Tallas (The Tallas Series Book 1)

by Cathrina Constantine

  Keeyla was accustomed to the method. Her first work assignment was the decapitation and plucking of chickens and chopping parts for distribution. “Are you sure that’s a rabbit?” she inquired, inspecting the meaty creature. “It’s pretty big.”

  Fulvio itched his nose with his knuckle. “If you haven’t noticed by now, this new wilderness grows things big—bigger than those cultivated in captivity. Do I look underfed after squandering my time for fourteen years here?” Slicing the flesh with precision, he scraped the viscera into a pail and began the deboning process.

  “Something tells me you weren’t squandering your time.” Shoring up her left arm with her right hand, she moved closer to the stew preparation. “More than likely, you’ve been on a mission—a calling strong enough for you to disregard Management’s authority and leave your son.”

  “You’ve hit a nerve, my dear. Leaving Doogan was the hardest part of my journey. At first, I left him in the dark, mindless of my intentions. I knew how Management worked. He was well on his way to being a good physician, respected by both the people and Elite families that asked specifically for him. I figured that bastard, Pomfrey wouldn’t harm Doogan after he’d just saved him from choking to death. However, my concern was his punishment after my disappearance. It was a brutal show to subjugate and rattle citizens.”

  “Yes, it was,” she said, her voice aggrieved. Visions of the brutal whip carving Doogan’s back hit her in vivid color. “Teaching us a lesson is Stiglet’s thing, as you well know.” As she related the appalling treatment of Doogan, Fulvio’s robust complexion turned ashy. Relentless, she continued to describe the scene, wanting him to feel his son’s suffering. “Leaving Tallas didn’t condemn you. It was everything you stole which guaranteed your treasonous death. The Mediators were hard on Doogan, due to his meddling in their affairs. No one was allowed to touch him for an hour afterward. They wanted us to watch him bleed. His blood watered the ground like…” Registering Fulvio’s despondent gaze and shaky hands, she delayed her vengeful reminder of that day. “My father knew Doogan was living alone and carried him to our place.” During a temporary lull, she noticed tremors attacking Fulvio.

  “That’s when you fell in love with my son?” His voice cracked.

  Nipping her bottom lip, she nodded.

  “When word reached me about—about Doogan.” He puffed out a jagged breath and pressed his brow with the heel of his palms. “I wanted to check on my boy and speak to him. Your father caught me sneaking in the window, and we talked for a while. Good man.”

  “You did!” Her astonishment plainly heard in her voice. “My father never told me, and he died two years later.”

  “I asked him not to involve you, or anyone else for that matter. I was a sought-after criminal. Anyone abetting me might’ve experienced worse than Doogan.”

  “Well, my father kept his part of the bargain. And Doogan never mentioned it.” With her free hand, she pinned her hair behind her ear. “Can I help chop those carrots? At least, I think they’re carrots…or squash?”

  “Save what’s left of your strength. You’ll need it if you want to go with us.”

  Fulvio uncapped a container and sloshed water into the kettle. Speedily, like an expert sou-chef, he chopped the rabbit meat, carrots, onions, and potatoes, mixing the ingredients in the wrought iron kettle. Attaching the kettle onto the spit, he hovered it over the fire to cook.

  Wiping his soiled hands on a cloth, he then tossed it into the fire. “You are aware, Keeyla, I was an Elite, one of the first to pull together and start the community. To oversee and manage the damaged souls wandering listlessly. Those were rough days. We were barely alive.”

  Keeyla felt haggard, her life energy siphoning down the proverbial tubes.

  Fulvio must’ve noticed because he suggested, “Why don’t you refresh yourself with a short nap while the stew simmers?”

  “No, Fulvio.” She fastened her weary eyes on him. “I want you to explain why you left.”

  “Okay, but you can listen while lying down, can’t you?”

  She shrugged, a throbbing blunder for her left shoulder. She let him assist her to the divan. Depositing her achy bones on the mattress, she shut her eyes. “Just because my eyes are closed doesn’t mean I can’t hear you. Please continue.”

  “Evoking the past can be sentimental, grueling and painful,” he said. “I tend to see myself as a cowardly buffoon.”

  Peeking through a slash in her eyelids, she saw his bigger-than-life silhouette on the cavern walls.

