Tallas (The Tallas Series Book 1)

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Tallas (The Tallas Series Book 1) Page 4

by Cathrina Constantine


  Time seemed to languish as he waited for sounds of the Mediator’s. He decided to stick his head from the hole to steal a peek. Gyrating his small frame, he was about to make his move when the stamping of heavy boots caught his ear.

  He froze.

  ***

  “It don’t feel right to leave her breathing,” Dunket nagged.

  Basta cast his troops a disparaging scowl. “If it makes you feel better, we’ll hike down to the bottom and scrape what’s left of her off the boulders in the morning.”

  “What?” Karnel said. “We’re camping in these woods?”

  “We’ll head to the clearing where we came in.” Basta folded his arms over his chest. “Less likely to be bothered by mangy animals.”

  “Start gathering wood for a fire,” Dunket said, not happy.

  “What about the boy?” Vanek asked. “Are you going to let a boy outfox you?”

  Basta shrugged. “If he’s not in pieces at the bottom of the cliff, then he’ll be dead in a day. Something living in these woods will have a full belly.” His words sent them looping around, searching for man-eating beasts.

  “I thought Acquisitions insisted on his return along with the father.” Vanek’s statement unnerved Basta, a sight rarely seen. “You’d be hard pressed, again, not to follow orders.”

  “What the hell’s the matter with you, Vanek?” Basta said in a surly tone. “Are you working for me and the Mediators, or are you bucking for a Management position? I had an inkling you’d bring me trouble the moment Crigg brought you to Headquarters.”

  Vanek’s mouth arced downward. “What are you talking about?”

  “Crigg Dedal, Head of Acquisitions, you’re one of his pawns, right?” Basta finally laid his cards on the table. “You’ve been tailing me for months. Providing Crigg with an earful of indiscrete exploits?” Basta shot the mealy-faced man a baleful look. “You’re the reason for Petterman’s premature death—he knew too much. You, Vanek, it was you who took him out.”

  Basta’s outspoken friend and fellow Mediator, Petterman, whose stubborn goal had been to renovate Management procedures—most especially Acquisitions—often disagreed with Crigg Dedal. Basta had cautioned Petterman to stop meddling in the affairs of Management, but Petterman had said he’d taken off the blinders—And it had cost him his life.

  “You’re off your rocker. Completely insane.” Vanek shoved past Dunket and Karnel.

  In a sudden move, Basta clicked his handgun and pointed the barrel at Vanek’s retreating back. “Turn around, you filthy snitch.”

  ***

  Vanek heard the click and halted. “You gonna shoot me in the back, Basta?”

  Dunket and Karnel shuffled off to the side.

  “You mean like you murdered Petterman?” Basta held his magnum steady.

  “I work for you.” Vanek sounded genuine. “Not Crigg.” His mind raced for a solution as he raised his arms in surrender. In a gradual turn, he faced the Chief Mediator. “Petterman was my friend. I didn’t kill him.” Vanek loathed Basta with a passion, and digging up dirt on the man was a pleasant, deceptive task. And he was handsomely paid by Crigg for getting rid of the outspoken, rabble-rouser Petterman.

  Vanek gave him an innocent look and Basta lowered his handgun.

  Vanek bit back a smile, realizing the step up the prestigious ladder was within reach. Basta had threatened his life in front of credible witnesses. Once he killed Basta, he counted on Crigg’s guarantee—to be promoted to Chief Mediator.

  With his strategy intact, Vanek took flight, hurdling the log, and time enough to extract his weapon, swivel, and let loose a slug.

  ***

  Basta avoided the poorly targeted bullet. And with precision, he took aim and shot Vanek between the eyes. “Vanek, you never were a good shot.”

  It wasn’t Basta, but a stricken faced Karnel, crumpling to the dirt.

  Basta and Dunket rushed to his side.

  “Son-of-a-bitch—” cried Basta. “Vanek’s gone and killed Karnel.”

  “Guess it’ll be easy to explain to Crigg why you had to shoot Vanek,” Dunket said, dripping with irony.

  Locked in torment, dead eyes watched them, Basta lowered the man’s eyelids with gentle fingers. “He was a good man.” He heaved Karnel’s carcass over his wide shoulder.

  “What about Vanek?” Dunket asked.

