Talin and the Tree - The Legend: Talin and the Tree, #1

By Stephanie DosSantos

 

It's more than just a tree...

 

An island's sacred tree hides a portal to an underground world full of mystical energies --and the shocking truth that local superstitions are much more than just myths as a forgotten legend awaits revival!

 

When Talin, a bullied outcast, unexpectedly plunges into the portal and is chosen to fill the long-vacant role of island Healer, the reluctant teen must make a difficult decision: accept his destiny or let the power that comes with it fall into the evil hands of his rival who believes he is the next Healer.

 

But only one youth can claim the decades-old title...and the battle won't be easy. 

 

If Talin is to keep the legend alive for future generations, he must face challenges like never before --and stay alive long enough to navigate between both worlds.

Described by young adult readers as Harry Potter meets The Chronicles of Narnia, you're sure to enjoy Talin and the Tree-The Legend, Book 1 of this new, enchanting, and addicting epic fantasy series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BlackDog BrownDog Press
• Release date: Nov 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9781735159003

Stephanie DosSantos

Stephanie DosSantos began writing poetry at a young age, quickly moving to school newsletters and magazines, as well as writing for a local newspaper. After switching gears from an interest in journalism to a career in the medical field lasting 20+ years, it was time to finish what she started and go back to writing. The end of 2020 marks the release of her debut fantasy novel, Talin and the Tree-The Legend, the first in series. Look for more books on the series page that are being developed now! Stephanie resides with her husband and pets in central Texas! You can find more information at: www.authorstephaniedossantos.com

Book preview

1

Small fires burned around the sacred silk cotton tree. Admiring it from his upstairs bedroom window, Talin knew it would be a massive, terrifying fire if the flames stretched any higher, igniting the tree in the darkened sky.

He heard screams, howls, and chanting, all accompanied by rhythmic tribal drums. There had to have been fifteen to twenty people gathered at the base of the tree. The buttress itself was as large as his bedroom and he often dreamt of hiding deep within the roots. The roots, exposed above the ground, resembled tall ribbons that had billowed in the wind just before being petrified by some ancient force. They melted perfectly off the trunk, starting from about eight feet up, then flowed down in all directions.

Clinking sounds of breaking glass mixed with the low screaming cry of what he thought was a dog; then a collective cheer rang out. Grown men danced around. A few jumped up and dangled from the lower branches, making them sag and bounce. Still cheering, the men struck at a dark, slender shape that swung from a limb. Talin swallowed hard. Squinting, he tried to focus in the fading light. The drumbeats sounded more and more menacing.

What is that? What is going on?

Talin heard his stepfather grumbling from his office below, Shut up with the drums already! It was clear he’d had too much rum, again, this evening. Talin recalled how much easier it was to live with him back in the UK.

Desperately wanting to get a closer look outside, Talin reached for his binoculars, then remembered that they were nowhere nearby. His stepfather had taken them away, along with his cellphone, the last time he was grounded, for visiting the tree too often.

Turning out the lamp on his nightstand, Talin allowed his eyes to better adjust to the dark, and he continued squinting to get a clearer picture. What were they doing around the tree? Or to it? What was hanging from the branches?

He knew the locals occasionally went to the tree, but when they did it was under mischievous circumstances. Over the previous two years since coming to the island he had learned that silk cotton trees were highly respected, but even more feared, known to house evil spirits and the souls of the dead. Locals spent little time around the tree because of this.

The men’s silhouettes moved synchronously, as if dancing, and the drumming was louder and faster. Talin’s heart raced with the drumbeats. At the crescendo, he heard screams and a ceremoniously loud roar. Each person flailed, falling to their knees or flat on their backs. Eerie stillness filled the air.

Is it over?

One by one, each man slowly righted himself. Voices murmured in the distance and the chatter began again. A mixture of growling, yelling, laughter, and cheering replaced the quiet. Finally, the torches were extinguished as the men stumbled, disappearing into the surrounding forest.

Then the night fell silent.