  “The earth was barren after the final days, awash in browns and grays.” His tale began. “It appeared like a select few had endured the violence and the storms that followed. Pomfrey Addler, Cletus Stiglet, Zent Olgobene, and myself built small ramshackle huts to house stragglers…”

  Throughout his wordy discourse, Keeyla had drifted into a semi-dozing state. Imagery played in her mind of the struggling settlement. As if in a dream, she heard Fulvio say, “Let’s skip ahead, shall we?”

  She realigned her arm over her waist, getting comfortable.

  “Citizens argued and fought over the pitiful necessities. Pandemonium was devouring the newfound village. We choose strong men and called them Mediators, and instituted bylaws for people to abide. The former regime had virtually exterminated mankind, and decisions were made to manage our community with a diverse echelon. People initiated the phrase Management. The term, Elites was formed for the four of us, and the Executives who assisted.

  “A lone structure towering beyond the village limits had not been obliterated. The people elected it to house Elites and their prospective families.” His voice sounded faraway, as thought his spirit fled into a bygone era.

  “Pomfrey delegated like a tyrant, and Cletus, his lapdog. People were brainwashed into trusting in a free Tallas—far from the truth. When an influx of suffering people with deformities came into the village, citizens united to construct a greatly needed Infirmary. Then a mysterious disease struck. With no remedy in sight, people were dying on a daily basis. Rumors spread and citizens began to accuse the mutants for their plight.”

  His voice turned bitter. “Pomfrey, in collusion with Zent and Cletus ordered a detachment of Mediators to abduct them. Those poor souls were either killed or left in the wilderness. When I discovered their duplicity, I made a stand against them, only to have the deplorable Pomfrey threaten my family.

  “Then Doogan was caught stealing. You know what happened next. He would’ve been spared the whip due to my status, however, Doogan made the error of lambasting Pomfrey and Cletus in front of the entire village.

  “After we moved out of the mansion, Brige died and I made a serious resolution. Doogan was fifteen and well on his way to adulthood. Citizens adored him, and he’d excelled at the Infirmary. It was time to put my plan into action…”

  A whiffing floated from Keeyla’s mouth, apparently transporting Fulvio back to the present.

  He sighed. “My verbose rambling has put you to sleep.”

  Chapter 15

  “Keeyla, it’s time.”

  Parting her eyelids she found Fulvio’s beard tickling her nose. His gray eyes dark and concerned.

  “Already?” she said through a yawn.

  “It’s past time. I let you and Fabal sleep, but now we must depart.”

  Like a slug, she rolled into a sitting position, exacerbating her wounded body. Her brain whirled. It felt as if the ground was coming up to meet her and, dropping her head into her hand, waited for the spinning to stop.

  “Here, eat this.” He handed her a tin plate overflowing with stew, and a piece of hard bread. “Fabal has eaten, and we’re just about packed and ready to go.

  He strived to possess a lighthearted cadence, yet she sensed an ill-omened undertone.

  “Prior to our journey, I’d be remiss if I didn’t warn you,” he said, cracking his knuckles “We’re likely to stumble upon some notable sights along the way. This wilderness has a plethora of peculiar and of
tentimes harmful creatures. We must be on the lookout and ready for whatever comes our way.”

  She shifted on the divan, disturbed. “You’re not making me feel better.” She ate a large spoonful of stew, and it distressingly sank to the pit of her empty stomach.

  “Ahhh, I’ve added a tad of tonic to your stew, for your pain.”

  With a small shake of her head, she said, “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Oh, you mean the creatures?” She noticed a small valley of concern between his brows.

  “Something like that,” she said between bites. The reference of monsters did nothing to mitigate the anxiety bubbling through her.

  Fulvio was busy rooting in a crate and said over his shoulder, “Not all the nonsense spreading through Tallas was fabricated.” And he mumbled under his breath, “Monsters indeed.”

  Fabal talked spiritedly to the bear as they tossed soil over the fire, dousing the flames. The cave dulled to an eerie pitch, until Fulvio lit a torch to ease the dark.

