by Megg Jensen
“I don’t buy that for a moment. Your hands aren’t rough and there’s no stoop to your back.”
“I’m young and strong,” she countered, still stirring, unsure how long she was supposed to do it. Ira hadn’t given her any directions. If he had, she’d happily be serving the other men instead of getting raked over the coals by his brother.
“There’s something different about you. Your accent is wrong. Your hair is too long. Your attitude is too forthright.” He placed his hands on his hips. “I’ve travelled extensively, yet I cannot place you. Why is that?”
“Maybe because you’re not as smart as you think you are.” Tressa tapped the spoon on the edge of the cauldron. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to my duties.”
Leo clamped a hand around her bicep. “I will be watching you and I’ll figure out why you’re here.” He lowered his voice. “But I must warn you. If you’re new to town, you must be told. Stay away from the soldiers. They’ll take a woman like you and break her mentally and physically. Don’t become one of their slaves, chouchou.”
“Chouchou?”
“Term of endearment.” He shrugged and smiled. “You seem a nice girl.”
Tressa laughed, despite herself. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“True. But sometimes we project more than we realize.”
“I don’t know what you mean, milord.” She shoved past him. All of her plans, so hastily made in the middle of the night came crashing down around her. Avenging Connor, getting close enough to Stacia to kill her, then saving her people.
Now with the morning sun streaming in, waking up her exhausted mind, she wondered if she made a mistake. This was going to be harder than she thought.
“Over here, girl.” Ira called out. She maneuvered around the tables, the men settling in. A few pats on her bottom from errant hands didn’t stop her.
Ira set bowls on the bar. “Take these to the hearth. Fill them up with porridge and take one to each of the men. I’ll divvy up the bread.” He tossed her a towel. “Make sure you use the towel when the bowls are full or you’ll burn your hands.”
***
By the time the breakfast crowd filtered out, it was time to prepare for lunch. When that was done, Tressa was given a break, which she spent gossiping with Ira’s wife. Ira stayed far away. His wife seemed to scare him.
During supper, the front door opened with a flourish.
A hooded man stepped in, his cape fluttering behind him in the breeze. The patrons began to clap, peppered with much hooting and hollering. Long curly black hair peeked out from the edges of the rough woolen hood. A scent of cinnamon and thyme wafted past Tressa as he rushed to the stage in the back.
He slipped a rapier out from under his cloak. The room fell silent. “Who will challenge me?”
Tressa stared at him, unsure if it was a ruse or a true challenge. The men in the inn first treated him like a friend, then they were watchful. It didn’t make any sense to Tressa.
Another man stood up from a nearby table. “I accept your challenge!” He pulled a sword from his hip, flourishing it in the air.
The two men parried. Tressa leaned against the bar, watching them whirl around each other, twisting and weaving around the tables. The swords clanged and clashed. They slashed above the heads of the patrons. Strangely, no one seemed concerned they were in danger. In fact, within moments, they were cheering on the stranger and heckling the man who’d been sitting amongst them.
“It’s a show,” Ira drawled in her ear. “You looked concerned.”
“Oh, I knew that it was an act.” Tressa didn’t, but there was no point in appearing naïve.
“He’s a traveling performer. Works for tips. I’m lucky he showed up tonight. The men will drink more as long as he’s here.”
The faux battle continued on. When the first man became exhausted, another stepped up to take his place. The men seemed bent on besting the performer, but he never seemed to tire. He fought just as smoothly from the moment he’d stepped into the inn.
The action moved around the bar until they were dangerously close to Tressa. The hooded man grabbed Tressa around the waist, pulling her close to him. He leaned over and whispered, “I know you’re hiding from something. I can teach you how to hide in plain sight, chouchou.” Then he planted a big, wet kiss on her cheek.
The men cheered.
