Hidden (Book 1) (4 page)

Tressa stumbled into the town square. She’d run
from the edge of the village to get away from the memory of Granna disappearing
into the fog and from Bastian’s embrace.

She
nearly steadied herself on the slab where Granna had lain, but stopped just
short of touching the cold stone. It was too soon. Time would never heal her
wound of losing Granna. She was alone in a village with no family and no way to
escape.

“Ah,
you’re back.” Udor strolled out of the gathering hall, his hands looped into
the belt cutting into the flab around his waist. His gray goatee trailed down
his chin into a point just above the potato bobbing in his throat. “Everyone
else has just left. I was closing up the hall and blowing out the candles.
Would you like to join me?”

Tressa
hesitated, but only for a moment. With or without Granna, life would go on.
Better to face it now than put off the inevitable. She nodded, dipping her chin
only once, and followed Udor back into the hall.

Wax
dripped from candles, forming valleys and rivulets along the wooden shelves.
The scent of beeswax hung in the air. Before the fog fell, Hutton’s Bridge had
been known for their honey. Granna told stories of exotic travelers coming in
and out of the town just to buy it. Their clothes made of silk in colors as
bright as the flowers dotting the meadow. Languages Granna didn’t understand
mingled with the accents of high society from the castle. Tressa loved it when
Granna imitated the lilting, high-pitched accents.

“We’ve
come to a unanimous decision.” Udor wound his way around the table in the
center of the room, blowing out candles as he passed them. Three stood next to
Tressa, flickering light in the drafty room.

She
didn’t ask what that decision was and she doubted it was unanimous without some
struggle or bribery. At least two of the elders had been fiercely loyal to
Granna, even in the face of dissent. They’d never wavered in their conviction.
Until today.

“You don’t
have to leave now, Tressa. You can stay here in the village.”

Her
heart lurched. She didn’t want to stay. Staying meant seeing Bastian with
Vinya
. Staying meant living alone in the cottage she’d
shared with Granna her whole life.
Staying meant never seeing
if Granna’s visions were real.

But
she didn’t want to leave unless she knew there was something other than death
waiting for her in the fog. She belonged nowhere.

“I
meant what I said this morning.” He cupped her cheek. She’d been so busy
thinking she hadn’t even noticed he’d sidled up next to her. His thumb rubbed
her chin, and then he grabbed it, hard, forcing her to look at him. “I will
take you in. No one else will and you know
that as well as I
do
. The entire goal of our village is to keep life going for our people.
A woman who cannot bear children has no use. She consumes resources others need
to survive. Don’t think anyone will take pity on you because you were related
to Sophia.”

He
pinched her chin. If she’d had any tears left to cry, they might have inched
out of her eyelids. But she was a dry husk now, unable to respond.

“It
may not happen tomorrow or next month, but eventually everyone will start to
look at you out of the corner of their eyes. They will wonder why they are
crowding seven to eight people in a home when you sit in luxury, enjoying all
that space for yourself. Eventually, they will find a way to get rid of you,
whether by poison or setting up an unfortunate accident.”

It had
happened in the past, and only to the single people. No one publicly questioned
those unnatural deaths. They simply accepted them for what they were –
survival strategies for the majority. No one ever took responsibility for the
deaths. No one ever asked.

Adam was
an exception. He had never been bothered because of his healing skills. He
saved the lives of others, but it also helped to ensure his own.

Udor’s
hand dropped to his side. Tressa’s
chin
throbbed as
the blood rushed back. She didn’t dare reach up and massage it.

“If
you’re under my protection, you will have nothing to fear.” He wouldn’t stop.
She wondered if he was trying to convince her, or himself.

“Adam
might take me in. He’s been more of a father to me than anyone in this
village.” Tressa chose her words carefully. The last thing she needed was for Udor
to think she had romantic feelings for Adam.

Udor’s
smile fell, erased from his face. “You don’t need a father. You need a
husband.”

Tressa’s
eyes narrowed. Did he really think it was necessary to do this now? If the
elders had agreed to stop the chosen three from venturing into the fog, then
Tressa would have time to figure things out. She wouldn’t have a random man as
her husband, not for pity, and not for Udor’s twisted desires.

