Timothean Melody, Prelude, ch 1.

Follow the young terrosian woman, Melody, as she fights for the freedom of the citizens of Central Lake, against tyrants both foreign and domestic

Timothean Melody

Chapter I

 

I was sitting alone at Central Lake’s cheapest drink bar, I came here for my daily order of Kairian tonic. The establishment never has new flavors to add to its already meager variety of lavender, and boring old tonic bitter flavor. I sat down with a bottle while I opened up the newspaper. I read over the column of today’s bounties.

“Local Ciolon woman missing, find and return for 150 kartus.”

“Missing rifle, model 1895 Kairian double barreled shotgun, inquire at the address below for pictures, locations, and compensation.”

“Gov’t issued bounty on the head of the terrosian man Ice Bayello, 1,000 kartus dead, 10,000 kartus alive.”

“Invention request, rifle capable of taking down a joutun reliably in one shot. 20 kartus for all submissions, 500 for the winner, and compensation for all materials used.”

Among many others, those were the first few in the column. Bounties are how things get done around here, if anyone wants anything done, it’s put in the newspaper, and listed as either a bounty or as a wage offer.

I’m a bounty hunter, but only on the side of my day job, which consists being generally a lazy good for nothing freeloader. Most of the food I eat is my sister’s, or Silvest’s the general store owner. I spend more time living in one parking lot or another, in the seat of my truck, with all of my possessions covered in canvas in the bed of the truck.

Despite my apparent poverty, I’ve never thought about being a migrant worker, like so many of the other poverty stricken individuals of Central Lake. I’ve never thought about moving out of the town that has accepted my sister, me, and my vices relatively well since we arrived here.

I finished my tonic, grabbed my old lever action rifle, and made my way out of the drink bar, dropping the newspaper in the bin by the door as I headed out. I crank started my old truck, before heading down the old brick main street, southbound.

I had a house, even if I didn’t use it too often. It was more of a place to keep my stuff, or a place with a fireplace in case I get cold, but that’s about it. I pulled in my driveway almost at the same time as my sister, who owned a much newer 1995 model coupe. She pulled in behind me, and we got out of our respective vehicles.

“Melody, how’s your truck running?”

“Fine, since you replaced the cracked cylinder head. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, you know, you just still haven’t paid me for it.” She said.

Harmony and I are identical twin sisters, and we’ve generally gotten along despite the incredible discrepancy in work ethic.

“I’d hate to hound on you for it, but I need to put food on the table for the both of us, and the Governor’s recent ban on Kairian imported metals is hurting the business.” She said.

“I thought you said you would do it for free.” I responded.

“No, Melody, I very clearly stated that I wasn’t charging you for installation, you still have to pay for the steel that I had to machine myself. 1,000 kartus, just for the block of mild steel.” She fixed her solid colored orange eyes on my rifle, ran her paper white fingers through her blueberry hair, and continued talking. “If you don’t get a job to pay for the steel, I’m going to take that Shelenthaean rifle of yours and punch a hole in your engine block just for fun.” She said.

“You wouldn’t” I challenged her.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t, but the fact of the matter is, you’re getting a job.” She said.

“Come on, you know I’m no good at jobs, or working, or anything.”

“Dad gave you his favorite antique rifle for a reason, Melody, because he knew you would never survive in a service job as I would. The least you can do for him is use it. Go out into the grove, or into the forest, and do some bounty hunting.”

“But Harmony, what if I die, or something?”

“I’m not going to keep feeding you, buying you things, while you jack off in that musty old hut of yours all day.”

“I don’t jack off all day, I’m not quite that morally deprived.” I said.

Harmony opened the passenger side door of her car and pulled out the newspaper, flipped to the section on bounties, and handed it to me. “You talk about how morally deprived you are, Melody, but you know what I think? I think deep down, there is a hard working, helpful, and even heroic Melody, masked behind your apathy.” She said.

I took the paper from her. “I haven’t worked an honest day in my live since I was 14, you know, back in the days when mom and dad were watching over my back.” I said.

Harmony shook her head. “No, I know you, you just need to find your niche. I think that niche might be in bounty hunting, in one form or another.”

“Fine, I’ll do it. Is that all you came here for?”

“Yes, actually. Get to it, or I may never fix your old truck again.” She said. She walked over to her car, and I looked again at the bounty page. One stuck out at me,

“Gov’t issued bounty: Well-known Helin thief, Rodney Marinos, 500 kartus dead.”

I knew the protocol, go to the Sherriff, He’ll sign you off on the bounty. I cranked up my truck again and made my way down to the Sherriff’s office.

