Hidden (Book 1) (19 page)

Swords clanged in the damp air.
Bastian's crossed with Adam's, over and over again until their forearms ached.
Adam dropped his to the ground and held his hands in the air.

"I'm
done. For today, at least." Adam rubbed his hands up and down his arms.
"I'm not sure if you're getting us ready for war or trying to
systematically wear us down."

Bastian
laughed. "You're stronger now than you were a few weeks ago."

"True.
True. When do you think we'll be ready to head out?" Adam nodded at the
fog.

Since
the day Bastian argued with the townspeople, everyone had decided to stay. Those
who could pick up a sword spent a couple of hours each day practicing. The rest
of the time they packed. Deciding what to bring and what to leave was hard.
They didn't know if they'd ever make it back into the village.

Bastian
encouraged them to pack light. To only bring what was necessary. It didn't make
it any easier. Adam had a rough time. As the only healer, he had a variety of
tools and instruments at his disposal. But they were iron, and heavy. Bringing
them could save someone's life, but he wasn't sure how to carry everything
himself. Udor had promised him an apprentice. Yet no one had shown interest.

"In
a few days," Bastian answered. "I don't want to wait too long or
people might forget what we're training for. It's too easy to fall back into
familiar patterns." He clapped his uncle on the back. "I'm glad
you're training. It's important for you to be protected because we desperately
need your skills out there. But if you should be attacked, you must be able to
defend yourself."

Adam
stretched out his arms, swinging them side-to-side. "I think I'll be ready
for anything tossed at me."

Bastian
sighed. "I don't want anyone to be cocky. None of you know what's out
there. This village," Bastian looked around at the simple homes, "is
nothing like what's out there." He walked ahead, Adam next to him.
"The buildings are made out of the same materials, but the people are far
more ruthless and dangerous. They make Hutton’s Bridge look like it's populated
by simpletons."

"Bastian!"
Kaima
ran
toward him, her skirts lifted up to her ankles to keep her from tripping over
herself. "We need your help. Over here! Yours too, Adam."

The men
took off running after
Kaima
. A howl of pain came
from the back of the town hall.

"Hurry,"
Kaima
yelled over her shoulder.

Two men
struggled behind a building, their arms wound around each other. A child lay on
the ground, covered in blood.

"Get
away from him."

Bastian
wrested the two men apart, pulling on their arms until they let go.

"He
tried to kill my nephew!"
Tom, the butcher, yelled.

Bastian
looked down to the ground, where the young boy, Lukas, lay holding his arm.

"The
boy wanted to train. I was only helping him out. It was an accident."
James, a farmer, screamed back.

"Both
of you, back off," Adam ordered through gritted teeth. He tore off a strip
of his shirt and placed it on the boy's arm, staunching the wound. Blood
bubbled on the side, then slowed to a trickle. "Someone could have taken
the time to stop his bleeding instead of fighting about it."

The two
men looked sheepish, their eyes toward the ground.

"Look,"
Bastian said, placing his arms around the shoulders of the two men, "you
must learn to control your anger. If you don't, innocents will die. Focus
solely on the enemy."

"He
shouldn't have been fighting with my nephew," Tom insisted.

"Why
not? It’s possible he'll be in as much danger as the rest of us. It won't hurt
him to learn some combat techniques," Bastian said.

Lukas
puffed up his chest.

"But
you should know better than to strike a child,” Bastian said. “Control. That's
the one thing everyone needs to focus on. Not the strength behind the swing of
your sword. Not the angle of the sword's entry. All of that comes together if
you have control."

Bastian
dropped his arms and stood in front of both men. "You're going to need it
out there." He pointed toward the fog. "What's out there will test
your mettle. It will push you to the breaking point. It will force you to
choose between life and death, between love and pity. You will be tested. And
you will be changed."

He
turned his back on the two men, done with them. They wouldn't listen. He knew
that. Until they saw it for themselves, their closed minds wouldn't accept
anything Bastian said. The only credibility he had came from his return. He was
the only one. Ever. It held some weight, but stories couldn't even outweigh
experience.

"How
is he?" Bastian dropped to one knee next to Lukas.

"He'll
survive," Adam said. He helped the boy sit up and prop his back against
the side of the meeting hall. "But he won't be able to lift a sword. Maybe
not even a pack."

Tears
streamed down the boy's cheeks. He wiped them away angrily with his sleeve,
leaving a streak of blood on his face. "I only wanted to learn. I want to
fight."

