Tegera

By Marty Donnellan

Protected by the beautiful hawk Tegera, frendibles are small creatures who inhabit the woods, meadows and thickets of the southern United States. "Tegera", Book Two of the "Forest of the Frendibles" series, follows the adventures of now elderly pine frendible Henbit and her clan of younger charges after some of them are captured by a family of humans. The adult humans seek to exploit the frendibles and destroy their forest home while the two teenagers and their young sister fight to save them. Complicating matters are the appearance of a bizarre, frendible-like creature of dubious intentions, and the return of an old and deadly foe. Can Tegera save them - and himself - before it's too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marty Donnellan
• Release date: Dec 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781507020883

Marty Donnellan

Marty Donnellan is a lifelong resident of Atlanta, GA, USA. She is a writer and illustrator, doll maker, skater and skating teacher, nursing home art teacher, grain growing enthusiast and founder/director of Joy Community Kitchen, Inc., a 501(c)3 non-profit food charity. She is the author of seven books. Four are stories set in the imaginary world of frendibles, two are non-fiction "how-to" manuals (teaching doll making and roller skating), and the latest is a cozy mystery.

Book preview

Prologue

Have you ever noticed that forests, like people, have distinct personalities? An ancient, towering redwood forest might be seen as inspiring, majestic; a gnarled old English wood, as a dark, dangerous place teeming with highwaymen or elves. The forest of the frendibles, however, was of pine and in Georgia and had a friendly, comfortable feel. There was nothing grand about the wood, and to my knowledge no elves had ever heard of it...

Chapter 1

For Maypop’s sake, Shadblow finished a few of the blueberry pancakes Henbit had fixed for breakfast. The hefty frendible usually ate well and often, but with Maypop missing he found he wasn’t hungry. He set his plate on the thick slab of granite where he often took his meals. He looked over at his brother Fleabane, who was busy gnawing on a soggy piece of toast.

How can you consume edible foodstuffs at a time like this? And with your mouth wide open? Shadblow complained. Fleabane appeared not to hear him and went on chewing.

How is it that you and yours truly are even related? Shadblow muttered. No one has ever been able to explain this to my satisfaction. I do wish you would hurry.

A few crumbs spurted from Fleabane’s mouth as he nodded. Except for the sounds of the two brothers, the June morning was quiet. The pine forest was full of the sweet, smoky scents of freshly burrowed earth, of gray moss and green pine, of new growth and decay. But the early mist was beginning to lift, and soon the morning coolness would yield to another hot summer day.

Like all frendibles, Shadblow and Fleabane were both small creatures who from a distance could be mistaken for newborn opossums or other small forest animals, except that they wore clothes and walked upright on short, stubby legs. Like all frendibles, their heads were nearly as big as their torsos. Their eyes were large and wondering, their mouths small and a little pouty.

But Fleabane was as pale and slender as his brother was ruddy and round. Both were middle-aged and balding, though Fleabane had an unusually high forehead made even taller by his receding hairline. Shadblow always smelled of soap and aftershave, while Fleabane had a faint but persistent mushroom-like smell about him. Shadblow’s shirts were always colorful, freshly pressed and accented with a bright bow tie, but Fleabane’s were drab and moth eaten and usually buttoned wrong. Surprisingly, Fleabane was the elder of the two.

Shadblow knew that he could not force Fleabane to do anything before he was ready, so he lay back on the rock to think. He stared up through the leaves of the triple-trunked dogwood which shaded them, to the pine branches above it and the pale sky beyond.

Where could that little brat have run off to? Shadblow frowned – he shouldn’t call Maypop a brat. She was just young, that was all. Young and exhausting, constantly pestering him to fix toys, play games, solve riddles and tell stories. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture the little thing in all the places he knew of: the pine forest, the thicket, downhill toward the river, even up near the field, which surely even Maypop knew was off limits to frendibles.

If only she had left some clue. Something had upset her one day and off she had stormed. Nothing unusual about that, it happened at least once a week. Only this time, she hadn’t come back.

As he had helped Maypop’s older brother Cowpea search the woods for her, Shadblow’s worry had deepened to alarm. And then alarm, to his surprise, had been engulfed by grief. Waves of grief and a strange, terrible tiredness. He had thought that Fleabane was the center of his life. He was shocked to discover that without Maypop, life in the forest lost its meaning.

