Dragonlands(14)

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.





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.”