’d hated himself every moment of it. It felt like a betrayal.
He walked through the town, invisible to everyone despite his height and red hair. Silence was his way and people had learned to ignore him. They spoke in whispers, everyone concerned with what was to come next. Bastian couldn’t be bothered with it. As long as the fog surrounded Hutton’s Bridge, nothing mattered. He was trapped.
The door swung open before he could place hand on the handle.
“Bastian. You’re late. I’ve had your snack waiting for some time. Why can’t you ever do anything right?” Vinya sighed and stepped out of the way. Her eyes, so accusing, raked down his chest. “And you’re filthy. Can’t you ever remember to wash before coming home? I work so hard to maintain this dump you call a cottage, just so my daughter and I have a decent place to live. Maybe you could be respectful of us for once?”
Bastian nodded. He’d learned long ago that words wouldn’t soothe her feral soul. Vinya was determined to strip away any semblance of manhood he had. At first he found her attitude amusing. Now he wished her lips would fall off.
Ignoring her huffing, he sat down at the table next to his daughter, Farah. “How are you, baby girl?” He ruffled her curls.
Vinya slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t touch her with your filthy hands.”
“Good, Papa.” Farah ignored her mother too. At two, she’d already learned to cope with the circumstances. “Wanna nut?” She held out a walnut in her tiny hand.
Bastian’s fingertips were almost as big as her palm. He plucked the nut and tossed it in the air, catching in it in his mouth. Farah squealed and clapped.
“Again! Again!” She scrambled for another nut.
Vinya slapped Farah’s backside with the broom bristles. “Stop it, now. Go lay down for a nap.” Farah nodded, dropped a quick kiss on Bastian’s cheek, and ran through the door to her little room.
“You don’t have to be so harsh with her, Vinya.” Bastian said between mouthfuls of bread. “She’s still a baby.”
“Speaking of babies…” Vinya sat down at the table next to him. “It’s about time we try to conceive a second. Our village needs children to survive.” She reached out, running her fingertips along his arm. “It’s been so long since –”
Bastian looked up at her. Vinya had loosened her top. She dipped her chin and fluttered her eyelashes at him. Long ago, that move worked. He was younger. More eager. Trying to drown out his frustration about losing Tressa.
Now he didn’t want anything to do with Vinya.
“Sophia died.”
Vinya’s hand snapped back as if he’d burned her. “Finally. That woman was too old. Taking up resources the rest of us need.”
Bastian held back the urge to slap her. He’d never raised a hand to anyone, much less Vinya, but there were moments he fantasized about it. “She was loved deeply by many in this village.”
Vinya snorted.
“What?” He asked even though he knew he shouldn’t.
“You’re only worried about your precious little Tressa. Just like always.” Vinya stood up and continued sweeping the floor. The dirt among the rushes didn’t stand a chance against her fury. “Well, after tomorrow that won’t be a problem anymore. Maybe once the fog swallows her, you’ll be back in my bed. She’ll be forgotten and we can finally have a proper marriage.”
Bastian stood up, wiped the crumbs off his hands over the plate, and placed it in the washbin. He scrubbed with the cloth, sure he would wear a hole in the metal plate. “You shouldn’t speak of death like that.”
It had been gnawing on his soul. Every day since Tressa’s name was chosen three months ago. He’d sought her out repeatedly, but never had the strength to say what he wanted. That he missed her. He loved her. He wanted her to stay in the village and live a long life even if he could never touch her again.
“I can’t wait for Tressa to die.” Vinya stood defiant, her hands clutching the broom’s handle. “I’ll finally have you all to myself.”
Bastian glared at Vinya. “You will never have me. Never again. You make me sick.” He tossed the plate on the table. It slipped and fell to the floor. Neither made a move to pick it up. Bastian strode across the room and through the doorway. He slammed the door behind him, not caring who saw.
She’d gone too far.
Chapter Four
Tressa stepped into the cottage she’d grown up in. The dark wooden walls had always formed a cocoon of happiness for her and Granna. The joyous air in their home
had been sucked into Granna with her final inhalation. She probably hadn’t meant to take it with her. Or maybe it had wafted out of her with each exhalation, and now that she was gone, it wouldn’t enter again.
Adam stood over her great grandmother, rubbing oil into her skin, bringing back the luster that had left her. “She’ll look exactly as she did before her death,” Adam said without looking over his shoulder. His red hair seemed dull in the dim light. “During the public viewing, everyone will remember her just as she was. You, unfortunately, will only remember the way she looked at the moment of her death.” He wasn’t one to offer lies for comfort. Tressa appreciated it.
“I assumed as much.” She made her way around the table to Granna’s bedside. Yes, Adam had brought some color back to Granna’s face. She would make a good showing to the people of Hutton’s Bridge. They would remember her fondly. “While I hope someday that memory will fade, the way her chest collapsed, and the life flew out of her, I won’t ever regret a moment of it. Granna was my only family. I’m glad I was there for her in her last moments.”
Adam wiped his hand on a towel hanging from the waist of his breeches. “Need a hug?” He held his arms out.
Tressa hadn’t known her father. He’d volunteered to enter the fog after her mother died. Adam never had children of his own, so he became a bit of a father figure to Tressa. She stepped into his embrace, laying her head on his shoulder. Even though he was Bastian’s uncle, they looked nothing alike, except for their red hair. Adam was thin where Bastian was muscular, short where Bastian was tall. Yet they both held such special places in her heart.
Memories crashed through her mind. At six, she fell off a fence and skinned her knee. Adam had carried her back to Granna’s cottage, wiping her tears with his sleeve. He’d been kind and gentle to her when others hadn’t. They’d been too busy with their own families, their own children, to help out an orphan.
Nothing was more important in her village than family. They kept careful records of lineages, to ensure their lines remained untainted. With such a small population of only a couple hundred, it would be too easy to interbreed. Since they had no way of bringing in new people, each coupling was engineered. Yes, they chose a ribbon from a basket, but the ribbons weren’t placed by chance. It was carefully done, with forethought and planning.
Adam rubbed Tressa’s back, bringing her to the present. “We’ll all miss Sophia. She may have been a bit of a tyrant, but she had a good heart.”
Tressa stepped back, placing a hand on Granna’s. It was now crossed over her stomach with her other arm. A pose of no return. She wasn’t far enough gone yet to be chilled, but without the life searing through her veins, she felt no more alive than the clothes Tressa wore.
“I know she did. Udor’s going to try to change things. He might outlaw entering the fog.”
Adam opened his mouth, then hesitated. “You’re supposed to be a part of it tomorrow, right?”
Tressa nodded without looking at Adam. She straightened Granna’s light linen dress. Summer or winter, Granna still wore the same type of dress. It was as if she didn’t feel the cold.
“I am.” Tressa motioned at Granna. “Do you mind if I do her hair? She didn’t feel up to it this morning.”
“Of course. People might not recognize her without it.”
Adam had already swept Granna’s thick hair over her shoulder. Tressa weaved Granna’s hair in an intricate pattern Granna had spent her life perfecting. She’d taught it to Tressa as a young girl. She’d spent hours practicing with ribbons to get the pattern just right.
When Granna said Tressa could try it on her own hair, she’d gotten nervous and tangled it up so badly that Granna couldn’t fix it. Tressa had cried as Granna chopped her dark hair off. It fell to the floor in clumps.
“No need for tears,” Granna had told her. “Hair always grows back.”
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 Gr
anna, 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.
