Tallas (The Tallas Series Book 1)

by Cathrina Constantine

  Merkle steadied his hand on Sese’s forearm and said soothingly, “Now, now, Afram. Maybe we should take a break.” He then turned his attention to Doogan. “You should go.”

  “What about the boy?” Doogan persisted. He was afraid of walking out the door and having these barbarians make quick work of Knox before he could stop them.

  “We have an intricate procedure on the docket for tomorrow—reattaching a severed leg. It’ll be momentous, don’t you think? If we’re successful, it’d help the people injured in the wolf attacks.” Merkle sounded heartfelt, like he’d be wiping the slate clean of their dastardly deeds. “Although, if Mr. Addler consents to your proposition, we will obey, as always.”

  Shocked into silence, he gaped at the aged men, astounded by their twisted brains. It was plausible the final days played a major factor in their soulless demeanors.

  In their crippled minds, they were saving humanity.

  Chapter 23

  Lightning sliced through roiling clouds and remote rumblings drew closer. The wheels crackled over gravel, as the wagon steered to a large expanse of land. Remembering the last encounter with a grassy field, gooseflesh littered Keeyla’s arms. “I don’t like this,” she said.

  “It’s jus’ a little thunder.” Smelt’s voice carried on the rising currents.

  Cool breezes whipped at her hair. “It’s not the thunder that I’m worried about.” She glanced from side to side, expecting to see the weaving pattern of a serpent.

  “Like I said, mostly grizzlies in these parts,” he said noticing her surveying the stalky weeds.

  “I thought you were kidding.” She attempted to restrain her lashing hair.

  “Nope,” he said, raising his voice above the howling wind. With the reins, he snipped Gingersnap’s rear quarters. The wagon pitched forward, juggling its occupants. “We’d better get our butts in gear before the rain hits or the wheels will get stuck in the mud.”

  ***

  Zennith gamboled amid the grassland, the cooler atmosphere apparently reviving the steed. And Fulvio’s hearty laughter coalesced in the gusty wind.

  Fabal stared at the awesome sight. His grandfather, riding the majestic horse, looked like a supernatural being. Silver locks buffeted his head. The man was so accustomed to danger that he laughed in its face. Even Tibbles frolicked. His beefy legs seemed to be performing some kind of a jig, rocking Fabal from side to side. His giggles vented in the air.

  The clouds eclipsed the sun, blanketing them in murkiness. Fabal jolted at an portentous clap, which smothered his giggles. His fingers trussed to Tibbles pelt like a burrowing gnat, the only sound in his ears was the swishing wind as the bear picked up speed. His eyes veered to the wagon jostling over the dale as they left them in the dust.

  A three-pronged lightning bolt struck the far-reaching terrain, shaking the earth beneath them. Tibbles zagged to the right, throwing Fabal to the left. “Who—o—a!” he yelled, his fingers sliding in the fur, trying to gain purchase.

  Tibbles paid little heed and continued racing over the uneven ground.

  Riding sideways with one arm spinning like a mutinous windmill, Fabal’s meager one-handed grip on the beast’s fur was slipping. Battling against the wind, he forced his body forward. His free hand stretched, reaching to grab on to something, anything.

  He lunged, his fingers clasped the yoked collar, righting himself. Squeezing his eyes shut, he blocked the stinging air and buried his head into the bear’s shoulders.

  The sky split. Sheets of water surged to the earth.

  “Hurry, Tibbles! This way to shelter,” Fulvio bellowed in the blustery weather.

  Fabal held on for dear life as the bear’s mass joggled under him.

  ***

  Leaning into the squall, Keeyla clasped the planked bench. She swiveled to glance at the passengers in the wagon. Tanya slouched in the corner, sheltering the little girl cowering in her lap, while Horatio and Mortmiller clung to the wooden sides. Regardless of the precipitation, she was eager to have that stretch of land behind them.

  Smelt pulled on the reins, navigating Gingersnap off their northern direction toward the west and easing onto the rail of a ledge. Thankfully, the cascading showers subsided to a drizzle, but even so, the horse’s hooves still stumbled. Clipped yelps sang from the passengers as the wheels rode the rim, tilting the wagon. Keeyla’s heart skipped a beat as she peered over the precipitous drop.

  Steely fingers banded her forearm. “Everyone move to the opposite side of the wagon,” Smelt hollered.

  His arm interlocked Keeyla’s elbow, smashing her against him. Displacing their body weight and angling away from the hazardous ledge, which enabled Gingersnap to right the wheels onto the rail path.

  In a short time, the stony path had morphed to slippery mud as they progressed, wending down and down the mountainside. The tempest wind had blown away the rainclouds and glorious sunshine filled the sky. The moist atmosphere lingered with the tang of loam and shale, mixed with pine. Rounding a bend, they sighted an overhanging plateau where it appeared the route had come to an end.

  Fulvio was already standing on the ledge with Fabal and Tibbles when Gingersnap and the wagon came to a standstill. “There—” Fulvio pointed. “Tallas.”

  They stared in silence, almost afraid to speak for fear of Tallas hearing them. So far yet, so close. Snuggled in the valley was a modest village with its adjacent pastures. From their secluded location, they could make out the contour of fencing, bordering more than half of the community. Citizens looked like ants, working in the orchards and along the fence line.

