Dragonlands, Books 1 - 3: Hidden, Hunted, and Retribution

by Megg Jensen

  Granna had made it seem a wonderland.

  No longer. The fog hadn’t just stopped the children in Hutton’s Bridge from leaving. It had wounded the forest’s life force.

  Jarrett whistled a tune under his breath. Not an upbeat ditty to distract them, but a low, keening melody.

  “What is that?” Tressa asked him.

  “An old song from my homeland. A lay.”

  “Lay?” Tressa’s horse stepped carefully over a fallen tree trunk.

  “A poem meant to be sung. I would sing,” a wry smile graced his face, “but you don’t want that. Trust me.”

  He continued whistling; Tressa listened intently. The notes soared over them, bouncing across the damaged forest. After the last note, Tressa asked, “What is it about?”

  “It’s the funeral lay, only sung in the Sands. We sing it to honor the dead. To remind us about life after the body dies.”

  “You believe in that?” Tressa asked him. “An afterlife?”

  Jarrett’s eyes widened. “You don’t?”

  “Until recently I didn’t even believe in life beyond the fog.” Tressa shrugged. Granna told her in the old days that their people worshipped the Holy Ones. After the fog fell, the children who were left behind prayed every day to them, seeking help. None came. Granna said eventually they gave up. Why worship a deity that didn’t intervene? Some of the children had been afraid of repercussions, but when none came, they all gave up on the Holy Ones. All that remained was cursing in their name. “Anyway, it’s beautiful.”

  “It felt appropriate,” he said.

  They rode on in silence. It seemed the proper response to the death lurking in the forest. Until the trees began to thin. Tressa strained to hear activity from the village. The sound of a woman singing while she worked in the fields. Or a cow lowing. Even the sound of the smithy, metal clanging on metal.

  There was nothing but silence.

  They broke through the final row of trees into Hutton’s Bridge.

  Jarrett looked around. “Where are the people of your town?”

  Tressa slipped off the horse and walked to the village hall.

  Empty.

  The town square.

  Empty.

  House after house.

  Empty.

  She spun around, surprised to find Jarrett behind her. For a moment she’d forgotten him. Panic bubbled in her throat.

  “They’re gone. All of them.”

  Chapter Three

  “Before you ask me where they could have gone,” Tressa said, holding up her hand, “I don’t have an answer. I’m just as stumped as you.”

  Jarrett’s eyes swept the village. “Bastian said some of the villagers wanted to leave before he took the army into the fog. Maybe when the fog dropped, they took the opportunity.”

  “No.” Tressa folded her arms across her chest. “Not everyone. I know at least one person who would never leave.” Without waiting for Jarrett, she marched across the village to the town hall. The biggest residence in Hutton’s Bridge, that of the head of the council, Udor.

  She shuddered just thinking of the man who had tried to convince her to be a second wife to him. He’d promised protection. In exchange she’d have to whore herself out to him. Tressa had chosen almost certain death in the fog rather than give into his lecherous advances.

  She pushed open the door to his cottage. “Udor?” She strode into the main room, expecting to see him lounging on a cushy chair, smoking a weed that made his attitude even more intolerable.

  He wasn’t there. The chair was empty. Books sat on the shelf. Toys were scattered on the floor. Usually his home smelled of ham and stewed vegetables, but nothing permeated the air. Not even a stale whiff.

  “I don’t understand.” She sank into Udor’s chair. Tressa pressed her nose into the fabric. Nothing. “It’s as if no one has been here in years.”

  Jarrett closed his eyes and pressed his hands together. A faint glow emanated from his fingertips. It rose into the air, blue and yellow spirals twisting around each other until they merged into a brilliant orange dagger of light. Jarrett threw the dagger. It flew out the door and into the village.

  “Come on,” he said, motioning for Tressa to follow.

  She jumped out of the chair, only steps behind Jarrett’s black boots. They ran into the center of the village again. The magical orange blade spun in a circle three times, then darted from building to building, burning an amber circle above each doorway. With dizzying speed, the magic touched every building in Hutton’s Bridge. Then it came to rest again in Jarrett’s palm.

