Hidden (Book 1) (5 page)

Tressa turned the corner of the village hall,
out of breath. Arms were never raised in Hutton’s Bridge. In fact, as far as
she knew, they were kept locked up in the village hall. No one had a reason to
fight against anyone else in her little village. The scratch of steel on steel
halted her in her tracks.

Connor
ran ahead. “Bastian!”

Tressa
stood on her toes, peering over the swarms of people watching the fight none of
them had bothered to stop. Connor leapt onto Bastian’s back, wrapping his arms
under Bastian’s, yanking him backward.

“Put
it down,” he begged his friend. Bastian had Connor by a few inches and a few
dozen pounds. His muscles bulged, straining against Connor’s unrelenting tugging.
The sword he held was
clean
, unblemished. It was a
virgin blade, never used in battle.

Tressa’s
stomach sank to her toes. No one was allowed to create new weapons. There were
more than enough stored in the armory. Bastian’s work in the forge was supposed
to focus solely on essentials needed for the village, not on the production of
weapons. He would be disciplined harshly.
The stocks or maybe
banishment into the fog.
It depended on the elders’ moods and Udor’s
sense of mercy.

Bastian
tossed the sword at the other man. Tressa couldn’t remember his name, but he was
one of the many who worked in the fields, planting and harvesting the food they
relied on so heavily. The man went back to guarding the three bodies lying
prone for the viewing.

“I
better not hear another word out of your mouth,” Bastian said with a snarl in
his throat. “You’ll pay.” Redness crept up his neck, matching the fiery hair on
his head.

The
other man laughed. “You’re the one who’s going to pay, boy. Where did you get
that sword?”

“None
of your concern.” Bastian shrugged Connor off. He probably could have thrown
him easily from the start, but he and Connor were great friends. Bastian knew
better than to hurt those on his side.

Connor
clapped Bastian on the shoulder. “Let’s take a walk, okay?”

Tressa
strained to hear the answer, but couldn’t over the sound of the crowd. They’d
gone from silent, watching the fight, to talking amongst themselves again.
Crisis averted, they went back to worrying about the illness and the three
dead. A few looked askance at Tressa. She remembered Connor’s warning and
slipped off into the shadows again.

She
wrung her hands, not sure where to go or what to do. She could hide in her
cottage until the anger waned. No one would think Tressa had done anything to
purposely start an illness, not even if it meant cancelling the group set to
leave through the fog. It was a stretch, even for the most paranoid person.

Looking
over her shoulder to make sure no one was following, Tressa rounded the corner
of the building, only to run into Bastian’s chest. His hands grabbed her upper
arms, helping her stay upright.

“Sorry.”
Tressa stepped backward, stumbling into the side of the building. Every time
Bastian touched her, it was like being struck by lightning.

“We
need to talk to you.” Only then did she notice Connor standing next to Bastian.

“Oh,
okay, um, I was just heading back to my cottage. Do you want to come with me?”

Connor
nodded. Bastian followed a few paces behind the two of them. To anyone who
noticed, it might look like Bastian was simply moving in the same direction as
Connor and Tressa, not walking with them. The three of them knew it was better
that way, without even communicating it explicitly.

Tressa
opened the door to her cottage, holding it for both Connor and Bastian to slip
inside. She glanced around. No one was paying attention to
them
,
at least not that she could see.

She closed
the door and leaned up against it. Connor sat at the table while Bastian paced
the room. He hadn’t been in her cottage in a couple of years and Tressa was
struck by how he seemed to have outgrown it. A memory of playing cards at the
table seemed like a different life, almost as if all of them had outgrown their
little village.

“Connor,
you already filled me in on what’s going on out there. Bastian, do you want to
tell me why you were fighting that man?”

“His
wife just died.” Bastian said it under his breath.

“What
is wrong with you?” Tressa couldn’t help herself. There wasn’t one good reason
he should snap at a man suffering grief like that.

“He
blamed you. He said this was your fault. I was only defending you.” Bastian
stared at his shoes, unable to look Tressa in the eyes.

