Retriever of the Lost Souls (Retriever Series Book 1)

by Brian

  Another sharp cramp brought her to the present as it wrapped around to the front, radiating down her legs. When she leaned forward to remove the bread from under the embers, there was a slight pop, followed by an intense pulling around her belly as a gush of warm water spewed from her womb. A moment later the door crashed opened, and Mengo’s voice boomed throughout their cruck.

  “Woman, where are you? Get your arse over here and greet your husband!”

  She ignored the pain in her body, as she waddled over to him to help him remove his furs, tiptoeing she reached up to kiss him on the cheek.

  “Is my dinner ready?”

  “Yes Sir. Sit, and I’ll serve you.”

  The tightness gripped her belly again.

  “This child is coming soon,” she told him after serving his supper. He glared at her and growled.

  Her eyes flashed with terror over his misogynistic hate for women.

  A few hours later, her moans increased as the pains of labor wracked her tiny body.

  Turning to Mengo, she said, “May I go lie down now? It’s time.” She knew that none of the midwives would be available for her due to Mengo’s prior actions.

  He dismissed her with an icy emotionless stare and a wave of his hand. She waddled into the back part of the cruck with her eldest son in tow.

  “Mama, are you okay? Do you need me to help again?”

  Darfus was a tall, handsome boy with the height, strength, and intelligence of someone much older than his 11 years. He had helped his mother give birth two times already, so he knew what he had to do.

  “Yes, I will,” she said with a faint smile. Terror filled her mind.

  “Darfus, I need you to pay attention. God has told me I am having a girl.”

  Darfus thrust out his chest and stood tall. Talaya smiled at him and lifted a weak hand toward his face. His hatred of his father began in his eighth year after being thrown across the cruck for helping her.

  “Nothing will happen!” He said.

  “Please promise what I have asked of you.” She recalled all they had discussed a few days ago. The most crucial point of their conversation had been his promise that he should protect this child, no matter what.

  “Yes, Mama. I’ll take care of this child the best way I can. I will protect her and keep her from harm.”

  Another contraction wracked her tiny frame. With a deep groan, she motioned for her son to press on her belly while she pushed. Moments later, the child’s head surfaced, and Darfus eased the little body out of his mother and into his arms. He gasped in wonder, for the child had the darkest and longest hair he had ever seen. “Mama, you were right! It is a girl.” He glanced back at the door fearfully, just waiting for Gorb to make his appearance as they both knew he would.

  Talaya glanced at Darfus and said, “remember your promise.”

  “I will, Mama.”

  He cleaned out her mouth and gave her a slight smack on her bottom. The high-pitched squeal of a newborn rang throughout the cruck.

  “Mama, she looks just like you.”

  He put the child in his mother’s arms so Talaya could put the baby to her breast.

  “Well, woman? Is it a boy?”

  Darfus stood up and quietly said “Father, she had a girl.”

  Mengo shoved Darfus out of the way and roared, “give me that thing now!”

  She panicked and acted fast.

  “Please Mengo” she said. “She will grow up to be beautiful, and you will get a very large bride token for her! Maybe she will even marry a prince. I’ll teach her to cook to your liking, and she will help clean our cruck. She will understand that her only reason to live is to serve you.”

  He held her gaze with a penetrating stare, his demented mind working behind his soulless, dark eyes.

  “I told you I don’t want a girl. You have a choice. It will be your life or that of your child. One of you won’t live to see the sunrise. Are you in agreement, you ugly sow?”

  Talaya trembled, wide-eyed and afraid. “Yes, I agree.”

  Mengo left the room as he roared with laughter. She called to Darfus to come to the side of her bed.

  As she held her baby for the last time she said “Son, you will care for your sister, as if she is the greatest treasure in the world. Do you understand me?”

  Darfus was smart enough to realize what his father had told Talaya, he answered without hesitation. “No Mama, I don’t want to lose you. We can run away with all my brother’s, so he doesn’t know where we are.”

  Talaya looked at Darfus sadly “He will always find us son. We would never be safe, and he might hurt all of you as well.”

