TALLOS

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nearly dead with exhaustion from a night spent walking in the moonlight, straining to see, Tallos staggered through the harsh landscape like a man possessed. His every step was labored as he fought to maintain the concentration required to prevent a fall that would harm his precious cargo. He’d found that it was easier to carry the bloody bundle of fur that lay across his arms if he reached with his hands toward the collar of his shirt and took hold. So it was with a collar stretched halfway down his chest that Tallos stumbled toward home, hoping desperately to find the fire still lit.

As he trudged, he’d had more time to think than was wanted. He recalled a story his mother had told him when he was a child. She had died when he was young, but he remembered her well. She spoke of a cursed man, Nekasr. Everywhere this man went, everyone this man knew, and everything this man touched, eventually withered and died. It did not happen immediately, she said. Nekasr did not believe in curses, and every time misfortune befell him, he would move to another place, making new friends, and sometimes even starting a family. Each time Nekasr would grow to find himself contented, so much so that he would forget all that he and those he’d loved had suffered in his past lives. And it was then, just as he forgot, that the gods sought to remind him. The God of the River would flood his home and drown his livestock, the God of the Mountain would crush his loved ones with landslides and boulders, and the God of the Dawnstar would bring forth brilliant rays of early light to illuminate the destruction in all its glory. Nekasr always survived, unscathed, so that he could witness it all without distraction. The Mighty Three, his mother said, did not like a man who forgot that all he had was precious, all he had was fragile, and all he had could be taken away. A man is not a god, and a man who foolishly sought to gain and protect a godly amount of happiness would reap a godly amount of misery and despair in its stead.

“Stay with me, girl,” he spoke to his limp companion that lay across his arms. Each step must have been torture for Lia as the wound in her side was twisted and stretched. Tallos had thought many times about stopping and making a fire so that he could scorch her wound shut the best way he knew how, but having dropped his bags prior to running, he no longer had the necessary implements to make one quickly enough to justify not heading straight home. Nor did he have a needle with which to stitch her shut; their only needle was kept in a box on the clothes chest. Would it even be enough at this point, he worried, looking at her dangling head.

“Lia,” he said to her with a whispered shout, and her head moved toward him somewhat, enough to make weak eye contact for a moment. “Good girl, we are almost there.”

But he could not look down at her without seeing just how soaked his shirt was with her blood. It had climbed and spread throughout his clothing, infusing every fiber with its metallic-smelling crimson.

He had determined during his trek home that he had not sustained any injuries, which only served to make him feel more guilty about the multiple wounds now sapping the life from Lia. His sleepless mind chased tangents at a frenzied pace, refusing to allow him to plan the series of tasks he would have to perform in order to patch Lia and catch up to his wife.

Leona.

Fear ripped through him as he considered what he may find upon coming to their home. He imagined approaching the wooden steps that led up to the door. Leona had carved his name on the topmost step, a thing he’d weakly protested out of embarrassment. “Stomp your feet and cover it with dirt as you walk in, then, so you will not cover the floors instead,” she’d said, somewhat hurt. Not wanting to sully the carving she must have spent hours on, Tallos had always stomped his feet on the two preceding steps.

Those memories would not preclude his thoughts of doom. He imagined that topmost step caked with mud—mud from a Northman’s boot. The door slowly creaked open in his mind, revealing a scene of utter destruction. The items of the house were strewn about as if wild animals had been trapped inside. The air was pungent with the smell of sweat from dirty, desperate men. A trail of clothing, Leona’s clothing or the remnants of them, led to the door of their bedroom. Torn strips of her delicate blue dress lay on the floor, covered with spots of blood that had flowed from her nose. Her undergarments peeked from beneath the partially closed door, and as it swung open, Tallos could see the scene in all its brutality.

He shook his head violently as if to be rid of the images and bring himself back to alertness. It took all his effort to be able to focus.

Gods, let there be embers with which to make a fire. And see that Leona is safe, alone in the southern woods.

“There will be a fire, girl,” Tallos said. “It will hurt, but we will get you better.”

Lia whimpered in what sounded like weak approval. She likes me talking to her, thought Tallos.

“You remember helping to build that giant stove don’t you? All those stones we moved?” Lia was not content merely accompanying Tallos on his errands. She loved to help him pull the sled whether it was piled with wood or stone or iron.

“It will go for almost two days with a full load of wood in it. That was your idea to make it only burn a few logs on one side while others dropped down one by one?” Lia’s tail may have wagged, but it was hard to tell.

“We will have to work quickly when we do get home. We do not want your mother alone in the woods for long or she’ll get lost. I will have to leave you after you are patched up and go look for her, but I won’t be gone for long. Don’t worry.”

Tallos was more concerned about leaving Lia at home alone than going after Leona. His wife would be easy enough for him to track once she hit the muddy riverbank, but Lia might hurt herself if she tried to follow when he was away.

“You have to promise to wait for us though,” Tallos continued. “I will leave you with enough food and water that you will have no excuses for doing otherwise.”

He thought it best not to tell Lia what his plans were then, after they came back for her; she was no city dog. But once Lia was healthy enough to walk, they would all head south again, possibly as far as Rivervale. Leona was content in their home in the woods, but he knew she might wish, even if she did not admit it, not even to herself, to visit the city, to see the sights and taste the foods. Tallos could take up a trade easily enough. Things would be difficult at first, but he would be able to make enough coin to support them if any man could.

His home came into view in the distance, and as he feared, no smoke rose from the small flue. He resisted the urge to run, as it would only cause more pain for Lia, and walked the remaining way with anxiety burning in his every bone, spurring him to move faster.

His name was clear to see on the top step; there was no more dirt on them than usual, and the front door was closed. Tallos struggled for a moment with the latch, finding it unlocked, and was greeted with a sight not far from what he’d expected. The home was in complete disarray, but he was relieved to see no blood, nor a trail of clothing, heading toward their bedroom door.

He gently placed Lia down near the hearth, which was warm but no longer contained flame or ember. Before starting the fire, however, Tallos ran to their bedroom and swung open the door, eyes focused to see any horror splayed out before him, should it be there. Relief washed over him as he saw only the same ransacked mess that greeted him in the main room. It gutted him to see the stones he and Leona had collected at the river strewn aimlessly around the room, along with the clothing from their drawers, but he reminded himself it was of little consequence so long as his wife was safe. The bed had been overturned and some of the flooring ripped out, but Tallos was not a rich enough man to have anything hidden beneath.

He returned to the main room and was troubled to realize his flint that normally rested upon the hearth’s mantle was nowhere to be seen. It was a common item of little worth, but he felt the loss of it horribly. Without it, starting a fire became a skill that he was not thoroughly adept at.

Fecking Northmen! Tallos flung some debris across the room in a rage, cursing his luck.

Deciding to search the rest of his home for the flint in the case they had merely thrown it down elsewhere, Tallos made his way into the kitchen. And there he stopped.

Standing in the doorway, Tallos’s head swam with dizzy regret. This was the room where he had last seen Leona, the room in which she’d begged him not to leave. He remembered it clearly: his anger, his unkind words in response to her questioning his wisdom, and his leaving her, sad and alone.

Bent over the wooden table of the kitchen, skirts torn, was Leona’s lifeless body.