THE LAST RANGER

Chapter One: Talib

'Hide, Talib,' his father shouted, panic in his voice as he pulled opened a small hatch and shoved him inside the tight space beneath the floorboard. 'Quickly now, boy, they are coming.'

Talib swallowed and followed his father's instructions. He held onto the trousers of his dark-blue Abadá, made himself small, and squeezed his body into the constricted space. It was the size of one of those wicker baskets his mam would use to collect the clothes from the wash lines. Dark and cold, it had a musky smell to it, the air all around very old, as if that hidden floorboard had never been opened before today.

His father slammed shut the square lid of the hidden floorboard with a thud. Talib heard the latch lock from above him with a click.

'Stay put, boy,' he heard his father say. 'I'll be back for you. Okay?'

'Okay, Pa.'

Footsteps thudded the wooden floorboard, creaking, leading out the hut and into the village beyond.

Talib, now engulfed in total darkness, barely able to breathe in the small space, wondered what in the hell was happening. Why was his father acting so desperate?

All he had said was "they are coming" and everyone in the village started to panic. Talib had just woken up, only to be shoved and prodded by his father straight back into slumber again, locking him away in this solitary confinement.

And where were his Ma and sister?

Trepidation ate away at him. Not knowing anything put him on edge, made it hard for him to breathe, his claustrophobia rising. He felt his chest rise and fall, but he tried to steady his breathing, do what his mam had told him to do whenever he felt the panic attack slowly creeping in. He closed his eyes and blew air out of his mouth, slowly, then sucked in some more of the stale air.

There was a wild scream from up above him. It came from the village outside and sounded like a little girl, no older than Talib himself, who was thirteen-years-old.

What was happening? It was killing him. He wanted to know, wanted to help.

Pa, he thought. Where are you?

Everything erupted then. There was the war-cry of whoever was invading: The kind that was projected by the uttering of a loud oh and then the smacking of their mouth with fingers in quick succession so that it echoed in a volley of oh oh oh oh oh. It sounded like the Anuk tribe, but he couldn't be certain. Why would they attack their land? The Naba tribe have done nothing to provoke them for at least two years now.

Talib could hear the clash of weapons, steel on steel, the wet crunch of weapons piercing flesh and bones, the sound of bodies thudding the ground, the slosh of mud, horse's hooves trampling the ground. It was madness. Every sound his mind latched onto formed a terrifying image.

The ground shook, Talib feeling every tremor where he hid. It sounded like the huts––made of stones and wood––were being broken down. Was it only a matter of time before the hut he was in tumbled down also?

He swallowed, and then clenched his jaw. Though he was afraid, he felt like a coward for just sitting squat while everyone else fought to defend their village.

He clenched his fists; thrust it up against the wooden floorboard. He winced, his knuckles burning, tried to shake off the pain.

He decided instead it would be wiser to use his feet. So he tilted himself backward, angled himself so that his back and head were touching the ground and his feet facing upward.

Outside, the battle still raged on, Talib could only imagine what was happening. He prayed to the Numen gods that his father was okay. Though his Pa was an Impi––a tribal warrior––and the Baale––the regional head of the villages in Nakara––he feared for him.