  “If Crigg wants him, he can come and get him.”

  ***

  His heart pounding in fear, Fabal waited until their steps dimmed before squirming from the log. He reached into his hideout to grab his blanket and satchel. Standing upright he clapped his clothing and roughed his fingers through his hair, evicting an assortment of wiggly insects from their cotton domicile. He guzzled fresh air and stretched.

  A silvery gray had overtaken the forest, and cool breezes had replaced the opaque heat. Fabal took a step toward the dead Mediator. Upon closer inspection, he blanched at the gory, indented hole in his forehead. With his sneakered toe, he nudged the guy’s arm, almost afraid he might pop up and grab him. The arm fell limply to the ground. The Mediator was definitely dead.

  Fabal plodded downhill to where his mother had vanished.

  Chapter 7

  Keeyla heard footfalls. Not the steps of a man—but of a boy. “Fabal?” she cried from her perch.

  His finely shaped head protruded from the ledge. “Mom? You’re alive.”

  “Barely.” She twisted her head to look up at him.

  He inched his body over the ledge, extending his arms and stretching his fingers. “Can you reach me?”

  “Don’t, Fabal—” she yelled. “You’ll fall.”

  “How can I get you up?”

  “I waited for you.” She sounded weak. “I’m going to try and throw the pack to the surface. Then I want you to follow the setting sun and find Fulvio. Don’t stop unless it’s absolutely necessary. Carry the gun in your hand just in case of…” She didn’t elaborate, and gathered a breath. “Do you hear me?”

  “No—I can get you up,” he yelped, apparently not comfortable with leaving her. “What’s that red stuff on your shirt? Are you shot?”

  “There isn’t much time. Stand back.” Keeyla attempted to grasp the tree trunk while slipping the satchel from her shoulders. She wobbled, nearly losing her balance.

  “Wait—Stop! Don’t move,” he said, his voice on the edge of breaking. “I’ll run and find Fulvio.”

  Hearing the anxiety in his voice, Keeyla wished she could hold him one last time. Would it be possible to send him in pursuit of Fulvio? I’ll be dead by the time they made it back. And Fabal needs the supplies in her bag. “Did the Mediators pass the log?”

  “Yes—yes they did.”

  “I heard shooting and I thought they found you.” She slouched to rest her arms on her thighs. “I didn’t think they’d hurt you because your father said the Mediators returned Elot and Maisry back to Tallas. Did you hear anything important?”

  “They were arguing about one of them being a snitch. Then there was shooting. I think two men died, but when I climbed out of the log there was only one dead man.”

  “There were four, so that leaves two.” Her voice was lucid and clear. “They’ll be back in the morning…for my body. And they’ll be hunting for you.”

  “I heard them say they needed to get back to Tallas right away. So they probably won’t be back,” his voice was shaky. And she figured he was fibbing. “I have a plan. There’s all these viney things hanging around here. I’m going to see if I can make a rope to pull you up.”

  Before she had a chance to object, he disappeared from sight. Minutes passed and she heard him moving around. “Fabal, what are you doing?”

  “I’m knotting and braiding the vines.” His voice fell over the cliff. “I think it’ll work.”

  Keeyla adjusted her body on the trunk and winced. Her arm and upper shoulder pulsated to her palms. Fabal had ignored her ceaseless urgings to find shelter. And she resisted the temptation to chastise him,
not wanting her last words to be a scolding reprimand. He needed to leave before night settled.

  While Fabal worked, he blathered about nothing and everything, and Keeyla half-listened, resting her cheek on the coarse bark. Evening eventually invaded the mountainside, as inky shadows crept over the rocky ledge.

  After snapping and testing the rope, Fabal lowered it. “Mom, see if you can reach it,” he said. “I’ll swing it to you, so don’t do anything stupid, like falling off.”

  Keeyla played tag with the vine, but her hand failed to connect. She swiveled, every muscle in her body screaming as she stretched and finally snatched the braided vine.

  “Great—” Fabal cheered in triumph. “Now wind it around your waist and I’ll pull you up.”

  That bit of mirth revived Keeyla somewhat. Fabal was stalwart and brave in spirit, but his structural body mass hadn’t yet been achieved at eleven years old. Protecting his pride, she said, “How about I tie the vine around the satchel and you pull that up?”