  Tears ran down both their faces. She handed the baby to Darfus and asked him to go back to his room. He wanted to kill his father but knew he did not have the strength that Mengo had.

  Talaya’s mind drifted to a happier time.

  She was a young girl at the river’s edge, sent to collect water for the day. A voice from behind startled her, causing her to lose her balance and almost fall into the river.

  “Excuse me, miss.” His voice was thick and controlled.

  She turned and gave an involuntary gasp. She gazed at the muscular arms the long black curly hair that hung past the shoulders, his piercing hazel eyes that smiled at her, but, was hiding the coldness that belayed his real persona. He towered over her in height, as a parent over a small child.

  “Yes, how may I help you?”

  “I am no longer in the king’s army and don’t have a place to sleep. My name is Mengo,” he said, puffing out his chest as if with pride.

  “Master Taymore has a room to let; maybe you can stay there. His house is the last one in this row.”

  “Thank you, miss. May I ask your name?”

  “I am Talaya.” She stood up with a bucket full of water and began to walk back to her cruck. He turned toward her once more and caught her glancing his way, he didn’t turn away until he observed where she lived.

  Over the next few weeks, he courted her by giving her wildflowers, telling her stories of the king’s army, always enhanced or completely fabricated; but always hiding the truth.

  When he knew that he had her completely captivated, he asked her Uncle Johan for her hand in marriage, as her parents had died when she was very young. Johan had a bad feeling about Mengo, but Talaya begged him to agree, as she already felt what she thought were the pangs of love for him. Mengo offered protection and security if he agreed to allow them to marry. As the days passed, many of the men from the village helped him erect a cruck house big enough to accommodate the many boys he envisioned having.

  His cruck, like the others, was a wooden frame held together with a mixture of straw, mud, and manure. The straw served as insulation, while the dung helped to bind the mix together. The thatched roof made the houses hot in the summer and cold in the winter.

  Talaya’s best friend Digbar had watched Mengo over the past few weeks and approached her with concerns over his behavior and how he treated her.

  “I don’t care for how he treats you, Talaya, and I’m worried about you.”

  She laughed, brushing his concerns away. “He’s just concerned for my welfare and wants to take care of me.”

  “I suppose,” Digbar said. “Still, I don’t think he is the right one for you. There’s something about him I don’t trust.”

  Talaya just told him there was nothing to be concerned about. Digbar shook his head feeling a hint of premonition but knew that no matter how often he told her, it would fall on deaf ears.

  A brief time later, Mengo took Talaya as his wife, and in a matter of weeks, he went from sweet and charming to heavy-handed and ruthless. When she didn’t do things his way, he’d push her up against a post and slap her across the cheek, leaving a red handprint. Then, with a balled-up fist, he’d hit her in the stomach, causing her to double over in pain, vomit, then collapse. What he wanted was to reach his pleasures whether it was bedding her—or hitting her.

  Soon after, sh
e discovered she was pregnant and hoped that he wouldn't be so brutal anymore. Nine months later the midwife helped her deliver not one but two children, telling Mengo that there were a boy and a girl.

  Mengo stormed into the room and yanked one of the babies off her breast, seeing it was the boy child, he threw him back at Talaya and grabbed the girl off her breast and rushed out of the cruck with the girl dangling by her arm and her high-pitched scream fading into the night. After a short while, he came back empty-handed, Talaya wept and mourned for her lost child for several days until Mengo grew tired and threatened to beat her if she did not stop. A week later, one of the villagers found a baby girl floating in the river. After it had been reported to the town council, word spread like wildfire and when she heard about it, Talaya realized it had been her child.

  Mengo named the boy Darfus. Soon, others followed: Petre, Merold, Garro, and

  Lumos. Then another girl, who met with the same fate as her sister. After her, came the twins, Wymer and Guy, then the last child, Falco.

  Thump! The sound pulled her out of her reverie. Watching as Mengo stormed into the room, she shuddered as he approached her with menace.

  “So, woman, are you ready?”