  After her rescue from the cliff, Keeyla had been semi-conscious and everything had been a blur. Now thunderstruck as a stout horse pranced to the forefront and knelt on the ground for her to mount. She grasped the saddle horn with her right hand and scarcely managed to swing her right leg over the saddle. The action jarred her shoulder, blasting a knife-like jolt through her chest. She moaned and admonished herself for being pathetic.

  She rode in front of Fulvio, his arms bracketing her body. Apparently, he was afraid she might tire and fall, and this way she could lean back and snooze, if need be. He’d constructed a clever harness for Tibbles. A yoke encircled his thick neck, and leather leads attached to a wooden cart stacked with supplies. Atop the bear, Fabal pitched side to side in tune to the beast’s lumbering style.

  They cruised through a murky tunnel to a partition of tangled ivy and emerged into a forest filled in subtle moonlight. Hungrily breathing in fresh air, she felt as if she’d been tucked in that mountainside forever. How long had it been since Doogan’s capture?

  The coppice of vegetation deadened the rhythmic tempo of the animals’ footsteps. Spookily silent, not even a tweet or distant howl lingered on the wind. Her eyes riveted on the woodland, all she could fathom was her short-lived childhood.

  Skin hung from her mother’s bones like an old woman, though she was still young. Her stick-like arms stirred something that looked like mush in a tarnished pot over the infinite fire pit. Her father’s skeletal features rank with hopelessness as he knelt off to the side, spitting a rabbit on an improvised skewer. She remembered her baby sister, wailing in hunger, the little cherub so emaciated and soon died. Her mother rocked the lifeless infant, her eyes hollow. It didn’t take long for her mother’s fragile body to succumb to an illness marked by a throaty hacking, which still rang in Keeyla’s ears. Then tramping in the woods, searching for food and signs of life. It wasn’t until men herded them like sheep to a somewhat blossoming village.

  Zennith whinnied, breaking Keeyla’s trance.

  “What time is it?” she said drowsily.

  Fulvio’s head veered skyward, boughs of pines blocked his view. Then a breeze bent the pines, rendering a glimpse of a waning moon. “Judging by the moon’s position, I’d say it’s three-thirty or four in the morning.” As an afterthought, he added, “Funny isn’t it, like the wind parted the trees to answer your question. Over the years, I’d experienced my fair share of enigmas. Someday, I’ll share them with you. They’re better told in the light of day. I wouldn’t want to frighten the boy.”

  Fabal, having heard their conversation, shouted, “I don’t scare that easily.” The whites of his oval eyes could be seen in the dusk.

  “Tut, tut, Fabal, we mustn’t wake those whom we’d prefer to remain asleep.”

  Keeyla was glad of Fulvio’s warmth as a chilly draft swept her cheeks. She cuffed the collar of her jacket. From the corner of her eye, she saw something scuttle between the tree trunks. Another black shape scurried in the same direction. She concentrated on the spot, yet the shapes seemed to have vanished. All the talk of monsters, I’m seeing things.”

  Fulvio shifted in the saddle. He dropped one hand from the reins and, when it returned, he positioned his handgun on his upper thigh.

  A cold finger of dread crossed her neck, she wasn’t the only one who’d seen something. Zennith’s mane twitched, and he tipped his muzzle up and down, also suspecting something wasn’t quite kosher.

  Progressing to a copious brook, Zennith halted to drink, and Tibbles did likewise. Keeyla’s eyes ping-ponged from tree to tree, canvassing the area. They rode into higher ground and into dense undergrowth, thick with burdening trees.

  Suddenly, Zennith wrenched his head and a barrel-chested growl emanated from Tibbles.

  “Whoa, Zennith, whoa.” Fulvio’s voice was firm albeit guarded.

  An object whooshed past Keeyla, and landed on the horse’s neck. The fretful horse jumped, nearly dislodging his passengers. The invasive furry lump seemed to stick like glue and crept toward her. Amassing her nerve, and with her good hand, she thwacked it off.

  Suddenly a colony of black stalkers rained from the trees. Forgetting her pain, she lunged in all directions, batting the menace. And if it weren’t for Fulvio’s secure strength, she surely would’ve fallen.

  Fulvio wasted no time dispatching the creatures, firing shot after shot. “Fabal, watch your back,” he hollered, taking aim. “Tibbles, get the hell out of here.” Reining in the Zennith, he spurred his heels into his side. They skittered through the forest evading encumbering foliage.