  “Good idea, let’s see if it works.”

  She carefully removed the shoulder straps of the satchel and set it on the tree trunk in front of her. Since her left arm was incapacitated, it was a difficult operation. Threading the rope through the straps, she managed to make a slipknot by holding the vine between her teeth. “Okay, pull it up. Go slow.”

  The satchel slowly ascended. She watched in excitement as the overloaded bag reached the eroded ledge. Then, without warning, the viney rope frayed and broke. The satchel fell, its belongings scattering like confetti and peppering the boulders below.

  “Oh, no—” Fabal wailed.

  His weeping was contagious, and Keeyla couldn’t control her own spilling tears. Between her sniffling, a whinny and cantering floated on the dusky airwaves.

  “Fabal, run. The Mediator’s are back!”

  ***

  Cloaked in darkness, a monstrous shape clomped above Fabal on the rampart of the hill. He brandished the jackknife, preparing for an imminent attack. A second behemoth beast sidled alongside the snorting monster and roared. The offensive racket caused tree limbs to vibrate. Horrified, the behemoth animal fell on his four appendages.

  Charging out of the darkness, past banded pines, the beast emerged from the forest into the clearing. Moonbeams showered the shaggy creature. Its disheveled fur and fangs looked like polished spikes. Beady black eyes stared at him. A beastly snout sniffed the boy, and the detection of his pocketknife riled the beast into a standing position, blocking out the moon.

  Fabal, unaware of his feet teetering on the crumbling ledge, rained pebbles down on his screeching mother. The beasts mighty paw rounded Fabal’s body. Bucking wildly against the assault, Fabal lost the knife and was dumped unceremoniously off to the side, away from the ledge.

  “Tibbles—” said a male, throaty voice. “Careful not to hurt the boy.”

  From his vantage point on the ground, the stranger looked half-man, half-horse. His tongue adhered to the roof of his mouth, Fabal felt dizzy as his heart pumped uncontrollably as the half-man half-horse came forward.

  Meaty paws suddenly anchored Fabal under his armpits and lifted him to a standing position. The big-pawed creature kept cuffing his backside, loosening dirt and stone particles.

  “There now,” said the voice from the shadows. “All better.” The stranger dismounted an extraordinary tall horse. “I’d introduce myself, however, I hear a distressed female hailing us from over the cliff side.” He turned to the gleaming stallion and, unhooking a nylon cable, strode to the ledge.

  The man, whose girth seemed as wide as his stature, peered down at his stranded mother. “Young lady, I’m about to toss a rope. I’d advise you to fasten it snuggly from the crook of your legs, under your arms and around your chest.”

  “Where’s my son?”

  “I’m all right, Mom.” Fabal’s child-like cadence filled the air. “This man’s going to help.”

  “Young lady, did you hear what I said? I’m lowering the rope now.”

  “My left arm is dead.” Her voiced crackled as she spoke. “I can barely move. I won’t be able to tie the cord.”

  The man stood perplexed, then turned to the boy. “Come here, boy.”

  Fabal gawked at his obscure face, dark and unreadable. When he glanced at the enormous beast the man had called Tibbles, Fabal was too terrified to budge.

  “I said come here, boy. You want to save your mother, don’t you?”

  With a tentative nod, he sidestepped to the man while keeping an eye on the beast.

  At once the nylon cord was wound around him, encasing Fabal’s frame. “This might be difficult, but I know you are fearless.” The man talked like he knew the boy. “I saw it in your eyes when Tibbles approached. Fabal, you will rescue your mother.”

  “How’d you know my name?”

  The man straightened to his full height. He looked like a formidable giant with his knuckles resting on his hips. “I should know my own grandson’s name.”

  Chapter 8

  Fabal was dumbstruck as the man stuck the end of the cord in his hand then gave him explicit instructions. “I’ll lower you to the trunk. Be very careful, for your mother is unsteady and weak. You are to wind this end of the cord around her upper thighs and then bind it around her chest under her arms. Then have her wrap her arms around your shoulders and lean onto your back. You are to call when your task is complete. Tibbles, Zennith, and I will pull you both up. Do you understand?”

  Fabal signified with a dip of his chin.

