Hunted (Book 2) (2 page)

“Before you ask me where they could have gone,” Tressa
said, holding up her hand, “I don’t have an answer. I’m just as stumped as
you.”

Jarrett’s eyes swept the village. “Bastian said some of the
villagers wanted to leave before he took the army into the fog. Maybe when the
fog dropped, they took the opportunity.”

“No.” Tressa folded her arms across her chest. “Not
everyone. I know at least one person who would never leave.” Without waiting
for Jarrett, she marched across the village to the town hall. The biggest
residence in Hutton’s Bridge, that of the head of the council, Udor.

She shuddered just thinking of the man who had tried to
convince her to be a second wife to him. He’d promised protection. In exchange
she’d have to whore herself out to him. Tressa had chosen almost certain death
in the fog rather than give into his lecherous advances.

She pushed open the door to his cottage. “Udor?” She strode
into the main room, expecting to see him lounging on a cushy chair, smoking a
weed that made his attitude even more intolerable.

He wasn’t there. The chair was empty. Books sat on the
shelf. Toys were scattered on the floor. Usually his home smelled of ham and
stewed vegetables, but nothing permeated the air. Not even a stale whiff.

“I don’t understand.” She sank into Udor’s chair. Tressa
pressed her nose into the fabric. Nothing. “It’s as if no one has been here in
years.”

Jarrett closed his eyes and pressed his hands together. A
faint glow emanated from his fingertips. It rose into the air, blue and yellow
spirals twisting around each other until they merged into a brilliant orange
dagger of light. Jarrett threw the dagger. It flew out the door and into the
village.

“Come on,” he said, motioning for Tressa to follow.

She jumped out of the chair, only steps behind Jarrett’s
black boots. They ran into the center of the village again. The magical orange
blade spun in a circle three times, then darted from building to building,
burning an amber circle above each doorway. With dizzying speed, the magic touched
every building in Hutton’s Bridge. Then it came to rest again in Jarrett’s
palm.

He clapped his hands together and it was extinguished.

“You can do this but you couldn’t use your magic to fight
Stacia?” Tressa asked.

“Trust me, when it comes to battle, my magic is useless.
This is basic detection magic. My queen insisted I learn it when I became head
of the guard. Nothing impressive.” Jarrett said. “Now watch the circles.”

Tressa trained her eyes on a set of doorways to the east.
Each circle shimmered amber, then cooled to an ice blue. “What does that mean?”
She looked at Jarrett, his eyes narrowed and his lips set tightly together. He
didn’t respond. “Jarrett?”

“How many in your village can use magic?”

“None.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked Tressa
straight in the eyes. “That can’t be right.”

“It is. We all believed magic wasn’t real. Of course, there
were stories, but it was all in our imaginations. I didn’t witness magic until
I stepped inside the fog.”

Jarrett’s grip tightened. “Are you sure? Because this is
telling me something far different.”

Tressa gazed at her village again, not seeing anything
different than before. “What do you see that I don’t?”

Jarrett sighed. He stroked the small black goatee on the
tip of his chin. “If my magic is right, and it’s never wrong, your entire
village has been cleansed.”

It was as if he were speaking another language. Hutton’s
Bridge was empty, but it certainly wasn’t any cleaner than normal. “Is that a
magic term?”

He nodded, still messing with the goatee.

“Well?” She was getting impatient. She took another look at
the cottages and the spots she’d seen the magic touch. Nothing. But Tressa knew
something was amiss. It wasn’t just the missing villagers; it was the lack of
smells. The stillness. They wouldn’t have all left. Not so quickly. And Udor?
Never.

“A few hundred people, right?” he asked.

Tressa nodded.

“Well,” he continued, “people are constantly thinking. And
those thoughts don’t just happen and disappear. The stronger the thought, the
longer it lingers. Something dramatic must have happened for your villagers to
leave so quickly. Yet, there are no thoughts left. Someone cleansed the
village.”

“So if I’m thinking something, you can read my mind with
your magic?” She suddenly felt uncomfortable, remembering those few times she’d
thought of him as more than just a friend. When she’d enjoyed his kiss after
killing Stacia. A blush swept over her neck and cheeks, dousing them in pink.
He wasn’t supposed to know. She still loved Bastian. Appreciating another man
didn’t change that.