“So I
don’t have to prepare to leave tomorrow?” Tressa chose to ignore his
entreaties. She would never be his. Never.

Udor
glared at her. He knew better than to force her into something against her
will. The townspeople may not appreciate her using up resources when their children
might need them, but they wouldn’t stand for forcing a woman into coupling.

In
such a small place, the criminals were few and far between. Jealousy,
conniving, and persuasion all ran rampant, but no one dared cross the line of
propriety. The sentence for crime was simple: banishment into the
fog,
blindfolded and bound. In case there was life out
there, they had to fight to find it, hampered by their bindings. But they
wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the village. There was no offer for
rehabilitation.

“I’ve
saved your life.” Udor opened the door to the hall, holding his arm out to the
side. “Maybe you should think on that tonight.”

Tressa
held her head high, and strode out the door. She did have much to think about.
In less than a day, everything had changed. Just yesterday she had thought she
was moving toward death in the fog. Then Granna suddenly fell ill and passed.
She hadn’t been prepared for that. Now Tressa had her reprieve.

Everything
was backward. She didn’t know which way to turn. Her cottage looked the same,
but empty.

Tressa
lay down in her bed, pulling the covers up tight to her chin. The only light
came from the faint moonlight that tore through the fog’s unrelenting veil. She
rolled over, scooting against the wall. Something scratched her back. Tressa
reached a hand behind her, and was surprised to find a worn piece of parchment
crumpled up between the bed and wall.

Tressa
set the paper on her lap and lit a bedside candle. Bringing the candle closer
to the parchment, she squinted in an attempt to read it.

Age
had cut into the folds of the parchment, slicing through image. Orange foxing
framed the edges. It was a faded picture of a man, bound in a tree. Shock
pulsed in her veins.

Tressa
had never seen this before. All of the documents they held at Hutton’s Bridge
were kept in the hall, guarded under lock and key. Long ago, the elders had
taken this step to preserve their past. They’d lost the ability to purchase
parchment after the fog fell. Most in the newer generations didn’t know how to
read or write. It wasn’t important anymore. But Granna had taken great pains to
teach Tressa.

At the
bottom of the picture, a hastily written message stood. Smudged, it looked like
it had been written with a stick and the remnants of the black soot on the end
of a candle’s wick. Tressa glanced at the candle in her other hand. The wick
listed to the side.

She
held the parchment up to the candle, careful not to catch it on fire.

Tressa,

My visions were about you. You must enter the fog. It is your
destiny. It was my intention to live long enough to see you through the fog and
welcome you back into my arms when you returned, but this sudden illness has
rendered me weak.

I love you always. Never forget this. I have always followed my
heart. All I can do is ask that you do the same.

Granna

Visions.
Not that again. Tressa sighed and folded up the note. Granna had been further
gone than she’d thought. No one returned from the fog. Ever. There was no
reason to think Tressa would be any different.

The gong of the town bells woke Tressa from a
deep sleep. Images of Granna flickered in and out of her memory, but the shouts
outside her door roused her quickly. Tressa shimmied into her dress, pulling it
over her underclothes. She tied a woven belt around her waist, one of her own
design, gathered her hair into a sloppy ponytail, and ran out the door.

Three
more dead bodies rested in the town square. A knot formed in Tressa’s throat.
Granna’s illness.
Now more were dead.

Tressa
walked over to Mariah, her neighbor. “Who died?”

“I
don’t know yet. I still need to feed the baby before I can go and see. I sent
Marcus, but he hasn’t come back yet.” As if to back up her story, Mariah’s baby
cried out from inside the house. “You’ll excuse me?”

Tressa
nodded, but Mariah didn’t wait to see what she said. The baby’s needs were more
important. Tressa understood that. It didn’t make it any easier, though. She’d
slowly grown away from all of her friends as they coupled and had babies. They
said Tressa couldn’t understand their lives anymore. She wasn’t sure any of
them ever gave her a chance.

With a
shake of her head, Tressa threaded her way through the gathered crowds. She
bumped elbows, but before she could apologize, she was pulled to the side.
Connor had a strong grip on her arm. Tressa didn’t struggle. If he needed to
talk to her, then she was more than willing to listen.