  The man trod to the stallion, lassoed the cord to the saddle horn, and said to the beast, “Hold tight, my friend.” The beast wound a length of cord over his paw. “Come, my boy. Skedaddle over the ledge and bring your mother up with you.”

  With a backward glimpse at his so-called grandfather, the man’s large hands clasped the cord, giving him an encouraging nod. Fabal dropped to the ground on his stomach and swung his feet into dead space. Pushing his legs over the crest, he gripped the cord with one hand while directing his descent with the other. “I’m coming, Mom. Don’t be scared.”

  “Fabal?” Keeyla said, confounded. “You’ll fall. What are you doing?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said like a real trooper. His toes touched the tree trunk, and with Keeyla’s guidance, straddled the log. “I’m here—” he shouted to his grandfather.

  As instructed, Fabal bound his mother with the cord, and with all his strength, tied the cord to his body. “Now,” he said, “wrap your arms around my neck and lean on my back.”

  “I can’t move my left arm,” she whispered.

  “Then wrap the other one around me.” She fastened her arm over his shoulder and around his neck. Fabal shouted, “We’re ready. Pull!” The cord tautened as it stretched. He faced the cliff, his feet and fingers moving like spider legs in the cleaved ruts. Foot by foot, the pair was lugged to the cliff shelf.

  “Gotcha,” the big man said, hauling them to safety.

  ***

  In unbridled urgency, hands and fingers deftly unwound the tangled pair. Prompt, yet, gently, Keeyla was rolled onto her back. Fulvio ripped open her blood-stained shirt and applied pressure to the weeping wound.

  Keeyla studied the man’s face. By the light of the moon his hair looked like the color of refined salt with traces of ebony strands distributed throughout. A rangy beard and mustache screened his facial features, though, his eyes, a silvery gray sparked recognition. “Fulvio?” she said in the lightest of breaths.

  He paused and his eyes caught hers. “Why yes, my dear, Keeyla. Fulvio, at your service.” His mustache twitched along with his cheek before he returned his attention to treating her wound.

  A shallow breath parted her lips. “Please—take care—of Fabal.”

  “Well, my dear Keeyla, that’ll be your job to raise your son as you see fit.”

  Her head fell sideways as she lost consciousness. Without delay, Fulvio scooped her up and, with her petite figure cradled against
his chest, walked toward the chestnut stallion. “Zennith, would you mind?” he said.

  The horse, well exceeding the typical standard height at twenty-six hands, obliged and kneeled.

  ***

  Boggled by the stallion’s comprehension, and feeling forgotten, Fabal said, “What about me?”

  “Tibbles, would you be so kind to cart our hero?” Fulvio asked in a gallant tone.

  Fabal recoiled at the low growl emanating behind him. In all the confusion, he’d forgotten about the enormous beast. Tibbles walked upright, towering over him, and after an exasperated snort, the beast flattened himself on the ground. The uncanny resemblance of a bear came to mind, though a bear of exorbitant physique.

  “Hop on, little man,” Fulvio ordered. “Quickly. We haven’t any time to waste. Hold on tight, Tibbles is swifter than Zennith.”

  Fabal climbed onto the shaggy beast’s back and knotted his fingers into the burly fur. He gaped at his expansive shoulder blades, and clung tightly as the creature proceeded to scale the incline. Once atop the ridgeline, Tibbles reared, the inertia sending him backward and nearly causing him to lose his grip.

  Tibbles seemed to fly, his gargantuan paws eating up the rough terrain. Dark woodlands swallowed them as chilly drafts slapped Fabal’s head. A surfeit of pines and trees whizzed by as the beast raced over the landscape at a dizzying speed. His stomach felt queasy, Fabal folded his body over the bear’s backbone.

  When clobbering hoof beats thudded in his ears, Fabal peeled his eyelids open. He was flabbergasted as Tibbles spurted ahead of the horse, only discontinuing his riotous tempo once he had gained a considerable lead.

  They slowed in a copse of magnificent conifers, needled boughs extended in supplication to the moon. Deviating through the trees, they approached a sheer mountainside. Covered in vegetation, mutinous vines of ivy, muted by the moonlight in shades of glossy emeralds and brownish-greens. Prior to taking another step, an alarming howl spiked the hair on Fabal’s arms and Tibbles’s hackles rose.

 

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