  He clapped his hands together and it was extinguished.

  “You can do this but you couldn’t use your magic to fight Stacia?” Tressa asked.

  “Trust me, when it comes to battle, my magic is useless. This is basic detection magic. My queen insisted I learn it when I became head of the guard. Nothing impressive.” Jarrett said. “Now watch the circles.”

  Tressa trained her eyes on a set of doorways to the east. Each circle shimmered amber, then cooled to an ice blue. “What does that mean?” She looked at Jarrett, his eyes narrowed and his lips set tightly together. He didn’t respond. “Jarrett?”

  “How many in your village can use magic?”

  “None.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked Tressa straight in the eyes. “That can’t be right.”

  “It is. We all believed magic wasn’t real. Of course, there were stories, but it was all in our imaginations. I didn’t witness magic until I stepped inside the fog.”

  Jarrett’s grip tightened. “Are you sure? Because this is telling me something far different.”

  Tressa gazed at her village again, not seeing anything different than before. “What do you see that I don’t?”

  Jarrett sighed. He stroked the small black goatee on the tip of his chin. “If my magic is right, and it’s never wrong, your entire village has been cleansed.”

  It was as if he were speaking another language. Hutton’s Bridge was empty, but it certainly wasn’t any cleaner than normal. “Is that a magic term?”

  He nodded, still messing with the goatee.

  “Well?” She was getting impatient. She took another look at the cottages and the spots she’d seen the magic touch. Nothing. But Tressa knew something was amiss. It wasn’t just the missing villagers; it was the lack of smells. The stillness. They wouldn’t have all left. Not so quickly. And Udor? Never.

  “A few hundred people, right?” he asked.

  Tressa nodded.

  “Well,” he continued, “people are constantly thinking. And those thoughts don’t just happen and disappear. The stronger the thought, the longer it lingers. Something dramatic must have happened for your villagers to leave so quickly. Yet, there are no thoughts left. Someone cleansed the village.”

  “So if I’m thinking something, you can read my mind with your magic?” She suddenly felt uncomfortable, remembering those few times she’d thought of him as more than just a friend. When she’d enjoyed his kiss after killing Stacia. A blush swept over her neck and cheeks, dousing them in pink. He wasn’t supposed to know. She still loved Bastian. Appreciating another man didn’t change that.

  “No,” Jarrett reassured her. “It takes preparation. You saw what I did in that cottage. Have you ever seen me do that around you?” Jarrett’s brown eyes locked on hers.

  She hadn’t, but she knew so little about magic. He could be lying.

  “I’m not lying to you.”

  “Ah ha!” Tressa waved a finger in front of his face. “I was just thinking you might be.”

  Jarrett rolled his eyes and laughed. “Believe what you will. I have never lied to you and I never will. It isn’t in my nature. The longer you know me, the more you will see that is true.” He turned toward the cottages, a grave look on his face again. “Now let’s figure out what happened to your villagers.”

  “How?” Tressa asked.

  Jarrett poked his head in the neare
st doorway, then looked at her again. “I’m not sure.”

  Tressa joined him inside the dark cottage. Much like Udor’s, it seemed no one had packed for their journey. It was as if they’d all disappeared. Clothes remained in baskets. Bread and mead sat undisturbed on the table. One basket overflowed with clean nappies.

  Tressa rubbed the soft fabric between her fingers. So clean and pure. Her heart ached a little, thinking of the babies she had so desperately wanted with Bastian. “No good mother would leave without nappies for her baby.”

  “I agree. Or food for the journey.” Jarrett stood with a hand on the open pantry door. It was stocked full of jam, jellies, spices, and jerky. “There’s no honey in here.” He rattled jars aside, rummaging through the shelves.

  “Why are you so obsessed with finding honey?” Tressa asked, folding the nappy and placing it carefully back on the pile. “Don’t you have honey elsewhere?”

  “Yes, we do, but honey from Hutton’s Bridge is…special.”