 

I drove my truck to the edge of Alyssa’s grove, just where the brick roads turn to dirt trails. I parked my truck, grabbed my rifle and my ammo box, and walked the trail. I looked at a small sheet of paper that the Sherriff had given me. Marinos’ last reported location was marked on a map, he was out of Alyssa’s grove and in toward the forest. I walked the path as I pushed 15 rounds through my rifle’s loading gate. Like any other Dinwood Shelenthaean rifle, it had a full stock, and strong blued steel on every last metal fixture. These guns will last forever, even if they are a little heavy and not dead-eye accurate. The rounds I had were over-pressure hand loads of a .40 caliber revolver cartridge.

I hiked a mile over rough terrain before I noticed the tamed expanse of Alyssa’s grove turn into the wild and disordered mass of the forest beyond Alyssa’s grove. Beyond that point, the magical terraforming changes the landscape daily, I could have a taiga one day, a desert the next, and a winter storming crag the day after that. Today, the forest chose to be just that, a thick forest. The sunlight was obscured entirely by the deciduous canopy, and the forest floor was covered by leaves, and crawling bugs.

This was the dangerous part of the forest. This was where I put my rifle in full c**k, waiting for some dangerous timogon creature to jump out, and attack.

I knew it would happen, and quickly. If you’ve never seen a timogon creature before, it’s sure to terrify you. As I watched the timogon boar come at me, I lined up my sights with the boar’s head and shot. The bullet smashed into the boar’s head, splitting it in half, and sending brown pieces of its flesh all over the ground. Timogons don’t bleed, they don’t have organs, they’re magical imitations of the real thing, and because of this, you can smash open their head, and they’ll still keep running at you. I fired again, the bullet left a long streaming wound through the boar’s body. The last shot finally killed it. The dead body instantly disappeared in a sudden flame, as timogons do, as the magical energy is suddenly released into the air.

I stepped passed where the boar had been, loading two more rounds in my rifle just to top off the magazine. I continued my way down through the forest until the path had faded away into obscurity. The underbrush had gotten so thick, the only thing between me and thorns were my tall leather boots, and thick wool pants.

Due to the ever changing terrain, maps outside of towns look more like sea charts, where nothing is noted down except for the few points warded against the terraforming, and the generally accepted fastest routes to them. Bounty hunters, rescue privateams, and travelers have to carry GPS with them to find  coordinates. I checked mine to find I was about a mile east of my destination. One more mile of hiking through dangerous territory before I can do what I need to do. I put the map and GPS in my pocket and continued on through the unmapped territory.

As I hiked west, I could hear running water. A mist started to roll in through the forest. The deeper I went, the thicker it got, to the point where I couldn’t see more than 50 yards away. I followed the sound, and found the source, a white water rapid, leading up to a waterfall. I couldn’t see the waterfall at this distance, but I could hear it, loud and clear. I continued walking by the bank of the rapids until I found the enormous cascading waterfall. The water fell from the rapids, onto three steps, before falling into the calm waters below. It must have been a 100 foot drop to the ground below, with no clear path down. The waterfall dropped into a canyon, where it flowed passed a mini forest inside. The canyon extended well beyond my sight, especially in this fog. I hiked my way along the edge of the canyon until I found myself south, rather than east, of my destination. It was clear I would have to find a way down. I was sure there wouldn’t be one, but I continued walking along the side anyway. The forest had left a clear path alongside the canyon, just wide enough for a vehicle or two.

I always forgot to take into account, being terrosian, my stark white skin and ultramarine hair stood out too well in the forest. Even in the dense fog, I saw the silhouette of large men with light machine guns. I knew their guns well enough to be able to estimate their size. These men must have been at least 8 feet tall each, any helin like Marinos would be. I may not have arrived at my destination, but I may have found my target.

Upon seeing my rifle, one of the men positioned his gun at his hip. I dashed out of the clear strip and into the forest. I couldn’t out-power them with a rifle like mine, so I had to outsmart them. I continued running deeper into the forest, hearing the sound of their machine guns, and the sound of bullets crashing into the dirt and trees. As soon as I heard the gunfire stop, I started climbing up one of the trees. I climbed up high enough to partially conceal myself in the leaves. I sat quiet, barely breathing, listening for the sound of magazine changes, footsteps, or round cambering.

It only took a few moments before I could hear it. Footsteps moving quickly through the forest. All three of them came into view, and passed right by my tree. I got a good look at all three of them, but not one of them was my official target.

I let them pass, and travel a few yards away, before I shot them down one by one, with their backs turned against me. Their dead bodies lay next to each other, still clutching their guns. As they aren’t timogons, their bodies were to stay right where they were before the magical terraforming comes to claim their lifeless bodies.