The whole event lasted maybe fifteen minutes, just enough time to do whatever they were doing and leave before someone called the authorities for disturbing the peace. Talin had seen something similar to this once or twice before, but the police arrived, putting an early stop to the late night debauchery. The following day there had been trash and smashed liquor bottles scattered all around the tree, and he had taken great care in cleaning it up himself. That time, it had only been a group of rowdy teenagers causing problems.

Talin lay back in his bed, eyes wide open, staring at his darkened ceiling. Outside, the calming sounds of the surf continued, not far from the tree, as if nothing had happened. Not long after, he smelled something burnt, putrid. Sitting straight up in bed, his head turned toward the window, his breaths quickened as a stench filled his room. He didn’t remember this odor before when locals had gathered at the tree and he sensed tonight’s drama was different. It felt like something much more heinous.

It would be hours before he fell asleep.

Talin awoke to his mother's gentle nudging.

Talin, wake up. It’s finals week, you can’t be late. You’re almost done. Finish strong.

He yawned, taking in a deep breath of the humid morning air and rubbed his eyes. His mother smiled down at him and kissed his forehead. Come on, sleepyhead.

Being just shy of fifteen, he wished she would stop with the forehead kissing, but he never said anything. It had been a tough few months for her recently and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

Before she left the room, she asked, Do you want cereal or eggs?

Talin made the face.

Ok. No eggs. She stifled a laugh.

Eggs were unhatched chickens in his eyes now. Previously, he’d eaten a fair amount of eggs and meat without a thought about where it came from. But, once arriving at their island home on the edge of town, it was commonplace for the locals to raise chickens in their yards, so his mother did as well. It was more than he could bear to see his stepfather execute them on the chopping block not far from the back porch. Their high-pitched squawk filled his ears as the birds struggled against their captor. The thwack sound from the axe sent chills through Talin’s bones as he watched the bird’s head roll onto the ground. Not surprisingly, he never ate much chicken, or meat of any kind.

As his mother closed his bedroom door, he could still smell the faint, sour odor that hung on the curtains. He ran to the window to look out at Jumbie.

The sun was just coming up, so he couldn't get a clear view of the tree just yet. Jumbie’s limbs were shading whatever still remained hanging from them.

Talin jumped into his clothes, brushed his teeth, grabbed his backpack, and ran downstairs to breakfast. His mother was just pouring his cereal into a bowl.

I can get it, Mom.

Hey, did you get some sleep? she asked, pouring the milk. Talin figured milk was okay to drink as it came from a living creature, not a dead one.

Not much. He sat down at the table.

There was some ruckus going on outside for a while.

I know.

She handed him his bowl and brushed her fingers through his long, crinkly and tangled hair. Did you even comb your hair this morning?

Mom, stop! I forgot, he said, diving into his cereal with one hand and brushing hers away with the other.

She sat down next to him. Talin—

He stopped chewing and stared at her. He knew this tone.

Slow down. I know you want to go see what happened at the tree last night, but you will be late. And you know how your father feels about that tree.

Talin hated it when she called Robert his father. He never knew his father, and she’d never told Talin anything about him. She would always say, You’ll learn when you’re older. Irritated now by both topics he swallowed his cereal, shoulders slumped. She was right, if he was late for school it wouldn’t be pleasant, thanks to his stepfather. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Whatever is there will still be there this afternoon. Maybe you’ll have time to stop for a few minutes on the way home. It was only weak encouragement.

Talin dropped his gaze down to his bowl. Fine.

Getting up, she gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and took a brown paper bag off the counter.

Don’t forget your lunch. She set it next to the backpack. Again, she leaned down, placing her hands atop his head, and kissed him gently between them before she left the kitchen.

---

After breakfast, Talin left his bowl in the sink and headed out the front door.

He met Marisha at the corner most mornings. They’d walk the few blocks to school together when he wasn’t running late. Today, she was waiting.

Morning, she said, smiling.

Morning. His voice was quiet.

He and Marisha had been friends for as long as he’d lived on the island, having first met at track practice after school. Despite being a year his senior, and having a competitive, strong-willed nature in contrast to Talin, they became friends immediately. He’d been shy, but with Marisha’s support, he had become more determined and adventurous.

What’s the matter? she asked.

Nothing.

Liar. I don’t believe you.

He let out a sigh. Jumbie.

Oh. She lowered her head.