  “Why?”

  Jarrett closed the door. “There is magic in the honey of Hutton's Bridge.”

  “I’ve told you a hundred times, Jarrett. There hasn’t been any magic in Hutton’s Bridge since the fog fell. We don’t believe in it, much less know how to use it.”

  Jarrett’s head perked up. His eyes searched the room. His hands trembled. “That’s not entirely true.” He rushed out the door, leaving Tressa standing in the center of the cottage confused.

  She chased after him. His dark hair retreated around a corner. Tressa followed. Not that there was much danger of losing him. This was her home. She ran past the tavern and the smithy, around another corner and through the center of the village, following his footprints in the dirt.

  It occurred to her that his were the only footprints. The people, the smells, and even their footsteps were gone. She looked up, searching for Jarrett, but he’d left her sight. Pausing, she listened and heard his boots stomping on the ground to her right. She raced around the side of a cottage.

  Jarrett stood not far away. His hands were pressed together again, the familiar strands of blue and yellow emanating from his fingertips and swirling into a flaming orange.

  It wasn’t the magic that gave her pause this time. He was standing in front of her cottage.

  Chapter Four

  “I was drawn here,” Jarrett said. “Can you tell me anything about this cottage?” The strands of magic exploded in a bright yellow flash and surrounded the walls. The glow pulsated, engulfing Tressa’s home in a fire made of magic.

  Tressa didn’t respond.

  “It’s strange,” Jarrett said, running his hands over the glow. “I hadn’t felt anything. The village was empty of all magic. Then it was if there was a hard tap on my shoulder and I followed the feeling here. Odd. So, so odd.”

  He jiggled the handle. "The door won't open." Jarrett stepped backward, then heaved his shoulder into the solid wood. It didn't budge. He looked over his shoulder at Tressa. “You have a strange look on your face.”

  Tressa composed herself. “I do?”

  “Who lived here?” Jarrett asked.

  Tressa walked past him and into the cottage. “I thought you said the door wouldn’t open?” Her cottage had been ransacked by the other villagers, as she’d suspected. Still, some of things she remembered remained.

  Jarrett followed her into the cottage. “Is this where you lived?”

  Tressa nodded. “Up until a few months ago, it was all I had ever known. I lived here with my Granna, my great-grandmother. I thought the rest of my family was dead.” She choked back a few tears. “Granna died just before I was sent into the fog. She had been our leader. She chose me to go.” Tressa paused. She hadn’t known Jarrett long, but he already knew so much about her. Telling him the one thing she’d kept from everyone else seemed natural now. “She told me she knew I’d succeed because she’d seen it.”

  “Seen it how?” he asked gently, placing a hand on her arm.

  Tressa shrugged. “I don’t know. Granna said it was some kind of magic. I dismissed it as the ramblings of an old woman.” She bent over, running her hand along the headboard of Granna’s bed. “Maybe it wasn’t…”

  “It wasn’t,” Jarrett said. “Something is being protected here. I can feel it.”

  “Then why didn’t the ones who—what did you call it? Cleansed? What about the ones who cleansed Hutton’s Bridge? Why didn’t they see this?”

  “I don’t know.” He walked around the small cottage. “You didn’t own much, did you?”

  “No one in Hutton’s Bridge had a lot. Resources were tight. We had to reuse everything we could. I'm surprised they didn't repurpose everything I owned after I left.”

  “I’d like to say they were fools, but it makes sense. I can’t even imagine living like that. Feeling trapped all the time. It’s a wonder your village even survived. Many might have rebelled or killed each other.”

  “My Granna was thirteen when the fog fell. She became the leader and under her guidance the village stayed strong.” If Tressa stared hard enough, she could almost make out Granna sitting in her rocking chair in the corner. She wished she could reach out and touch her again, if only for a moment.

  Jarrett turned around, a quizzical look on his face. “What do you mean she became the leader? What about the adults? Why would they let a thirteen-year-old girl make the decisions?”