He let go, twirling her back to her post by the bar. She steadied herself. Nothing looked the same. Not his gait, nor his physique. Only his eyes, penetrating blue eyes sending her the truth over the heads of the men who were enthralled by the show. Leo. Ira’s brother.
If it was true, and he could teach her to be someone new, she just might be able to accomplish her goals.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Bastian?”
The voice sounded far away. He floated between awake and asleep, not sure which direction to go.
“Bastian?”
There it was again. The voice wouldn’t quiet. He considered reaching up and choking the person until they left him alone, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to lift his arm. Maybe he was restrained.
Who had captured him? Was he back in Stacia’s clutches? And Tressa. Where was Tressa? Fear choked him.
He tried talking, needing to question the person in the room. His lips were frozen like a statue. His tongue slipped to the back of his throat. The words came out in a strangled garble.
“Don’t try to talk. It’s okay. You’re safe. Farah saved your life. She urged you on until the two of you made it through the fog into the village.”
Farah. The images blasted into Bastian’s head as if a bubble had just been popped in his memory. She was safe. But Vinya was gone. Devoured.
He struggled against the thickness in his mouth, prohibiting him from speaking. The voice didn’t mention Tressa. He needed to know if she’d made it back to the village too. Her safety mattered as much as his.
His tongue moved. Another mangled query.
“Shh. Farah is safe. She’s staying with the neighbors. Everyone is thrilled you’re home. You’re a legend. The first to ever make it back. I’m almost afraid to ask, but everyone wants to know what happened to Connor and Tressa.”
His heart sank. Tressa hadn’t made it back, then. She’d failed or she was still out there with that thing that ate Vinya. In his mind, Bastian punched a wall. His emotions raged in his chest, slamming into his rib cage and tearing around his heart. Pain surged through his limbs.
“The cool water will bring you back. I know it probably hurts, Bastian. Just hang in there with me. You’ll be okay.”
Fire burned across his skin. His muscles tightened up, refusing to unclench until he felt as if his entire body would implode. When he couldn’t take one more second of the pain, his eyelids ripped open.
“Good for you! Keep working and pretty soon you’ll be up and around.”
Bastian’s eyes searched the room and found a mop of red hair. Adam. He let out a sigh of relief. Now he knew for sure he wasn’t tricked or being held captive. He was home. Without Tressa, but home.
His arms and legs still wouldn’t follow his mind’s commands. He needed to get up. Now. Had to get out there and find Tressa before the beast tricked her and took her from him. He couldn’t lose both Connor and Tressa. The gods wouldn’t allow that, would they?
Adam’s hand rested on Bastian’s arm. “Don’t strain. It will all come back. I promise. You worked your body too hard. Your muscles will soften up, but you need rest.” Adam held a cup to his lips. “Drink this and sleep. The worst is behind you.”
Bastian tried to fight against the warm, fruity liquid meandering down his throat leaving a bitter flavor in its wake, but his tongue still wouldn’t follow his commands. His thoughts wandered and he couldn’t remember why he cared…
***
Bastian’s eyes popped open. Darkness overwhelmed his vision except for a flicker of light in the distance. Pushing his palms onto the bed, he sa
t up. He felt tired, sore, but alive.
“Adam?” Bastian flexed his arms, his muscles responding with a pop. Good. Everything worked again.
A snore answered him.
Bastian slipped onto the floor, his bare feet mingling with the rushes. He stood for a moment, testing his strength. He jumped in place three times and circled his arms in the air. Nearly perfect. Only slightly slow. Adam was right. He would have it all back and soon.
He crept to his uncle. Sleeping in a chair, Adams’ head was cocked to the side. Mouth open, framed by a fresh bit of spittle.
“Adam,” Bastian yelled in his ear.
Adam jolted, his arms and legs flailing in every direction. Before he could slip out of the chair and onto the floor, Bastian grabbed his arm. “Son of a –”
“I’m awake,” Bastian said.
Adam let out a nervous laugh. “ I see that. Now if you’ll excuse me while I go to my house and change my trousers.”