“No,” Jarrett reassured her. “It takes preparation. You saw
what I did in that cottage. Have you ever seen me do that around you?”
Jarrett’s brown eyes locked on hers.

She hadn’t, but she knew so little about magic. He could be
lying.

“I’m not lying to you.”

“Ah ha!” Tressa waved a finger in front of his face. “I was
just thinking you might be.”

Jarrett rolled his eyes and laughed. “Believe what you
will. I have never lied to you and I never will. It isn’t in my nature. The
longer you know me, the more you will see that is true.” He turned toward the
cottages, a grave look on his face again. “Now let’s figure out what happened
to your villagers.”

“How?” Tressa asked.

Jarrett poked his head in the nearest doorway, then looked
at her again. “I’m not sure.”

Tressa joined him inside the dark cottage. Much like
Udor’s, it seemed no one had packed for their journey. It was as if they’d all
disappeared. Clothes remained in baskets. Bread and mead sat undisturbed on the
table. One basket overflowed with clean nappies.

Tressa rubbed the soft fabric between her fingers. So clean
and pure. Her heart ached a little, thinking of the babies she had so
desperately wanted with Bastian. “No good mother would leave without nappies
for her baby.”

“I agree. Or food for the journey.” Jarrett stood with a
hand on the open pantry door. It was stocked full of jam, jellies, spices, and
jerky. “There’s no honey in here.” He rattled jars aside, rummaging through the
shelves.

“Why are you so obsessed with finding honey?” Tressa asked,
folding the nappy and placing it carefully back on the pile. “Don’t you have
honey elsewhere?”

“Yes, we do, but honey from Hutton’s Bridge is…special.”

“Why?”

Jarrett closed the door. “There is magic in the honey of Hutton's
Bridge.”

“I’ve told you a hundred times, Jarrett. There hasn’t been
any magic in Hutton’s Bridge since the fog fell. We don’t believe in it, much
less know how to use it.”

Jarrett’s head perked up. His eyes searched the room. His
hands trembled. “That’s not entirely true.” He rushed out the door, leaving
Tressa standing in the center of the cottage confused.

She chased after him. His dark hair retreated around a
corner. Tressa followed. Not that there was much danger of losing him. This was
her home. She ran past the tavern and the smithy, around another corner and
through the center of the village, following his footprints in the dirt.

It occurred to her that his were the only footprints. The
people, the smells, and even their footsteps were gone. She looked up,
searching for Jarrett, but he’d left her sight. Pausing, she listened and heard
his boots stomping on the ground to her right. She raced around the side of a
cottage.

Jarrett stood not far away. His hands were pressed together
again, the familiar strands of blue and yellow emanating from his fingertips
and swirling into a flaming orange.

It wasn’t the magic that gave her pause this time. He was
standing in front of her cottage.

“I was drawn here,” Jarrett said. “Can you tell me anything
about this cottage?” The strands of magic exploded in a bright yellow flash and
surrounded the walls. The glow pulsated, engulfing Tressa’s home in a fire made
of magic.

Tressa didn’t respond.

“It’s strange,” Jarrett said, running his hands over the
glow. “I hadn’t felt anything. The village was empty of all magic. Then it was
if there was a hard tap on my shoulder and I followed the feeling here. Odd. So,
so odd.”

He jiggled the handle. "The door won't open."
Jarrett stepped backward, then heaved his shoulder into the solid wood. It
didn't budge. He looked over his shoulder at Tressa. “You have a strange look
on your face.”

Tressa composed herself. “I do?”

“Who lived here?” Jarrett asked.

Tressa walked past him and into the cottage. “I thought you
said the door wouldn’t open?” Her cottage had been ransacked by the other
villagers, as she’d suspected. Still, some of things she remembered remained.

Jarrett followed her into the cottage. “Is this where you
lived?”

Tressa nodded. “Up until a few months ago, it was all I had
ever known. I lived here with my Granna, my great-grandmother. I thought the
rest of my family was dead.” She choked back a few tears. “Granna died just
before I was sent into the fog. She had been our leader. She chose me to go.”
Tressa paused. She hadn’t known Jarrett long, but he already knew so much about
her. Telling him the one thing
she’d kept from everyone else seemed natural now. “She told me she knew I’d
succeed because she’d seen it.”