  Tressa hesitated. So he didn’t know. Why would he? No one would. As far as they knew, Hutton’s Bridge was filled with dead bodies. “When the fog fell, the adults went missing. Granna woke up in the morning to the sound of a baby crying. When she left her cottage, she couldn’t find any adults. Neither could the other kids. They were alone, trapped inside the fog.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Jarrett continued to look in every corner. “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Bastian mentioned that he understood our past better now, but we didn’t get a chance to talk before you and I had to leave for here. When we get back to Ashoom, perhaps he’ll have more to tell us.” Tressa watched Jarrett poke and prod her cottage. She wondered what he was looking for, or if he even knew.

  He threw his hands up and sat down. “I can’t find anything here. But I can promise you that this cottage is protected by a very powerful magic. There might be something hidden here. Someone is trying to tell us something.”

  Frustration welled up in Tressa. She wanted to go back in time, just a few months, and question Granna about her visions. She wanted to follow Granna one of the nights she slipped out of the cottage, taking her little owl Nerak with her. Or ask Granna to tell her about magic instead of rolling her eyes as if she knew it all.

  “I don’t know what it is.” Tressa sighed, giving up. “Do you want me to take you to the apiary now?”

  Jarrett stood up. “Yes.”

  For a fleeting moment, Tressa could have sworn she really did see Granna sitting on the chair, smiling and braiding her hair. She blinked a few times and Granna was gone. Tressa’s heart ached, every beat pulling her further away from her memories.

  In silence, Jarrett followed Tressa out of the cottage and across the village square. The beehives were on the far side of the village, away from the cottages and buildings. Tressa hadn’t been there much. Only a few people had tended to the bees, wearing the veil that protected their eyes and using the long scraper to free the honey from the comb. Everyone else was warned to stay away. The bees could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Worse, if a bee stung a villager who was allergic, little could be done to save them.

  “If you’re looking for something specific, I’m not sure I can help you. I don’t know much about the bees. Or the honey, for that matter.” Tressa led Jarrett around the back of a barn to an open area where the bees were kept.

  She stopped short and he bumped into her. “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s gone. All of it.” She clearly remembered hives hanging from the trees. Now, there was only an open grassy area. Tressa s
pun around, her arms hanging down. "I don't understand."

  "Nothing is right here," Jarrett said. He reached out, taking one of her hands in his. "I promise I will help you find out what happened in your town."

  "And I have to find my people."

  An ear-piercing screech ripped through the air.

  "Not again," Tressa said. Jarrett tugged on her hand and they ran into the trees at the edge of the forest. Peeking out, Tressa could see a red dragon, claws bared, circling high in the sky over her town. It swooped from side to side, huffing gusts of air from its nostrils.

  "What is that doing here?" Jarrett asked.

  "As if I know." She squeezed Jarrett's hand with an iron grip. He didn't pull back.

  "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised the Red would send a scout. But how could they have known so quickly?" Jarrett placed his free hand on Tressa's shoulder.

  She took a deep breath, attempting to steady her shaking limbs. Dragons. Again. Couldn't they just leave her alone?

  The dragon landed in the town square, in the same spot where Stacia's mother had landed just before she died. Tressa remembered the awe she'd felt that day. Now she harbored nothing but fear for the beasts. Except the cobalt dragon. The one she thought might be Connor.

  The red dragon's snout snuffled along the ground, its breath kicking up dirt in its wake.

  "It's not a sentry. It's hunting." Jarrett said, his words tumbling out so fast Tressa could barely understand him. "Climb now." He boosted Tressa into the nearest tree, her arms flailing as she reached for a branch.

  They huddled together in the upper boughs of the tree, Jarrett's arms around Tressa's waist. "Don't move," he whispered in her ear. "Dragons have a good sense of smell, but their visual acuity is even sharper. If it doesn't see us move, it's possible it will miss us."

  Tressa watched the dragon through leaves and branches. Its claws dug into the grass. Its tail flicked across the ground slamming into the sides of cottages, leaving dents in its wake. The dragon's chin lifted, and its jaws closed. A small hooting noise came from between its teeth.