She
took a step closer to him,
then
thought better of it.
“Next time someone says something about me and you feel the need to fight back,
do it with words. Not with some sword you made in your free time.” Her blood
boiled, the anger rising. “And what do you think you’re doing, making swords at
the forge? You know what the punishment is for a crime like that!”

“I
have to agree with her, Bastian.” Connor tapped his fingers on the table.
“You’re writing your own death sentence.”

Bastian
punched a fist into his palm. His biceps rippled and Tressa forced herself not
to notice it. “You both know why I protected Tressa. Don’t act dense.”

“We’re
not acting dense, Bastian.” Tressa sat down at the table with Connor, purposely
distancing herself from him. “Our lives are not ours. We have to live within
the confines of this village and its laws.”

Connor
laughed. “You two really need to get over each other.”

Tressa
shot him a glare that could have melted a table full of candles.

“It’s
getting old,” Connor continued, “Yes, we all had these ideas of what we’d grow
up to be. I certainly never expected to love Hazel, but I did. Guess what? I
love her now. If the two of you would stop being so selfish about your
feelings, you might discover there’s someone else here who could make you
happy.”

Tressa
wanted to sink under the floor, grind herself into specks of dirt that could
never be swept from between the planks. Connor knew how they felt, but he’d
never said it so boldly before. And even though both Tressa and Bastian refused
to act on their feelings, sometimes to the point of making life awkward and
miserable for everyone around them, neither of them could deny it either.

“I’m
happy with
Vinya
,” Bastian mumbled under his breath.
“She gave birth to my little girl. I will always be grateful for that.”

“Now
that we’re no longer obligated to enter the fog, Tressa could continue coupling
until she finds the right man,” Connor suggested. He bumped Tressa’s elbow.

“That’s
easier said than done. I’ve been a part of coupling four times now. I haven’t
conceived once. I think I’m barren.” Her voice lowered on the last word.
Speaking it aloud, outside her cottage, would result in angry stares from other
villagers. No one wanted to allocate resources to a woman who couldn’t help the
village continue with her progeny. “Besides, I’m getting a little old for finding
a husband, don’t you think?”

“It’s
true. Many of the men our age have already been bonded. Tressa shouldn’t be
forced into a relationship with a boy of fourteen or fifteen. It’s disgusting.”
Bastian shook his head, then sat down next to Connor.

Tressa
didn’t argue with his statement. She’d thought the same thing many times.

An
awkward silence draped over the three friends.

“It
would just be easier if I went into the fog.” Tressa said with a resigned sigh.
“There’s nothing left for me here.”

“It’s
suicide.” Bastian sank into the chair.

She
considered slipping Granna’s note out from under her pillow. What if her
rantings
weren’t far fetched? What if there was actually
something to them? Even the image on the parchment gave Tressa pause. It was
possible Granna knew more than she had ever told the others in the village. There
were nights she’d leave and not come back for hours.

Tressa
hadn’t ever asked her about it. She’d waited, hoping Granna would confide in
her. Tell her where she and her little owl friend,
Nerak
,
would go in the darkness. She couldn’t conceive of anything in the village
being so important that Granna could only do it at night.

She’d
kept Granna’s secret her whole life. She wasn’t comfortable sharing, not even
with her best friends. Granna had told her to follow her heart, but it only led
to Bastian. If she couldn’t follow it, then perhaps it was best to move in the
opposite direction.

“I
will go tomorrow.”

“Not
alone.” Connor put a hand on Tressa’s arm. “I will go too and we should see if
Geoff wants to go. No one should go into the fog alone.”

“No.”
Tressa shrugged his hand off. “You have a wife and two sons. Geoff has a son. Don’t
be ridiculous.”

“Just
because the council has decided the group of three shouldn’t go, doesn’t mean
we can’t. There’s a reason Sophia sent people out every year. Maybe it’s our
turn to find out why. Besides, we need medicine.
Or a cure.
Our village could become a ghost town without it.”