  For the first time in her marriage, she stood her ground.

  “No. You will not take or harm the baby.”

  “You mean to tell me you will give your life for that thing?”

  “Yes. Darfus will care for her.”

  He continued to advance on her as his eyes narrowed into slits.

  Mengo stood towering above her, angry because she had birthed a girl—and because she had the nerve to stand up to him. Lost to his unbridled anger, he began his onslaught. Hitting her over and over on her face, her head and her shoulders.

  “Stop, no, Mengo! please, stop,” Talaya gasped.

  He hated looking into her soft brown eyes, it reminded him of the deer he sometimes shot that looked at him with pleading in their eyes. Talaya searched his dark eyes for mercy but saw none. He then continued to punch her until she was blinded.

  “Mengo, my eyes! I can’t see,” she cried.

  And then he was off her. She hoped the beating had stopped.

  Mengo was only a short distance away retrieving her headscarf. She felt the bed shake as he dropped his pants, straddled her body and wrapped the scarf around her throat. For just a moment, he regretted battering her eyes closed. He loved watching his victim’s fearful eyes bulge, and the rush adrenalin coursing through his body.

  She tried to push him off, but it was a futile effort. She was no match for Mengo’s strength.

  He lay on top of her and cinched the scarf around her throat, tighter and tighter until his knuckles were white. Her head was buzzing, and blackness was encroaching as she tried to spit on him, although she was unable to muster the strength to do so. Slowly she lifted her hand and extended her middle finger at him.

  This made him ever angrier, as he spewed forth a litany of obscenities. “You piss-drinking whoremonger, you are nothing but a cunt, you hear me? You are nothing and you mean nothing to me”

  His excitement grew as she slowly began to succumb to death, his heart pounded with the thrill of another conquest. As she took her last breath, he spoke his final words to her.

  “Ya should have listened to me and let me throw that thing away.”

  Fumbling with the bedding, Mengo spread her wide, then took her with his now engorged manhood. Memories of his sister came back to him, making him shudder with desire. After raping his wife with a vengeance, he rolled over from her lifeless body, sated. The rush he got from killing somebody was like a high that fueled him, and it allowed his rage to go unchecked. He loved how the victim’s tongue stuck out toward the end and how their eyes rolled up, then backward in their head. His favorite part, though, was the shudder of the body as muscles began to spasm in death’s grip.

  The following days were hard for Talaya’s family. Her Uncle and Aunt eyed Mengo with anger. They had doubted Mengo’s story that she died in childbirth. The amount of blood, along with her bruised face and neck, told a different story. Unfortunately, their fear of Mengo prevented them from confronting him.

  On the day of the funeral, they watched as Mengo put on a mournful face and lined the boys up next to him, each with their eyes downcast. Darfus stood away from the family as he held his baby sister in his arms.

  Digbar approached Darfus.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. He took the baby from Darfus’ arms.

  “She’s beautiful, she looks just like Talaya,” Digbar said with tears in his eyes.

  “Yes, but what will I name her?” he said as his eyes closed in frustration.

  Thinking for a moment, Digbar said, “Her name should be Talitha. It means daughter of Talaya.”

  “Talitha. Yes, I like that. So, it shall be.”

  Darfus trembled when he saw his father staring at him.

  “I spoke to my mother. She will teach you to care for Talitha and has arranged for a wet nurse to feed her when you are at work, she will care for her at our cruck.”

  Darfus breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that things were finally starting to fall into place.

  Chapter 4

  Talitha was a beautiful, happy, sweet girl. Her sunny disposition enchanted all who knew her. Her eyes were the color of the golden sun, and her long black, braided hair seemed to fly in the breeze whenever she walked.

  She was kind to everyone she met, and even from a very early age, the boys in the village had been captivated by her beauty and charm.

  The mayor of the village was Gylmyne, and by all accounts, he ruled with fairness in all things. However, there was a dark side to the man as well. There had been several assaults on women and girls during his watch as mayor, and while some in the village suspected he was behind them, nothing was ever proven. In Talitha’s 14th summer, Gylmyne approached Mengo with a bride wealth proposal on behalf of his son Neffel. Mengo, always greedy, negotiated an even better deal for himself.