What? Do you know something?

She hesitated, looking in the opposite direction.

You know what happened last night don’t you?

Walk faster; we’re going to be late.

Marisha, what happened?

She didn’t answer.

Talin kicked rocks and empty water bottles from overflowing trash containers down the road, and yanked the leaves off drooping tree limbs arching over their path.

Stop it, she finally said.

Why? You know what happened and you won’t tell me.

Marisha, again, refused to answer, and ran the remaining block to school.

Talin took his time.

He made it to his desk just as the bell rang. Glancing across the row of desks, he saw Marisha whispering away with a friend, ignoring him. What was so bad that his best friend would not even discuss it with him?

Classes droned on as Talin struggled to concentrate. Shifting his weight back and forth in his chair, unable to sit still, his mind only on the tree. During breaks, the majority of students directed muffled giggles and awkward glances his way. He heard bits of conversations throughout the day.

Yeah, my Dad was there.

They really did it?

It’s tradition. The police don’t care.

I can’t wait until I can go.

Da’ festival is coming.

Everyone got away?

So, was it really dead?!

The last comment made Talin’s palms sweat. He couldn’t eat the lunch his mother had packed for him. Being teased for so long by many of his classmates for nearly everything he did, he should have been used to it. It started the day he arrived on the island, nearly two years ago. Although his blood was one hundred percent native, he was never treated like one. They saw him as an outsider. First, he was a brainiac, outscoring the majority of students in his schoolwork. Then, it was his choosing track, an unpopular sport, instead of something they considered more masculine like football or more traditional like cricket. The truth was that he liked running and competing with just himself, plus, it came in handy evading bullies.

---

In the afternoon, he tried again to approach Marisha as they made their way to their last class. His gut was twisted in the most complicated of mariner’s knots when he heard the other students continue to whisper, teasing him as he walked down the hall. Oh, poor Jumbie! a few of the older boys snickered.

You know I’m going to the tree after school, so why don’t you just tell me? Talin asked Marisha.

Just stay away until tomorrow, ok?

Why? What’s so different about tomorrow?

I’ve told you stories about that stupid tree for almost two years now and you ignore everything. You aren’t in jolly ole’ England anymore. Things are different here.

The last hour passed painfully slow. He debated about sneaking home early, but didn’t want to deal with his stepfather’s wrath. Instead, he chose to be a warm body, not participating. His mother’s words echoed in his head, Finish strong.

Yet, he put no effort into the lesson, which was unusual for him. He knew he wasn’t a popular student but he knew he was smart. He excelled in his studies- biology and science were favorites. And of course, he knew he was hard to beat on the track or in hurdles. But it wasn’t much consolation when it came to making friends. Marisha had truly been special. Although quite different from each other, they did have things in common, like their love for running, nature, the ocean, and animals. Not to mention his mother’s home-cooked meals. How could anyone not be friends when it came to made-from-scratch chocolate cake?

He continued to wonder why Marisha would dodge his questions and could only think of one thing that would cause her to worry about him. Something truly evil did happen at the tree. He had heard the stories of sacrifices. Was that it?

---

When classes were finally over he wasted no time sprinting through the neighborhood, taking shortcuts to save even one or two blocks. He waved at Ms. Joseph, who was hanging her laundry as he ran past, and dodged Mr. Browne’s black and white barking dog as it chased him down the street. He leapt over trash cans left near the curb like he was practicing his hurdles. Curiosity pulled him closer and closer to his destination. He had one objective- to get to the tree.

As he ran past the corner of his home, he dropped his backpack in the yard without stopping, causing the chickens to spook in their coop. He continued through the old sugarcane field behind the house, last used long ago. Dust clouds formed under his feet from the dry dirt trail he’d laid with so many previous trips to the tree.

His heart quivered when he saw a dark form hanging from Jumbie’s branch. Whatever it was, was still there. As he moved closer, he thought it might be a sort of bag, brown, possibly leather or burlap.

What is that?

Talin’s sprint slowed to a jog as he approached. Skidding to a sudden stop just feet from Jumbie’s base, dread washed over him as he tried to catch his breath. It was not a dog he heard scream last night.