Bastian’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He paused. “Well, not that much.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He stood up and clapped Bastian on the shoulder. “I see you’re doing well too. I’m glad I was right.”
“Was there a doubt?” Bastian turned his neck side to side, loosening up.
Adam rubbed his hands together in front of the faint fire. “Until someone is up and walking around, there is always a doubt. I’m not a miracle worker. But you, my boy. You may as well have risen from the dead.”
The unspoken hung in the air between them like a dark veil. There were two missing. One Bastian knew was dead. The other he couldn’t say.
Adam rested an arm over his nephew’s shoulder. “Do you know what happened to them?”
Bastian took a deep breath and sat down on the bed. “Connor is gone. Tressa… I don’t know. Her father told me she’d entered the forest.”
Adam held up a hand. “Her father? What?”
Bastian relayed the story to him. Adam’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he realized his sister was still alive and on the other side of the fog.
“So I followed Tressa into the forest. I couldn’t find the spot she entered. No broken branches or trampled grass. Yet I have no reason to doubt her father. She’s out there somewhere, Adam. I have to find her.”
His uncle scratched his scruffy ginger beard. “And your wife? What of her? Farah brought you back, but her mother is still missing.”
Bastian lay back down on the table, crossing his arms behind his head. “She’s dead too. Eaten by the beast in the fog. Farah and I barely got away with our lives.”
“You seem more concerned about Tressa than Vinya.”
Bastian rolled his eyes. “I’m not happy Vinya is dead. But Tressa is, and always has been, the only one in my heart.”
Adam coughed. “And as the resident physic, it is against my oath to speak ill of the dead. Perhaps we shouldn’t speak of her again.”
“Agreed.”
“But in public…”
“I will mourn her. For the sake of our daughter only.”
“A wise decision.” Adam stood up and paced the small bedroom. “While I am concerned about Tressa’s safety as well, for the gods’ sake I loved her as if she was my own daughter, there are bigger problems here.”
Bastian rolled to his side, fighting the urge to run back into the fog in search of Tressa. “How many people know I’m back?”
“Everyone. There’s already been a council meeting to address it. They plan to march out in the morning.”
Bastian bolted upright. “No. They can’t. They don’t know of the dangers or how to get out. They’ll all die.”
Adam nodded. “I told them as much. I urged them to wait until you were recovered. I assured them you would have knowledge they’d need to beat the fog.” He poured two cups of water and handed one to Bastian. “But they wouldn’t listen. The plague has elevated their haste. No one wants to be here anymore. People continue to die, three or four a day. We no longer hold public viewings. Despite the smell, the bodies are burned out behind the pasture. Our town is slowly dying and no one wants to be the last person standing.”
“I understand that, but death awaits them.” Bastian ran his fingers through his hair. “That beast is not the only enemy. I’ve met another.” He shuddered when he thought of the woman bound to the tree. He pounded his fist into his palm. “And there may be others. No one can leave unprepared.”
“What do you suggest?”
Bastian thought for a moment. He didn’t want any of his townspeople to die in the fog. He needed them to form an army. One that could find Tressa and one that could march against whoever trapped them in the fog. One that could stop Stacia from killing another innocent like Connor.
“We will train. In the shadow of death and plague, we will arm our men. They will learn to fight. We will train day and night until we are ready to march. No one else needs to die. Not under my watch.”
“You will have a hard time convincing the village of this. Their plan is to gather as much as we can carry and move into the fog like a group of wary refugees, taking our chances with the unknown to get away from the known danger of the plague.”
“Then they are fools.”
“I’m not arguing with you.”
“Tell me,” Bastian said, shifting carefully to avoid too much pain, “what happened to the dragon?”
“After you left, we took care of it.”
“Meaning?” Bastian’s head hurt, but he was desperate to know. Somehow it mattered to him.