“Don’t
go over there,” he whispered in her ear. Connor tugged lightly on her arm,
pulling her to the side of the village hall. They stood in the shadow of the
tallest building in the village, hidden from any prying eyes.

“What’s
going on?”

“Three
more are dead. There’s some kind of plague spreading. No one knows where it
came from.”

“Why
are you pulling me to the side to tell me this? If everyone knows, why all the
whispering?” Tressa knew Connor didn’t do anything without good reason. He was
solid, dependable.
The last person to overreact to anything.

“Some
are blaming you.”

Tressa
took in a breath. “Me? What could this possibly have to do with me?” Her hand
fluttered over her chest. A few years ago, another illness had spread through
the village. One of the men who tended the cattle had purposely let the
villagers eat tainted meat. Only after people had died did he confess his sin.
He’d believed no one would get hurt, even though he’d seen the sores on the
cattle before slaughtering it.

In a
village with little in the way of medicine, health was held as one of the most
important things to maintain. One terrible plague could kill them all.

“Since
Sophia fell sick and died the night before you were supposed to leave, the
whispers say that you poisoned her in an effort to save yourself. Everyone
knows how Udor looks at you. He’s your only salvation from the fog.”

Anger
swept through Tressa’s veins, setting her heart on fire. “Anyone who thinks I
would kill Granna to avoid the fog is crazy. I would never do that!”

“I
know that. You know that.” Connor shook his head and ran his fingers through
his sandy hair. “But not all of them know that.”

Tressa
knew that was true. Sophia was the only remaining person who was alive when the
fog descended. Some people revered her. Others mistrusted her. No one knew the
truth anymore. At some point, history morphed into fable. The ramblings of one
old woman were seen less as fact than mythology – a mythology that
permeated the one tradition everyone feared.

“I
would have left. I prefer that to one moment in Udor’s arms.”

Connor
laughed, muffling it behind a hand. “I don’t think any of us could stand that,
Tressa.” He slipped an arm around her shoulder. “Look, I will protect you as
best as I can. I’ve already defended you more than once. You can count on me to
be here for you.”

Tressa
nodded, grateful she had such a good friend. She was also thrilled his first coupling
had produced a child.

“Is
Hazel okay with that?”

Connor
nodded. “She understands. She was already prepared for me to leave with you and
Geoff today. Unlike some people, Hazel believed Sophia. She wants our children
to grow up outside of this village. If I can be one of the people who brings
that about, then there’s nothing I could do to make her prouder.”

“You
have a good woman, Connor.” Tressa’s heart squeezed. She wanted to be that kind
of partner for someone.
Maybe someday.

A
blush spread across Connor’s pale cheeks. He knew how lucky he was too. It
wasn’t often that true love sprung forth from a chance coupling.

“You
do know Udor said we don’t have to leave now.”

Connor’s
eyes flitted over to the gathering crowd. “I know. He came by late last night
and told me. I didn’t get a wink of sleep.”

“Why?”
Tressa didn’t sleep well either, plagued by disturbing dreams. Sometimes she
felt like dreaming was just her mind working on all of her problems and fears.
She certainly had enough to keep her busy right now between Granna’s death and Udor’s
threats.

Connor
shrugged. “I guess I’m not sure how I feel. I’ve been preparing myself,
mentally and physically, to leave. The last few months have been hard, but I
was ready.” He tapped his head and then his heart.

“I
wish I was more like you. I’ve done nothing but worry.
Probably
because Granna wouldn’t stop talking about it every day.
She was just as
proud of me as Hazel is of you. Except I felt like it was a death sentence.
I’ve done little to prepare.” A small, nervous laugh escaped her lips. “I guess
I would have been dead weight to you and Geoff.”

“Oh,
Tressa, you’re never dead weight. You’re twice as clever as I am in a tight
spot.

Tressa
rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I could weave a belt out of grass. Helpful, indeed.”

A keen
rose out of the crowd on the other side of the building. A group of screams and
clanging of swords followed.

“What
the –”

Connor took off
running, with Tressa on his heels.