Frozen, he stood looking straight into the lifeless eyes of an amber-brown goat gently swaying in the sea breeze. A rope gripped the animal from its short, curved horns to both back feet, causing an unnatural twisting of its body. Its throat was slashed. The back legs were slightly higher than the head, allowing the goat to bleed to death. A dark, reddish-brown spot lay in the dirt below. Dried blood coated its snout and mouth. It wasn’t only the sight that made his stomach turn, but the smell. Rancid. Putrid, nearly suffocating, even out in the open.

He’d hoped whoever killed it at least did it quickly, but it was obvious that a swift death was not the case. He didn’t need to be a veterinarian to diagnose its broken neck.

Although Marisha had told him stories about sacrifices being made at silk cotton trees to appease the spirits, he’d never actually witnessed an animal sacrifice at Jumbie. Adding to the cruelty was that the tree sat next to an old church. He shivered.

All that was left of the church was a foundation of mixed concrete blocks and native rock with three half-walls, crumbling more with each passing storm. It was built on the hillside overlooking the sea, constantly exposed to the salty air. It had witnessed joyous ceremonies and happy celebrations over the years. But over time, the site had been vandalized by an ungrateful generation. A single pew sat in the corner facing both the waters and Jumbie at an angle, the wood stripped and beaten down from exposure to the elements. One end, missing a support, caused the seat to slope, making it uncomfortable to sit on for any length of time. The original ornate carvings were nearly gone, smoothed over by age and weather. Now new marks defaced its sacredness with names, numbers, letters, and crude shapes from cruel knives and razor blades. An iron cross lay discarded on the dirt floor, along with rocks, leaves, and what little was left of a simple steeple that must have collapsed years ago. Three or four cinder block steps led up to the foundation that used to welcome worshippers each Sunday. Oh, but now...

Next to the church’s remains, hung the goat’s. Its fur singed black in spots, probably burned from the torches. Although some charred areas were difficult to distinguish from the crawling flies that had gathered on the carcass. Talin envisioned the most evil of men chasing the terrified animal with their fires. He couldn’t imagine the overwhelming fear the animal had surely felt. It wasn’t a sacrifice, it was torture.

His stomach churned. He didn’t know whether to cry, run home consumed in his own fear and grief, try to release the goat, or vomit. Silent tears dripped down his face. His fingers twitched. He was finally able to avert his gaze from the goat, focusing on the church and area around him, taking in yet more details of the chaos left behind.

Bits of trash lay on the ground, along with an extinguished torch, rocks kicked about, pieces of broken glass, scraps of clothing, spoiled food, burlap bags, and empty bottles of various types of alcohol. Then, oddly, untouched bottles of the best local rum sat neatly just beyond the goat at the base of the tree. Several liters of spiced rum sat waiting for the next group to come swallow it down and act like complete fools.

Talin’s fear turned to anger. He ran to the bottles, picking one up and throwing it as hard as he could down the steep hill toward the sea with a rebel’s scream. Just as he had wanted to with his stepfather’s bottles at home. What had once been peaceful and beautiful, hallowed ground, was now polluted with wickedness and sorrow.

He took a moment to let the rage course through his body, kicking at the dirt, swinging his arms wildly, and yelling at no one. Then he took a few deep breaths and decided no one else would benefit from the leftover rum another night. Opening each remaining bottle, he poured out the vile, bitter-smelling contents into the grass several feet from Jumbie's base. The smell was slightly better than the goat hanging behind him. He left the bottles nearby to carry home later and made a mental note to fetch the bottle down the hill.

Talin knew he must free the goat. He climbed to the branch that held the lifeless animal. Creeping further out on the limb, he hugged it to keep his balance as it dipped slightly from the added weight. He soon realized the knots holding the goat were too snug to untie from the weight of the carcass and he would have to cut the rope to complete the job.

Back at the house, he quietly went to the shed to get one of his stepfather’s knives, hoping it was free from chicken blood, and headed back toward Jumbie.

He found Marisha waiting. She was sitting on the old crooked church pew, staring at the sea.

Ignoring her, he scurried up the tree with the knife in his teeth, looking something like a boy-warrior. Quiet grunts caught Marisha’s attention and she whipped around.