So he did love the little monster after all. Poor thing, she was bound to turn up somewhere. And when she did, he was just going to have to try harder to put up with her. His thoughts began to drift and his eyelids grew heavy. They opened to find Fleabane standing over him, flapping his arms in time to what Shadblow realized were his own waning snores.

Wake up, Fleabane urged. Fly to time.

Shadblow lurched to his feet and wiped the sleep from his mouth. Finished at last, are we? Ready to go, are we? To his surprise, Fleabane sat back down and began to pick over some cold scrambled eggs left on his plate.

No, no, don’t start eating again, Shadblow pleaded. It’s time we concluded the business at hand, understand? The dew is drying, the sun is fully operational. Maypop needs us.

I wadn’t finished, mind me? Fleabane smiled crookedly through a fresh mouthful of eggs. And how can the sun be –

It’s true that Henbit’s culinary efforts have once again exceeded preliminary forecasts, Shadblow interrupted. But you must accept my firm resignation that we terminate our present state of affairs. Remember the bold but time sensitive agenda we outlined earlier? You know, the daring rescue of our dear darling –

But the cheek on your jelly, Fleabane pointed out. Here, lemme wipe it. Picking up his soiled napkin, he blew an ant from it and got to his feet. Pursing his lips with concentration, he began to blot his brother’s face.

Most unnecessary, Shadblow muttered, his color rising. Quite unacceptable as a matter of –

Blackjelly berry, off, Fleabane commanded, scrubbing harder.

Will you quit it? Shadblow swatted at the air with both hands. "Fleabrain, he added. One would think you didn’t want to find Maypop."

No! Fleabane cried. I love my Maypop do! He threw the sticky, crumpled napkin at Shadblow’s cheek, where it remained. There followed a dangerous silence, during which Shadblow’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, and Fleabane’s twitched with unknown meaning.

Shadblow gave up. Heaving himself off the slab of granite, he stalked toward the winding underground burrow the frendibles called home.

Chapter 2

The entrance to the burrow was little more than a hole formed by the upturned roots of an old, toppled pine surrounded on three sides by uneven slabs of rock. Their quarters below were decorated according to each frendible’s taste, but Tegera, the beautiful red-tailed hawk who watched over them, had warned them to keep the entrance unmarked and unimproved in order to avoid detection by humans. So far they had been lucky; for though they occasionally stumbled upon evidence of past human activity in the woods – shards of glass, rusted nails, spent bullets, an old can or penny or bottle top – no one had ever seen one of the gigantic, thundering beings in person.

Her arms encircling a basket full of soiled laundry, Henbit was hobbling out of the burrow when she saw Shadblow steaming toward her. Shadblow! What is that all over your face? she demanded. Shadblow jabbed his finger at Fleabane, who was following closely behind him.

Two middle-aged frendibles like you. And at a time like this. Dropping her load, Henbit batted the jelly-covered napkin off Shadblow’s cheek with her hand. Why, I’m ashamed of you.

But Fleabane’s conduct has been shocking, reprehensible – 

Shadblow wasn’t had to call me a name –

My brother is marked by a profound disregard for –

Wasn’t had to call me a name –

Suffering sumac, Henbit groaned. You’re supposed to be out finding Maypop, not squabbling away like always.

Sitting down heavily on a stone, she dabbed at her eyes with one of the soiled shirts. For the first time, Shadblow noticed that she had been crying.

What in the woods is to be done with you? she lamented. Maypop could have secretly followed Bunch and drowned in the river for all we know, or wandered up into the field. Or been bitten by some sick animal. Or even gotten caught in one of those terrible metal traps the humans make. She looked up sharply.

You remember Knotweed, don’t you? Shadblow and Fleabane nodded. "Well, Knotweed knew his way around these woods better than most. But even so... Oh, we found him, by and by, unconscious and missing a leg... He never was quite the same after that. And even my sister Cloudberry! Old Verbena always said –

Horsenettles! Henbit chided herself. Here we are in the middle of a crisis and I’m rattling on about the past. I said I’d never do that. Noisily she blew her nose onto the shirt, and looked up.

It’s Bunch that ought to be leading this search except that he happens to be away on a trip. And Cowpea as you know is half sick in the bed. And me, why, I’m so old that it should be obvious to anyone I wouldn’t get far. For emphasis, she lifted a stray pink curl, the mark of old age in frendibles, and glared at the brothers. So. Who does that leave?

Who? Fleabane asked with interest.

Henbit burst into fresh tears.