"Lukas,
I am proud of you for wanting to fight. But the children aren’t going to come
with us into the fog."

Lukas
nodded. The tears slowed. “But if something comes here again, another dragon or
a beast, like the one you’ve warned us about, I want to be able to fight!”

Lukas’
eyes were wide, full of hope. At the same time, they were fierce, willing to
fight. Bastian recognized that. He’d seen it in his own eyes. "I need
someone to protect my daughter. Not a grown man. As you can see, their petty
disagreements get in the way of what's important," Bastian said.

The boy
took a quick glance at his uncle.

"What
I need is someone who will be with her all the time. Make sure she’s safe. Maybe
even hold her hand. Can you do that?"

"Hold
hands with a girl?" Lukas’ nose crinkled at the thought.

"I'd
consider it a great favor if you'd help me. I can't fight if I'm worried about her.
If I know she's with you, I'll feel much better."

Lukas’
back straightened. He sat up a little taller. "I'll do it, sir."

"Bastian.
Not sir. I've done nothing to deserve that title."
Bastian
ruffled Lukas’ sandy hair.
"Now head home with your uncle. Tell
your aunt what happened and how you've been rewarded for your bravery."

Lukas
stood up, a little shaky. Tom placed his hand on his nephew’s uninjured arm.

"I
am sorry,” James said.

"It's
okay," Bastian said. Everyone knew he didn't mean it, though. He'd said it
for Lukas’ benefit. "Control yourself and we won't have to have another
discussion."

The
men, Lukas, and
Kaima
walked away in silence. After
only a few steps, they split up, heading back to their respective homes.

Bastian
let out a long sigh and ran his hands through his hair.

"No
one ever said this would be easy," Adam said. He wiped his hands on his
shirt, smearing blood all over the light fabric. "I'd better get home and wash
up. Do a little laundry too."

Bastian
laughed at his uncle covered in red hair, red freckles, and red blood. "I
know, I know. I meant what I said, though. Until they actually see what it's
like out there, they can't understand."

Adam
nodded. "It's like having a cold bucket of water dropped on you after a
long night of drinking. Very sobering."

"Yes."
Bastian looked out at the misty forest, wondering if the beast was lurking just
at the edge of the fog, awaiting his return. Soon enough they'd meet again, and
this time Bastian was prepared to kill it.

Bastian pulled off his shirt
and settled into bed as the sun set. He was already missing the freedom of the
life he'd tasted outside of Hutton's Bridge. He thought of the sunset he and
Tressa had seen as they made love in the grass. He felt a familiar throbbing.
He groaned, whishing she was there with him. Their reunion had been too short.

Adam
only questioned his haste to get the army ready once. He'd asked if Bastian was
hurrying them along only so he could find Tressa. Without hesitation, he'd
admitted that was his plan. He knew going into the fog would fruitless. If the
map Udor showed him was to be believed, then Tressa could be walking in
circles. If Bastian hadn't thought to climb the trees, he wouldn't have known
to go straight through.

But
without knowing where she was, diving into the fog without a plan was a waste
of time. He needed an army. Not just to fight the beast or protect themselves
once they found their way through fog. No, he needed them to be able to fight
the people in the trees. The guardians.

He'd
seen enough to know the woman was dangerous. It was likely the other two were
just as lethal. If he could destroy them, then the fog would disappear. Only
then could he find Tressa.

If
she was still alive.

He
couldn't even stand to think of her body
laying
dead,
or consumed by the beast wandering in the forest. She wasn't stupid. She'd
figure something out. Tressa always did.

A knock
on his door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come
in," he said. Before he could stand and pull his shirt on, a young woman
walked in. She held a shawl tightly around her chest, her hands trembling.

"My
mother asked me to see if you needed attending. Your wife is dead and you've
been injured. I'd be pleased to help you." She dropped her shawl to the
floor, revealing a loosely tied chemise and breasts straining to be let free.

Months
ago, Bastian would have been tempted. He wouldn't have hesitated to pull the
string, letting her blouse fall open, so he could fondle her breasts. His life
with
Vinya
was unfulfilling, sexless, and depressing.
Any time a woman wanted a dalliance in the back of the forge, he was willing to
oblige. It was his way of drowning out the fact he couldn't have the woman he
wanted and was stuck with one he didn't. He let the other girls dress the
wounds in his heart with tongues, nipples, and gasps of pleasure, despite unsanctioned
coupling being against their laws.