What are you doing?

Talin answered as best he could with a knife handle between his teeth. Washit ook ike?

She hesitantly approached the tree, stepping under the sagging limb. Come down right now before you really get hurt.

Reaching out, he started sawing at the rope hanging between the branch and goat. The knife was duller than he’d expected.

Where’s the rum? she asked him.

How’d you know there was rum?

I told you to stay away from here. I know what goes on here. I’m not stupid, and neither is my nose. Where is it?

He huffed. Got rid of it.

You what?

He stopped sawing. What’s the problem? It’s a terrible drink. Those guys just left it for someone else to act like total idiots and kill more animals.

Talin! The rum isn’t for people, it’s for the tree! Put it back!

Ok, you figure out how to get it back in the bottles then. He continued with his task. Jumbie doesn’t need rum.

You need to leave the goat, too.

He shot her a look from his perch and she sighed.

Why are you like this, Talin?

"Like what?!"

You can’t leave our ways alone.

"Your ways? Killing animals for no reason is your way? Is that what you all like to do?" He cut harder and faster.

That’s not what —

And what about the booze? And the trash everywhere? Is that your way, too?

Talin—

You all talk about this beautiful island, yet you trash it and torture and kill helpless animals! The carcass fell from the tree into a heap on the ground, like a punctuation mark. Marisha jumped back, a small cloud of dust and flies at her feet. The goat’s neck split open more. She held her breath, stepping farther back, cheeks reddening as she coughed, trying not to gag.

What do you think you're going to do with this now? she asked, with her hand covering her mouth.

He looked down, his expression blank.

He didn’t know. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He just wanted to free the goat, giving it some sort of dignity. Taking a moment, he considered burying it, but had no shovel. He could roll it down the hill into the grass for the birds to finish off, or he could light a fire and burn it, but a fire would attract too much attention.

As he descended from the tree, he started questioning his friend. Why didn’t you just tell me what happened?

You don’t listen, Talin.

I kept asking. I wanted to know. Why wouldn’t I listen?

It wouldn’t have changed anything.

Yes, it would, he said, hopping to the ground.

Like what? The goat is still dead, and you’re still sad and crying.

I was mad Marisha; those tears are different.

I suppose I could have maybe saved the rum if I’d told you.

The rum? Talin’s voice was rising. You're worried about the rum?!

Yes, the rum!

"Trees drink water!"

It’s a sacrifice Talin, it’s our way!

He stared blankly into Marisha’s reddened face. He thought, of all people, she would understand his anger. Even though she had told him the stories, he didn’t like them, and didn’t have to accept them.

Well, your way is old and ridiculous, he told her.

That’s not for you to decide.

Talin turned away to retrieve the goat’s body, dragging it by the rope tied to its horns, into the tall grass facing the sea.

Where are you going with that?

Away.

Marisha huffed and walked away as Talin struggled with the limp body, which he guessed was at least fifty pounds. He knew it was a proper sacrifice, as the locals raised not only chickens, but goats as well, for meat. The bigger the goat, not only fattened their bellies, but also their wallets at the market. It still made no sense to him, why someone would kill their finest livestock for nothing. Food was one thing, but a drunken, wild party, that originated in old folklore from generations gone by, made no logical or economical sense. People knew better now than to torture and kill an innocent animal...or so he thought.

Talin gathered large leaves from nearby banana and palm trees and covered the rotting carcass. The tree and the crumbling old church as the only witnesses, he was left to eulogize the goat alone.

He apologized, saying what comforting words he could muster and crossed himself with the Sign of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. He had seen that at church in the UK. It seemed appropriate. Soon, he’d wished he hadn’t emptied all the bottles of rum in a rush, as he could have used one to kill the sickly, dead smell that was filling his nose. Turkey vultures were already circling overhead, ready to scavenge the remains. Rodents would come during the night to finish them off.

When he was through, he walked under the tree, kicking dirt over the sticky, dried blood pool and the spilled rum. It only lessened the smell a little. A few flies lingered.

The afternoon trade winds helped refresh the area from the remainder of the stench. Talin climbed the tree and lay on his favorite branch to better feel the breeze. He loved being so high up in the tree, perched like