“Seen it how?” he asked gently, placing a hand on her arm.

Tressa shrugged. “I don’t know. Granna said it was some
kind of magic. I dismissed it as the ramblings of an old woman.” She bent over,
running her hand along the headboard of Granna’s bed. “Maybe it wasn’t…”

“It wasn’t,” Jarrett said. “Something is being protected
here. I can feel it.”

“Then why didn’t the ones who—what did you call it?
Cleansed? What about the ones who cleansed Hutton’s Bridge? Why didn’t they see
this?”

“I don’t know.” He walked around the small cottage. “You didn’t
own much, did you?”

“No one in Hutton’s Bridge had a lot. Resources were tight.
We had to reuse everything we could. I'm surprised they didn't repurpose
everything I owned after I left.”

“I’d like to say they were fools, but it makes sense. I
can’t even imagine living like that. Feeling trapped all the time. It’s a
wonder your village even survived. Many might have rebelled or killed each
other.”

“My Granna was thirteen when the fog fell. She became the
leader and under her guidance the village stayed strong.” If Tressa stared hard
enough, she could almost make out Granna sitting in her rocking chair in the
corner. She wished she could reach out and touch her again, if only for a
moment.

Jarrett turned around, a quizzical look on his face. “What
do you mean she became the leader? What about the adults? Why would they let a
thirteen-year-old girl make the decisions?”

Tressa hesitated. So he didn’t know. Why would he? No one
would. As far as they knew, Hutton’s Bridge was filled with dead bodies. “When
the fog fell, the adults went missing. Granna woke up in the morning to the
sound of a baby crying. When she left her cottage, she couldn’t find any
adults. Neither could the other kids. They were alone, trapped inside the fog.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Jarrett continued to look in
every corner. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Bastian mentioned that he understood our
past better now, but we didn’t get a chance to talk before you and I had to
leave for here. When we get back to Ashoom, perhaps he’ll have more to tell
us.” Tressa watched Jarrett poke and prod her cottage. She wondered what he was
looking for, or if he even knew.

He threw his hands up and sat down. “I can’t find anything
here. But I can promise you that this cottage is protected by a very powerful
magic. There might be something hidden here. Someone is trying to tell us
something.”

Frustration welled up in Tressa. She wanted to go back in
time, just a few months, and question Granna about her visions. She wanted to
follow Granna one of the nights she slipped out of the cottage, taking her
little owl Nerak with her. Or ask Granna to tell her about magic instead of
rolling her eyes as if she knew it all.

“I don’t know what it is.” Tressa sighed, giving up. “Do
you want me to take you to the apiary now?”

Jarrett stood up. “Yes.”

For a fleeting moment, Tressa could have sworn she really
did see Granna sitting on the chair, smiling and braiding her hair. She blinked a few times and Granna was
gone. Tressa’s heart ached, every beat pulling her further away from her
memories.

In silence, Jarrett followed Tressa out of the cottage and
across the village square. The beehives were on the far side of the village,
away from the cottages and buildings. Tressa hadn’t been there much. Only a few
people had tended to the bees, wearing the veil that protected their eyes and using
the long scraper to free the honey from the comb. Everyone else was warned to
stay away. The bees could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Worse, if a bee
stung a villager who was allergic, little could be done to save them.

“If you’re looking for something specific, I’m not sure I
can help you. I don’t know much about the bees. Or the honey, for that matter.”
Tressa led Jarrett around the back of a barn to an open area where the bees
were kept.

She stopped short and he bumped into her. “What is it?” he
asked.

“It’s gone. All of it.” She clearly remembered hives hanging
from the trees. Now, there was only an open grassy area. Tressa spun around,
her arms hanging down. "I don't understand."

"Nothing is right here," Jarrett said. He reached
out, taking one of her hands in his. "I promise I will help you find out
what happened in your town."

"And I have to find my people."

An ear-piercing screech ripped through the air.