If in your opinion we have mismanaged our time, talents or resources... Shadblow began stiffly.

The reason I fixed you such a big breakfast in the first place, Henbit sobbed, waving him away, was to give you a good healthy start as you set out to find her. ‘Daring rescue mission’, my eye. You don’t even know where you’re going, do you? Oh, that poor little creature, so young and tender her hair is still blue. I can’t think of anyone more helpless on her own. Or anyone with less of a chance of finding her as you two.

Fleabane looked stricken. Please cry don’t. Sorry I eggs and toasted so long. We’ll find our Maypop, we’ll see.

Henbit stopped weeping as her eyes bored into the two brothers. If only Sweetflag was still here. She’d have already found Maypop and come swinging back through the vines, right in time for breakfast.

Shadblow and Fleabane traded a glance, both remembering the numerous spectacular arguments of old between Henbit and her irresponsible youngest sister. But all Shadblow said was, Undoubtedly, madam. And you are correct. Fleabane has squandered the morning in a most disreputable fashion. He turned to Fleabane and hung his head. Dearest brother, won’t you kindly accept my most sincerest apologetics?

Nodding pleasantly at his shoes, Fleabane picked some lint from his shirt. When he looked up, his expression was unexpectedly piercing. Of course. But shouldn’t we go find Maypop?

Fleabane, for once you’re making some sense. Henbit stood again with effort. Shadblow, please go wash the rest of that gunk off your face. You’ve already lost hours of searching due to yesterday’s downpour. My joints are flaring up, which means the rain could come back soon. Are you all packed up? The answer better be ‘yes’.

Affirmative, madam. All that remains is a note of reassurance and a hurried farewell to our underperforming young friend Cowpea.

All right, but don’t wake him if he’s asleep. Poor little thing was up all night with chills and fever. Fleabane, you wait for your brother over by the holly tree. And don’t worry about me, Henbit added. Bunch should be coming home any day now, and when he does, I’ll send him right along after you. She lifted a pair of small pink overalls out of the pile of laundry. My sweet little Maypop, how I enjoyed sewing these...

Looking as if she might cry again, she picked up the basket and began to make her way toward the washtubs which sat by the spring. She surprised the brothers by turning back, leaning over the basket and planting a kiss on each forehead.

You know I love you both, she reassured them. Go on now, and try to make something good happen. And please be careful. May Tegera help you. Something tells me you’ll need it.

The brothers departed, and Henbit wondered, as always, if she should have told them more.

Chapter 3

blue sky flashing

black wings beating

silver sparkle silver

Sky come back my heart

trees rushing heart pumping

beak open come come come

––––––––

The bright face of his brother Sky faded. Cowpea awoke from his dream with a start. He rolled slightly toward the edge of his bed which was sagging as if under a great weight. He opened his eyes to see Shadblow sitting quietly beside him.

Awake at last, Shadblow said. And not a moment too soon. I have come to bid you a terse farewell, Cowpea, as my inferior colleague Fleabane and I set out to pinpoint the whereabouts of our little lost Maypop. Eradicating her from the direst of circumstances. Plucking her, if need be, from the very jaws of –

Noting Cowpea’s look of alarm, he coughed and added, No need to go on and on about it, I suppose. Now, if you don’t feel up to interfacing with anyone I shall depart at once. But I felt it advisable if not mandatory to put my mind at ease regarding the questionable matter of your well-being. You’ve had us worried there, young fella. First Sky, and now Maypop...

I’m fine, Shadblow, Cowpea murmured. Didn’t Henbit tell you? I’m going with you. Propping himself up on his elbow, he shook his head a time or two. Encouraged by the absence of pain, he tried to get out of bed but sank back, exhausted.

Now, now, don’t be in such a hurry, Shadblow admonished. I have thoroughly evaluated your situation, and concluded that your A-number-1 top priority is simply to regain your, your, whatever it is you lost –

You mean get well –

– er, yes. And such a goal could scarcely be accomplished on a perilous undertaking such as the one we are about to, um, undertake.

But this is all my fault. I deserve to be sick.

Surely not!

It’s true. I’ve been too ashamed to tell anyone, Shadblow, but the other day I was trying to get some work done and Maypop kept bugging me, and I finally lost it and yelled that I was sick and tired of her hanging around all the time and could she please just get lost. And guess what? She did. A tear rolled down Cowpea’s cheek and plopped onto the mattress.

There, there. Shadblow patted his friend’s limp, damp