Tressa
couldn’t help but smile. Connor always knew the right thing to say. She glanced
over at Bastian and his brooding face. He didn’t offer an opinion.

“We
just have to be the first ones to succeed,” Connor said.

Granna
was gone. She knew Bastian could never be hers and she wouldn’t come between a
bonded
couple
. Staying meant giving in to Udor, either
by becoming his concubine or suffering at his hands for refusing.

“I’m with you,” Tressa
said.

Connor opened the door to Tressa’s cottage.
They’d planned to slink out unnoticed and find Geoff, to see if he would still
leave with them. He’d been chosen and he’d been preparing just as they had. But
when the door creaked open, a crowd milled around outside of Tressa’s cottage.

“You!”
Someone called out. “She’s the one who started this.”

Murmurs
of assent traveled across the mob. Tressa intended to push past them all, but
Connor nudged her gently to the side and held up both arms. “Come on, now. Do
you really think that’s true? Who started this rumor?”

Tressa
strained to hear their response, but instead of one clear voice answering
Connor, a new wave of rumors swirled.

“They’re
having an affair.”

“No
wonder they didn’t want to leave.”

“They
did this to protect themselves.”

“His
poor wife.”

Tressa
nudged Connor. “Let me handle this. I don’t want to damage your relationship
with Hazel.”

Connor
laughed. “She won’t believe a word of it. Hazel knows exactly where my heart is.”
He turned back, looking Tressa in the eyes. “She’d also encourage me to defend
you.”

“You’re
a lucky man.”

“Don’t
I know it?” Connor winked. “Now help me make her proud.”

Connor
grabbed Tressa’s hand and tugged. He pushed through the crowd, ignoring their
growing cries for justice. Villagers grabbed at her dress and hair. She
shrugged them off and tried keeping up with Connor. It wasn’t easy. She tripped
over the feet of the angry people surrounding them, but Connor’s grasp didn’t
loosen. He continued to drag her along behind him toward the village square.

She
brushed back her hair with her free hand, removing the veil falling around her
face. It fell right back down and made it impossible to see. Tressa quickly
wove her hair into a braid. She’d never tried with one hand before and was
concerned her hair was knotting itself into a mess she might not be able to fix
later. Vanity forced her to slow her trembling fingers down. She didn’t want to
cut her hair off again.

The
braid fell over Tressa’s shoulder. She almost regretted making it. The angry
eyes of the accusing villagers could make contact with hers. She saw the pain
in their eyes. Some of them probably didn’t want to blame her, but didn’t know
where else to focus their fear. Tressa didn’t know how fast the plague was
spreading, but it was clear that fear was spreading faster.

The
crowd followed them through the village, their footsteps stamped behind Tressa.
Sure, unending, determined. The ground transitioned from grass to dirt,
signaling their proximity to the town square. Tressa gave Connor’s hand one
last squeeze,
then
let go. She wouldn’t look like some
kind of victim or criminal. She would stand proud and tell the truth, just like
Granna had always taught her.

A hole
opened ahead of them. Connor stood to the side, letting Tressa stand next to
him. He’d taken her through the first part, but he knew her well enough to let
her stand on her own in front of everyone.

The
three bodies still rested in the middle of the square, but it was Udor, near
the entrance to the village hall,
who
held everyone’s
attention.

“So
they’ve decided to show their faces,” he boomed across the square. “Maybe you’d
care to tell us why people are dying, Tressa.”

His
glare ripped straight into her chest. So this was her punishment for refusing
him. She hadn’t realized he’d act so quickly, but it was possible the
additional deaths gave him exactly the impetus he needed.

Tressa
stood
tall,
elongating her spine out of the slump
she’d been in since leaving her cottage. Her raven braid fell to her back,
showing everyone her squared shoulders and firm stance.

“I plan
to leave tomorrow.
Just as Granna told me to do.
Maybe
I can find help.” She looked out over the mob. A stunned silence blanketed the
crowd.