“We skinned it. Divided up the meat. The residents of Hutton’s Bridge will feast on it for a long while.” Adam laughed and patted Bastian on the shoulder. “Lay down. Get a couple more hours of sleep. I promise I’ll have you up before they plan to leave. You can state your case then and hope a few are willing to listen to you.”
“Is there something in this water?” Bastian asked, his eyelids growing heavy.
“Of course. Now sleep, nephew. You need your strength for the dawn.”
Bastian drifted off, visions of Tressa lost in the fog racing through his mind.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Bastian stepped out into the village center the next morning. A crowd had gathered. Bedraggled children clutched the hands of their wary mothers. Men clutched garden implements, others held old weapons from the armory. They were preparing to walk into a massacre.
“Wait!” Bastian shoved his way through the crowd until he stood in the center. He stood on the slab where Sophia’s dead body had lain. “I’m the only one who’s gone out there,” Bastian pointed at the fog, “and come back. Well, other than my daughter, but she isn’t old enough to lead you. Will you listen to me?”
No one answered. Bastian wanted to scream. It was the same as the day he, Tressa, and Connor left. No one wanted to stand up for them. No one wanted the truth. He wondered for a moment why he even bothered.
Bastian looked out into their faces. The women huddled behind their husbands. The men didn’t know where to look, their eyes focused either on their toes or the sky. Pathetic. Every single one of them.
He pulled his sword out of the sheath on his hip. The metal glistened in the sunlight, except for the length of it stained by blood. There hadn’t been time to clean it. Just as well. Now they had proof of what awaited them in the mists.
“I lost someone I love in the fog. Do you want that to happen to your wives? Your children?”
Still no one made a sound.
Bastian refused to give up so easily. “I am the only one to ever make it back in the history of the fog. Do you think you will fare better? None of you were eager to volunteer when I chose to leave. Why are you so brave now?”
He waited, ready for a rebuke. Still, none came.
“All you’re doing is running from a plague. You’re trading one death for another.” Bastian sighed and sheathed his sword. He didn’t know how to make them see beyond their tiny understanding of the world.
“Even if you make it out of the fog, there’s an army out there, waiting to destroy us. They killed Connor. They will kill you too. Unless you learn to fight!”
“I want to learn!”
A child pushed his way through the crowd. Lukas. Geoff’s son.
“My mother and father died from the plague, but I didn’t. I’m strong. I want to fight.” The boy rested a fist on his hip. “I won’t be a coward like the rest of you. My Papa taught me to be brave. Didn’t yours?”
Bastian held back a laugh. Children always spoke the truth, especially when it was inconvenient for everyone else. He placed a hand on Lukas’ shoulder. “I accept your help, Lukas. Thank you for joining me.”
“You can’t fight with a child!”
Bastian couldn’t see which woman voiced her concern. It didn’t stop him from responding. “Why not? My daughter saved me out there. She’s younger than Lukas. Obviously the children do have something to contribute. Without her, I might have died. The beast would have torn me apart, just like it did Vinya and countless others from our village who were sent out over the years.
“If you want to escape Hutton’s Bridge and keep your lives intact, then give me time. Learn to fight.”
A man pushed his way through the crowd. Tom, the butcher. “How much time? People are dying here. The plague is spreading and we don’t know how to contain it. We could all die within weeks.”
“You will die if you go out there.” Bastian caught the man’s eyes. Neither of them looked away.
“You’re alive.”
“I was lucky. Please. Be patient. I will teach you what you need to know.”
Tom rubbed his temples. Bastian could see the exhaustion in his eyes. Drooping and bloodshot, Tom’s eyes carried a tale of hardship. The sheltered world of Hutton’s Bridge was slowly collapsing around them. There were no good solutions. Yet, Bastian wanted so badly to help them before they marched out to their deaths.
Children wouldn’t stand a chance against the beast. They’d mistake its call for their mother, wander off into the fog, and never return. Families would be ripped apart.
