Dragonlands(265)

"How shall I address you?" Tressa asked, promising herself it would be the last time she would ask.

"You may call me Sophia." The old woman smiled.

Tressa jumped to her feet. "I will not. You are not Granna."

The woman clicked her tongue. "Such impudence from one so young."

"I am not young," Tressa said, her anger growing, despite her wish to contain it. She stalked toward the woman, across the wooden floor covered in dirty rushes.

"Compared to me, you are but a babe." The woman reached out, resting one wrinkled hand on Tressa's cheek. "Barely born. Your whole life ahead of you." She lowered her hand. "But your life is so short. You poor people, living only a handful of years before your horrifying deaths. It's a wonder you even leave your quaint homes."

"I don't understand. Aren't you—” Tressa took in the woman once more. Seeing what others had seen. Farah had claimed she'd seen Granna in Malum. The woman in the Meadowlands had told the story of the young boy lost in the fog so many years ago. "Are you related to me?"

The old woman laughed, her shoulders shaking. "We are not related, child. Your true great-grandmother fights in the battle, riding on the back of the beast who holds her in thrall.”

“Mestifito?” Tressa asked. “What do you mean, ‘holds her in thrall?’”

The old woman chuckled and cocked her head to the side. “You do not understand, yet you were held in such a thrall by your own lover. He, in turn, is held in thrall by the Keeper.”

“Is? Jarrett’s still alive?” Tressa wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

The woman’s only answer was a cryptic smile. “It is all magic of my world. And this," she said, holding out her arms, "is only an illusion. I cannot rule the Red unless I grow and die and grow and die and grow and die. Over and over again, always taking on the form of the last child I set eyes upon. It is part of the illusion. I must keep the people here happy, let them think they know who rules them."

Tressa backed away, wishing she'd taken the time to hide a dagger or two in the secret pockets of her battle clothes.

"Because if they knew," the woman continued, "they would lose their minds, knowing what waited outside the mountains. But you," she rasped, pointing at Tressa, "you will know. Because I am dying. Someone must take on the mantle. Someone must protect these insolent, ungrateful, bickering children from what lies beyond."

Tressa couldn't help herself. She had to know. "Beyond what?"

"I knew I chose well. I've been watching you, Tressa Webb of Hutton's Bridge. You will come. You will see. You will feed it the honey."

"It?" Dread rose in her chest.

The woman's laugh echoed in the room. "Yes, it will be pleased to see you. It will be pleased to have the honey once more. The bees we harvested from Hutton’s Bridge after the fog dissipated will not produce honey here."

"I—I don't have any honey with me." Tressa held her empty hands out. She tried not to think about the honey laying in the bottom of her pack hidden in the forest.

The woman's smile turned to a frown. "Oh, now isn't that a shame? Follow me.”

They traveled down a staircase, descending for nearly an eternity, stopping eventually in a cave bathed in torchlight.

The old woman stood in silhouette at the far end of the cave, her arm reaching through an entrance to another hall, a smile on her face. Her lips pursed as she cooed at whatever lay beyond. "Come. I have someone to introduce you to," the woman said, her tone tender and far too familiar.

Despite her trepidation, Tressa's curiosity propelled her feet forward.

The woman beckoned as Tressa drew closer. A pungent smell, so similar to the vinegar they used to pickle their cucumbers in Hutton's Bridge but laced with the stench of decay, permeated the dank air. Tressa’s nose wrinkled, and she fought instinct, leaving her hands hanging at her side instead of covering her face.

"This is Decarian," the old woman said, sweeping an arm out to the side.

Tressa peeked around the corner. She gasped, her hands covering her mouth in horror. "What is that?" she managed to squeak out.

"This is the guardian, Decarian. He separates Dragonlands from Desolation. He keeps you safe from what lies beyond."

Tressa closed her eyes, hoping the monstrosity before her would disappear. When her eyes opened, nothing had changed. Only steps ahead the floor broke away. Flames jumped and licked at the broken edge. And beyond? A beast standing taller than the caverns under the Ruins of Ebon. It observed Tressa with eyes the size of her entire body. Four horns protruded from its head, two curling up, and two curling down. Long talons stuck out from its hands. Tressa could only see to its waist, the rest of the beast was hidden by flames.