“Preposterous!”
Udor shouted, followed by a deep guffaw. “She’s only hoping you will feel sorry
for her. Convince her to stay. Make a martyr out of her. She has no plans to
help anyone.”

The
crowd swung back to Udor. From the looks on their faces, it was clear they
didn’t know
who
to believe. Tressa spent most of her
life away from the crowds, not attending most social events. She preferred to
be home with Granna, weaving or just making conversation. Few in the village
had really gotten to know her. Only Connor and Bastian knew her heart.

Tressa
didn’t bother to address Udor’s ridiculous statement. There was no point.
People would either believe him or her.

“Don’t
let her ramblings dissuade you from the truth,” Udor said. He strolled over to
Connor and Tressa. “She’s only trying to save her own skin after murdering her
great grandmother.”

Tressa’s
anger boiled up and before she could think better of
it,
she stalked over to Udor and slapped his cheek. “How dare you? I loved Granna
with all my heart. I would never have killed her.” Tressa took a deep breath,
her chest rattling with the exhalation. It was too late to change her mind. She
turned back to the villagers. “I’m going ahead with the plan. Connor and I have
already agreed
,
we only need to confer with Geoff to
see if he will go with us. We will find help from the outside and save all of
you, even if you insist on listening to this lying bastard. Would he do that
for you? Ask yourselves that question when you lie in your beds at night,
fearing that the plague will kill you too.”

The
crowd burst into angry shouts, but Tressa didn’t wait to see whose side they
were on. Udor grabbed her arm, pulling her close to his lips. “How dare you say
any of that?”

“What?
Tell the truth?” she snarled in his face.

Connor
grabbed Udor’s arm and squeezed until he let go of Tressa. “Don’t ever touch
her like that again.”

“Why?
Do you want her, boy? Is that what this is about? Just a ploy so the two of you
can run away together?”

“You’re
a sick old man, do you know that?” Connor dropped his arms to his sides, but
his hands remained in fists. “Tressa is one of my best friends. But you
wouldn’t understand that, would you? Have you ever had a real friend or just
people who follow you around in fear?”

“We’re
concerned about the safety of the village, Udor. Aren’t you?” Tressa asked.
“You’re supposed to be the leader of the elders now that Granna is gone. Act
like a leader, not a lecherous old man. Put the needs of your people ahead of
your own.” Tressa folded her arms across her chest, daring him to put aside his
own agenda.

Udor
sneered. “No matter. The two of you will die soon enough once you enter that
fog. There is no outside. Not to us. And there never will be. You want to enter
the fog? Fine.”

Udor
spun, kicking up a cloud of dirt, and stalked away. The angry crowd milled around
them, but no one vocalized another accusation or protest. No one came out and
supported Tressa and Connor either. Slowly they turned away, the line to view
the dead reforming. Vengeance could wait until later.

“No
one’s going to believe us.” Tressa rubbed her arms. “Why should they? We don’t
even know what we’re talking about. He’s right. We’ll just die.”

“If
you say Udor’s right, I’m going to encourage them to hang you.” He nodded
toward the crowd.

Tressa
rolled her eyes. “That’s not going to happen.” She tugged on Connor’s shirt and
started walking toward Geoff’s house. She hadn’t seen him in the crowd, so
hopefully they’d still catch him at home. If not, they’d head out to the fields
and see if he was harvesting the wheat.

“Good.
I’d really have to wonder if you were sick too.” A frown crossed his face.

“What’s
wrong?” Tressa asked. She picked up her step, anxious to find Geoff.

“If
this really is a plague. If the things we’ve seen really do mean what we just
told everyone, then my wife and sons are in danger. I have to protect them.”
His face clouded over.

“If
you want to stay,” Tressa said, puffing as she walked faster, “then stay. I
wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“Staying
won’t do any good. Our only chance is to find a way out.”

Tressa stopped abruptly
in front of the door to Geoff’s cottage. A dark red swath of blood dripped from
above the lintel. “Illness,” she whispered. She held a hand up, her fingertips
just inches from the wet blood.