I climbed back down from the tree and made my way back to the canyon. I continued along the bank at a brisk pace, hoping for a way down. I never did find it, but I did find something just as interesting.

I topped off my magazine again and approached a garage. Presuming it to be where the three helins from before were from, I approached the door, shot out the door latch, and smashed it open. I was greeted in the inside of the building by a normal looking, probably ciolon, young man. He had a rifle with the attached long bayonet. He lunged at me, but I grabbed his rifle by the barrel and moved it out of the way. With his left hand, he drew a bowie knife, and slashed open my cheek, letting my silvery blood run down my cheek. I stumbled back, and drew a knife of my own, a stiletto. The both of us dropped our rifles, and I stabbed at his throat with my knife. He caught my wrist with one hand, and went for my chest with his knife. I stepped to the side to dodge it, and yanked my wrist free from him. I attempted to stab him again, but he used my own momentum to knock me off balance and throw me against the wall of the garage. I smacked face first, leaving me dizzy, and leaving an imprint of the blood from my cheek.

He brought my hands behind my back and held them there with only one of his hands. He grabbed a stray piece of twine from his coat pocket and tied my hands together. While I was still trying to grasp what was going on, he brought me over to a thick mahogany desk leg and tied me there to the desk. By the time I could think clearly, he was preparing gauze for my cheek. He taped it in place, then brought my rifle inside.

“A Dinwood model 40 super magnum, you have good taste. Tell me, then, what are you doing all the way out here, killing my co-workers, breaking into the garage, and being all around aggressive to everyone and everything you meet?” He asked. He reached into the desk and pulled out some cleaning supplies. He unloaded the magazine and started cleaning out the barrel.

“You don’t work with Rodney Marinos, do you?” I asked.

“Well sure, I work for the man.”

“So you’re just another filthy bandit, I shouldn’t have held back.” I said.

“I prefer the term revolutionary, if you don’t mind.” He said.

“Revolutionary? What is there to revolt against?” I asked.

He picked up each of the unloaded cartridges and slipped them back into my cartridge box. “I’ll have to show you. So I take it the Sheriff sent you?” He asked.

“Marinos was on today’s bounty list, 500 Kartus. I had to pay my sister back for the cylinder head that she replaced for me.”

“The Sheriff is wanting you to kill Marinos for 500 Kartus? It’s going to take a lot more than that to take him down.” He set my rifle down on the desk, placed his rifle down next to it, and re-sheathed his bayonet and knife. All of his equipment was attached to the belt of his trench coat. He removed his hat and coat to expose his short brown hair, rough cotton pants, suspenders, and plaid shirt.

There was silence for a bit before I decided to ask. “Why did you hand me my cartridges back?”

“Oh, you know, because I don’t see you as being a threat, or a so-called ‘bad guy’, I see you as just being another deceived average citizen. It wouldn’t be right to violate your property rights, or your right to life so long as they don’t threaten mine.”

“Here you are, you tied me up to a desk, and now you’re talking about my property rights? What is this?”

“I can guarantee you that you have more rights tied to my desk, than what you could reasonably expect from the government that you serve. You see, I could take your rifle, your cartridge box, your knife, the clothes off your back, and there isn’t a thing you could do about it, but if I did, my boss would probably put me in the reformatory for doing so. The government on the other hand, due to eminent domain laws, they could take any and all of that stuff without facing any repercussion. In fact, eminent domain is an act of tyranny that they exercise daily.”

“I’ve not heard of this eminent domain thing.” I said.

“That’s because the government also isn’t obligated to disclose every one of its laws, except when presenting them to the courts in legal battles. Do you see now what we have to rebel against?”

“Doesn’t Central Lake have a constitution that guarantees the right to property?”

“Technically, yes. I bet you were taught about the Central Lake Charter at some point or another, one that grants the citizens certain rights, but leaves the government the power to take any of the rights during wartime through the Mayor’s orders.”

“But we aren’t at war.” I said.

“No, but the Mayor’s orders are still being issued, and enforced by the Sheriff.”

“That’s wrong.” I said.

“Very wrong.”

“And that’s what you’re fighting against?”

“It is.”

I was silent again for another couple of minutes. Samuel broke the silence.

“Marinos is going to come by sometime today. I want to let you go before then.” He drew his knife and cut the twine around my wrists and handed me my rifle. “Go back home, and think earnestly about everything I’ve told you. If you come back nicely, we might let you join us.

I nodded. He gestured for me to leave, and I made my way out the door. I began loading my rifle as soon as I left.

Author's Note

Other chapters will be submitted later, this was a short first chapter designed only to give the reader a feel for the rest of the book to come.