  Keeyla groped for the saddle horn. “Fabal—” she shouted, and twisted in the saddle to see her son and Tibbles fast approaching. Dangling from the beast’s jaws was a dead animal.

  “Hah, breakfast.” Fulvio sounded too cheerful after such an assault. “Thanks, Tibbles.”

  “What the heck are those things?” Fabal yelled, no longer caring if he made noise. His eyes expectant and a growth of tangles covered his head.

  “That, my little man, is what I call a coonbagger, a mammal with a taste for flesh. It’s kind of a cross between a raccoon and a badger. A nasty critter, if I do say so myself. Another hour and we’ll stop and cook-up that tasty morsel.”

  Striving her utmost not to stare at the lifeless animal that Tibbles seemed to prize, Keeyla asked Fabal, “You’re okay?”

  “’Course, Mom. That was awesome.”

  “Don’t get too cocky, Fabal,” Fulvio warned in a throaty chuckle. “There’s plenty more awesome where that came from.”

  They headed into a misty clearing to see the sun breaking up the shadows.

  Chapter 16

  Doogan’s head was tailspinning. It didn’t seem possible. Is Paniess lying about the baby? He’d never know for sure.

  Clive jabbed his fingers into Doogan’s spine, his indication to walk faster. When they arrived at Dr. Merkle’s office, the door was ajar. They strode past the doorframe, and stopped in front of the desk. The leather chair faced the wall of file cabinets. Clive reversed his steps, leaving him alone with the doctor.

  The chair swiveled, revealing a man he wasn’t expecting. Pomfrey Addler. The Elite looked too good for his age, no doubt due to a life of leisure. Decked out in a posh linen suit, his pale hair meticulously coiffed and shining. Fine wrinkles lined his forehead.

  His calculating eyes scanned Doogan from toe to head, arresting on his face. Pomfrey’s clasped his hands together in a laidback pose. “Doogan McTullan,” he said, as if taking roll call. “You’ve disappointed me.” He slapped a case file on the desk to make his point. “When Fulvio abandoned Tallas, taking with him valuable necessities, I went out on a limb for you.”

  Pomfrey’s chest expanded with a sighing breath, his head shaking in disappointment. “Years ago, you were lucky to receive a light sentence and remain at the Infirmary. Cletus had inspired a brilliant plan for your disposal, a way to bring Fulvio back into Tallas. But, I stood up for your gleaming reputati
on. I believed in you. You wanted to heal Tallas’s wounds.”

  He paused, smoothing his faultless head of hair. “Are you still that bright-eyed boy that wants to help our citizens?” Pomfrey’s eyes hacked into him. “Do you still harbor compassion for our beloved village?”

  Doogan stared at him, unsure of what the man was demanding. “Like you helped Elcot and Maisry’s parents?” he said, his voice laced with poison.

  “We did them a favor by recouping their children.” His mouth tweaked into a puckish line. “Do you even know what lurks beyond the borders? They’d be dead within a week without our support.”

  “So that’s how you protect your citizens? A bullet to the head?”

  Pomfrey slammed his palms on the desk. “Enough of this. You know the law.” His fingers reached for the bridge of his nose and glided over his brow. “Since the conception of Management,”—sounding official—“we’re committed in salvaging our land and its struggling people. That’s why we’ve commenced with the erection of a barrier to circumference the village, to protect Tallas.”

  “Seems more like a penal colony to me.” Doogan crossed his arms.

  Pomfrey’s eyes blistered. “If people commuted into hazardous regions, all would be lost. Don’t you understand?”

  When he didn’t comment, Pomfrey asked, “How old are you? Twenty-eight, twenty-nine?”

  “Around there.”

  “So young. You have a lot of life to live. And if you cooperate, you might make your next birthday.” He opened the folder in front of him and appeared to be reading the report. With his head down, he said, “So is your father alive?”

  Doogan sloped forward, splaying his fingers on the desktop. “You seem to have all the answers. You tell me.”

  “You were abandoning the citizens to rendezvous with your father. Isn’t that correct?” Pomfrey rose, meeting his venomous expression with his own. “We could beat it out of you, but your history tells us it wouldn’t do any good.”