She
stood in front of him, her breasts heaving. In the past it was a turn on. Now
Bastian saw it only as desperation.

"If
I send you home, will your mother be angry?" Bastian bent over, picked up
her shawl, and held it out to the trembling girl.

She
nodded. Taking the shawl from him with shaking hands, she wrapped it back
around her
shoulders,
tighter than it was when she'd
walked in. Her mother had probably forced her to loosen it up. Before he
stepped into the fog, Bastian was the bad boy none of their mothers wanted
their daughters around. Now, as something of a hero, he'd been elevated to the man
who mothers wanted to sell their daughters to.

It was
unfortunate he'd changed or the night ahead would have been far more
interesting.

"Take
my bed." He gestured to the rumpled mess of sheets. "I'll sleep on
the floor. In the morning, you can tell your mother whatever you'd like."

The
girl nodded, and scurried to the bed without saying a word. She sat down,
unsure what to do next.

"Do
you have a name?" he asked her, finding it ironic he was getting to know
more people in his village since he'd come back than he had before leaving.

"Christa."
It came out as a whisper.

"You
can lay down, Christa. There aren't any bugs in my bed."

A smile
crossed her lips, but quickly fell away. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure,"
Bastian said. He settled into an upholstered chair. Over the years it had been
patched many times. The damask fabric had once been luxurious and rare. Bastian's
grandparents were wealthy merchants before the town was trapped in fog.

"Did
your wife really die out there because of some beast or did you kill her?"
She covered her mouth and her shawl slipped down, revealing ample amounts of
forbidden skin.

He tore
his eyes away. "I didn't kill her." Bastian stood up and paced around
the small room. "Is that what they're saying?"

"A
few. My mother didn't believe it. It's why she sent me here. She said if she
believed the rumors, then she would have kept me home."

"And
why, exactly, did she send you here?"

Christa's
cheeks grew pink splotches. "To see if you needed a nurse for your
daughter."

Bastian
raised an eyebrow. "Not to seduce me?"

"Maybe.
Only if you found me pleasing." She shifted on the bed, leaving room for
Bastian. "Do I please you?" She dropped the shawl again and began
untying the remainder of her laces. Eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at
Bastian with deep brown eyes.

He
fought his instincts as her breasts spilled out of her top.

"Is
this what you want, Christa?" Bastian forced his eyes to look at hers and
not one bit lower. "If you pulled my ribbon at the next ceremony, would
you be happy?"

"Of
course. I'd be proud to be your mate. I know I could produce more heirs for
you.
A boy this time.
I promise I'd give you more than
Vinya
ever did." She slipped her arms out of the
sleeves and let the dress fall to her waist.

Bastian
couldn't help but look at her. She was beautiful.
So young
and pure.
He could teach her so much.

But she
wasn't Tressa. Bastian shook his head. "Pull your dress up. I won't do
this."

"It's
too soon, I understand." Within moments she'd covered herself again.

But she
didn't understand. None of them did. Just Adam. Only he knew how desperate he
was to rescue Tressa. Maybe Udor, but he never understood love. To him, Tressa
would have been a possession.

In the
end, it would be better for none of them to know everything he was doing in
Hutton's Bridge was for Tressa. He no longer cared if the villagers stayed in
the fog or left it. As soon as he found Tressa, he'd turn his back on
everything and everyone in the village.

"Dada."
The voice as small as its owner pushed open the door.

"Farah."
Bastian squatted and scooped the little girl up in his arms.

"Who
that?" Farah pointed one fat finger at Christa, who thankfully, was fully
clothed and presentable again.

"That's
Christa. She came over to play with you and help you get off to sleep. Didn't
you Christa?"

She
stood up and curtsied. "Yes, I did." A smile spread across her face
as she sat on the floor next to Farah. "Why are you still up, little one?
Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?"

Farah
clapped her hands together and giggled. "Oh, yes!
Momma
no tell
stories. I like stories!" She grabbed Christa's hand and
pulled her back into her bedroom.

Bastian
sank into his bed
,
relieved Christa was gone
.
If she'd gone too much farther, he might have had to leave the cottage and
spend the night at Adam's. He was in love with Tressa, but he was a man too.
He'd never been any good at saying no to a willing woman.

He let
his thoughts drift to the night he and Tressa had reunited. He slipped one hand
under the covers and let the memories overtake him. When he was done, he rolled
over and fell into a sound sleep.