LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  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.

  Another 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 ge
t 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, Vinya 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.

  Connor nodded. “I understand.” He shifted a bit, including Tressa in their conversation. She pretended like she hadn’t even noticed they were excluding her. “Bastian and I will be back here before the sun crests.”

  Tressa looked up into the sky. They didn’t have long. “Okay. I’ll be back then too. I just need to grab my pack and a couple of other things.”

  Connor tossed an arm over Tressa and Bastian’s shoulders. “The old gang back together. This is going to be some adventure.”

  Bastian smiled, nodded, and then walked toward the forge. Tressa slipped out from Connor’s arm and left for her cottage. She glanced over her shoulder one more time at the dead dragon. Her heart swelled and she knew only one thing: she needed to see another one of those, alive and strong.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TRESSA SNUCK INTO HER COTTAGE, avoiding the crowds still milling around outside. They seemed to have lost interest in blaming her. In a way, the dragon saved her from an angry mob. They would have turned on her, all of them, and she knew it. Udor only would have fanned the flames of their ignorance, leading them into thinking she was everything he wanted them to believe.

  She reached into the corner of the small cottage, grabbing her travel pack. It was stuffed with a change of clothes, breeches not a dress, bread and apples, a bit of jerky, a jar of honey, and little else. A small doll crafted by Granna from fabric scraps hid in the bottom. It was the one sentimental item she allowed herself. Everything else would have to stay behind. Waiting for her return.

  Well, if she’d had family that might be the case. With Granna gone, her goods would likely last a day before they were distributed to others who needed them. No one ever came back, so why bother saving them?

  She reached into her pocket, fingering the crinkled note she’d found earlier. She wanted to chalk it up to more of Granna’s wishing.

  A lilting noise interrupted her reverie. Tressa peeked out the back window, looking for the source. In the apple tree behind her cottage, a small downy bird, with huge eyes and a tiny beak peered at her. Its head bobbled up and down, then flipped to the side. Tressa gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Nerak, Granna’s little owl.

  Tressa tsked with her tongue, while stretching out her hand. The owl tilted its head to the other side. It was such a strange movement, as if it could almost turn its head upside d
own. “I’m glad to see you one last time before I leave.”

  The owl hooted at her, sticking its neck out and rolling its eyes. Tressa couldn’t help but laugh. It was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. Nerak had always been loyal to Granna, treating Tressa as nothing more than an oddity. She’d treated the owl in kind. Now they had something in common – a loss so great neither knew how to go on.

  Nerak inched closer and closer until a claw rested on the tip of Tressa’s finger.

  “Do you want to say goodbye to me?” Tressa smiled. The owl hooted and moved fully onto Tressa’s outstretched fingers. Instead of digging in hard, it rested lightly. Warmth spread through Tressa, radiating from her hands to her shoulders, then both up and down her body. She shuddered, drawing her arm back into the cottage. As soon as both her hand and the owl were back in warmth of her home, the bird jumped to Tressa’s shoulder. It nuzzled against her hair and pecked playfully at her braid.

  A knock at the door startled her.

  “Hey, Tressa, you still in there?”

  Connor.

  “Tressa?”

  Bastian.

  “You said you didn’t need much time. Everything okay?” Connor knocked again.

  “I’m here. I’m just, uh, changing clothes. Putting on breeches for the trip.” Trip. She was probably changing her breeches just to walk into certain death. “Give me a few more seconds.”

  Tressa pulled food and clothes out of her bag. Yanking the breeches over her legs one at a time, she cinched the waist under her dress, then pulled it down over the breeches. Sure she looked ridiculous, but not caring much at the moment, Tressa gathered up the little owl in her hands. “If you want to come with me, maybe you should hide in my bag.”

  There were only a few owls in Hutton’s Bridge. They were looked on as a good luck charm. No one would want her to take Nerak with her, but Tressa needed every scrap of luck she could get.