  Whenever Mengo went out of town overnight, Talitha could splash around in the lake with her brothers. Those times didn’t come often but when they did she greatly enjoyed herself. Her brothers were always careful not to tell their father, knowing just how devasting the consequences would be. A couple of summers later, with their father away once more, Talitha and her brothers were again splashing and playing in the lake. They were having so much fun swimming that they failed to spot Gylmyne hiding deep in the bushes, stalking her as she splashed around in her chemise, his heart full of lust.

  A couple of weeks later, Talitha went to the river to collect water for the next day’s use. As she neared the bank, she crossed paths with Gylmyne.

  She kindly smiled and greeted him in her usual pleasant custom but noticed that he smelled heavily of ale.

  "Sir, where is Neffel?" Talitha inquired.

  Gylmyne just laughed and pointed to a spot behind her, “There he is behind you,” He said.

  The moment she turned around, Gylmyne roughly grabbed her, pulling her away from the water’s edge and into the nearby bushes. He put his hand over her mouth, holding a hunting knife to her throat.

  “Don’t scream or move,” he said in an ominous voice. “I saw the way you looked at me just now, and you are asking for trouble. I won’t have my son marry a loose woman.”

  When he removed his hand from her mouth, Talitha reached up and scratched the left side of his face. Hollering out with surprise, but not entirely letting go, Gylmyne applied pressure with the knife against her throat, causing blood to trickle down her neck.

  “Do that again, and I’ll kill you.”

  She lay there, frozen to the ground, not wanting to move for fear of provoking him further. Using the knife, he cut off her dress and undergarments, and cuffed her. Talitha’s young, nubile body squirmed as he violently thrust her legs apart, opening her to his uses. Her muffled screams, along with the smell of fear and blood, caused his body to shudder with a thunderous
explosion. After spilling his seed within her, he got up and dragged her nearly unconscious body further into the bushes.

  “Now you are mine, and my son won’t have the likes of you,” he said as he cuffed her again.

  When Talitha woke up, she cried out for help, but her voice was only a hoarse whisper.

  Trembling, she picked up her things and headed home bloodied, bruised and muddy, she took the forest road so no one else would see her as she was. She hobbled to Darfus’ cruck but found no one there. With dread in her heart, she limped home, intent on cleaning up before her father came home. Unfortunately, Mengo was already there, when he saw her condition, he knew there would be no dowry.

  "You’re a whore just like your mother was, I won't be getting that bride token now because of you!" He roared in anger. The sudden realization that he had killed her mother, shook her to the core, and she knew she was about to meet the same fate.

  He turned and stomped into his bedroom, his eyes focusing upon the pair of gauntlets he stole years earlier. They represented proud memories of his early years as a soldier of the king. Mengo shook with rage as he removed one from the wall. Talitha was stricken with fear when her gaze fell upon his hands. Mengo lifted the gauntlet and repeatedly struck her, stopping only when she fell unconscious once more, in a pool of her own blood. Feeling no remorse, he stood there listening to her raspy, gurgling, labored breathing.

  Darfus heard the commotion and came running. When he opened the door, the sight of blood everywhere overwhelmed him. Mengo was so focused on his daughter that he was unaware that Darfus stood there, his bow fitted with a quarrel, aimed directly at him.

  The door creaked, and Mengo turned toward the sound and laughed.

  “Go ahead, my boy!” He taunted. “Your vermin sister is going to join your mother! You haven’t the courage to kill me!”

  Darfus dropped his weapon and launched himself at Mengo, who merely sidestepped him and ran out of the cruck. Darfus picked Talitha up in his arms and carried her broken body back to his cruck. He tried to clean her up as best he could, but sadly, it was just a matter of hours before she succumbed to the same fate her mother had sixteen years earlier; death at the hands of Mengo. After her eyes closed for the last time, hatred filled Darfus’ heart, mind, body, and soul as he held her.