"Not again," Tressa said. Jarrett tugged on her
hand and they ran into the trees at the edge of the forest. Peeking out, Tressa
could see a red dragon, claws bared, circling high in the sky over her town. It
swooped from side to side, huffing gusts of air from its nostrils.

"What is that doing here?" Jarrett asked.

"As if I know." She squeezed Jarrett's hand with
an iron grip. He didn't pull back.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised the Red would send
a scout. But how could they have known so quickly?" Jarrett placed his
free hand on Tressa's shoulder.

She took a deep breath, attempting to steady her shaking
limbs. Dragons. Again. Couldn't they just leave her alone?

The dragon landed in the town square, in the same spot
where Stacia's mother had landed just before she died. Tressa remembered the
awe she'd felt that day. Now she harbored nothing but fear for the beasts.
Except the cobalt dragon. The one she thought might be Connor.

The red dragon's snout snuffled along the ground, its
breath kicking up dirt in its wake.

"It's not a sentry. It's hunting." Jarrett said,
his words tumbling out so fast Tressa could barely understand him. "Climb
now." He boosted Tressa into the nearest tree, her arms flailing as she
reached for a branch.

They huddled together in the upper boughs of the tree,
Jarrett's arms around Tressa's waist. "Don't move," he whispered in
her ear. "Dragons have a good sense of smell, but their visual acuity is
even sharper. If it doesn't see us move, it's possible it will miss us."

Tressa watched the dragon through leaves and branches. Its
claws dug into the grass. Its tail flicked across the ground slamming into the
sides of cottages, leaving dents in its wake. The dragon's chin lifted, and its
jaws closed. A small hooting noise came from between its teeth.

"It sounds like an owl," Jarrett said. "I've
never seen a dragon do that before."

Tressa nodded, too scared to say anything. She had heard
that noise before too. Her little owl friend Narek had hooted to her in the
forest when it was still shrouded in fog.

Another red dragon descended from the sky, landing next to
the first. They nuzzled.

"Mates," Jarrett whispered. “And I’m surprised
they didn’t sniff out our horses and eat them.”

Tressa nudged him with her elbow. She didn't need a running
commentary. Jarrett went silent, at last. They watched the two dragons wander
around Hutton's Bridge, sniffing at the ground and the cottages. After a while,
they took flight, their wings spread out so much they blocked the sun for a few
breaths.

"It's okay to go back down now," Jarrett said.
"Let's grab the horses and get out of here."

"We should go to Ashoom and ask for help." Tressa
looked toward the east. Bastian was still there. Injured. Waiting for her.

"There's no one there who can help us," Jarrett
said. "If we go to my home in the Sands, I can almost guarantee a small
army."

Tressa sighed. She'd have to choose again. Months ago she’d
left Bastian in the forest with their parents, and snuck off into the town seeking to
destroy Stacia. Leaving him had been hard, but it paid off. Stacia was dead. Now
she struggled to make the choice again.

It had been a long time since she'd had a moment alone with
Bastian. Though she wanted, more than anything, to sit and have a long talk
with him, she knew helping her people was more important. She couldn't let her
own feelings get in the way of what was right.

She thought of Bastian lying injured, his wounds gaping and
crusted with blood. His mouth pulled into a smile for her benefit. Perhaps he'd
heal better without her around. He wouldn't need to pretend he was okay for her
sake.

Tressa steeled her heart. "Let's go, then."

"And what about Bastian?" Jarrett asked.

"Bastian needs time to heal, whether I'm there or
not," Tressa said, the truth catching in her throat. The veracity of her
statement wasn't easy to swallow. "We will ride to the Sands and ask your
people for help."

"If you're sure," Jarrett said. His eyes were
warm, caring. Tressa knew he'd do as she asked. All she had to do was insist
they return to the castle. To Bastian. He would follow without question.

But no. She’d made her choice.

Tressa nodded. "I am."

They made for the horses they'd hidden in the forest.
Tressa ventured one last glance at her empty town. Her past had been erased. Her
new life held only uncertainty.

"We have to hurry," Jarrett said, mounting his
horse. "I want to get to the first oasis by nightfall. Especially if those
dragons decide to come back. We need to get out of here."

Tressa dug her heels into her horse's sides. "Let's
go."