  Fulvio then turned to inspect his party. Frazzled and sopping wet, the group looked like drowning victims who’d scarcely survived. The only ones raring to go were Fabal and Swan, thoroughly enjoying their mud baths. Discovering a giant-sized puddle, Fabal ran toward it while extending his arms, as though getting ready to nosedive. He surfed into the sodden pool on his belly, splashing water. Swan duplicated the boisterous plunge, though her little frame wasn’t strong enough to skim to the bank, and she sunk in the middle of the puddle. Clambering to her knees and sputtering water from her mouth, Swan heaved her drenched snow-white hair, which was now a pasty brown, out of her face. Fabal roared in merriment. His hooting laughter drew everyone’s eyes and whispered shouts of “Quiet.”

  Tibbles lumbered toward them on his hind legs, a silly grin shaping his jaws, his intentions obvious. Fabal splashed through the puddle, grabbing Swan and dragging her to the side. Tibbles dove into the pool, emptying the water.

  “Ahhh, to be young again,” Fulvio said.

  Keeyla shook her head at the mud buckets, wondering how on Earth they were going to get them clean, and chuckled in spite of their grossness. Turning to Fulvio, she said, “Are we stopping here for the night?”

  “Yes, this is Three Rocks.”

  Keeyla viewed the mountain. The perpendicular frontage seemed to flow into the bulk of three boulders like a petrified waterfall. The boulders’ protrusion melted into the plateau.

  “I think we’re too close to the village,” she said. “If we start a fire, the smoke will be seen, and the heliocrafts will be all over us.”

  “My dear, come with me.” Fulvio walked toward the petrified waterfall with a bit of a swagger. He seemed to be probing the stone, his hands browsing the surface. “Come, Mortmiller, Horatio.”

  She thought he’d lost his marbles. Fulvio was pushing the mountainside. Then she heard cracking and the abrasion of stone on stone. Mortmiller, Horatio, and then with Smelt’s combined strength, shoulders to the rock, pushing and thumping. Veins bulged on their temples and necks, faces skewed at their exertion. Finally, the boulder gave way, creating a fracture just big enough for them to squiggle through.

  “Calcified trees have adhered to the rock,” Fulvio said out of breath. “A resourceful hideout that even Mediators have yet to detect.” He withdrew his flashlight. The lancing beam guided them through tangles of entwined tree roots, which looked li
ke a maze of gnarly fingers. Finally arriving at a vast cave, Smelt set to work starting a fire. Apparently, the hideout was often occupied, for there were stacks of unused timber and a excavated pit with charred wood.

  Horatio gestured to the men. “C’mon, we need to hide any traces of our being here.”

  “Wait a sec.” Smelt cursed under his breath as he tried over and over to light the wood. “Dammit, this wood’s too damp.”

  Fulvio reached into one of his many pockets, drawing out a cylindrical bottle and sprayed the wood. “Now try.”

  Swoosh. Fire erupted, throwing light into Keeyla’s eyes.

  ***

  Fabal was teaching Swan how to ride Tibbles. Their chirping giggles contagious as Tanya and Keeyla watched. He attempted to boost Swan over Tibbles, but she teetered and fell into his arms. Looking mortified, he callously dropped her to the ground.

  Swan turned on him, her lower lip in an exaggerated pout. Tibbles then flattened to his stomach for easier loading. Swan spun back to the bear and Fabal pitched her atop his broad shoulders. He scooted on behind her. The immense beast juggled them again and again, coursing through the pool of water.

  Smelt scrunched his hawk-like nose. “How many times do we have to tell those kids to stop cackling?”

  “Fabal,” Keeyla called to him. His body was a grubby combination of encrusted mud and gunk. “Quiet down and help us out.”

  The rainfall had made the process of disguising their presence harder. Tamping the wet ground and smearing leafy branches to banish the telltale signs took what was left of the afternoon.

  After chiseling the petrified limbs, making a wider entrance for the animals and the wagon, the entire party trekked into the cave.

  “We’re like sitting ducks in here,” Fabal said, standing inside of the hideout, and gazing at their vain attempts to disguise their tracks. Scratching his mud caked head he peered through the gapping hole.

  “Wait and watch.” Fulvio pressed a strong hand on his shoulder.

  A weak grating and crackling noise could be heard, then increasing in volume. It echoed as tentacles of roots twisted and coiled, inch-by-inch. Squatting on his heels, he gawked in amazement at the unbelievable sight.

  Fulvio chuckled and traipsed away, a smile lighting his face.

  Swan had come up behind Fabal and sat next to him, also watching. “Neat, isn’t it?” she whispered.

  Fabal’s mouth hung open like a fly trap at the implausible sight of the cave resealing itself. Bit by bit, little by little, the man-made opening was replaced with a profusion of roots, the process lasting roughly an hour.

  Keeyla knelt by the blazing fire, drying her hair by combing fingers into the strands. Tanya had the same idea, roughing her hands through her mane, which proved inane, her hair looking as if she’d gone through a wind tunnel.

  Mortmiller and Horatio were unpacking supplies, while Smelt groused about the stupidity of their plan and kicked at stones. Fulvio braced his hands behind his back, paced from one side of the cave to the other. Obviously mulling over their next move, he stopped abruptly, then went back to pacing.

  “How’d you ever find such a cave, and so close to Tallas?” Keeyla asked.

  Instead of Fulvio, it was Mortmiller who answered. “My God—probably ten year ago, we was standing on the ledge of that there cliff,” he said in an odd vernacular. He lifted one hairy arm, gesturing, as though she could see through the rock. “When the Mediators in those gosh darn thingamajigs comes this a way. We’s all high-tailed it fast as rabbits and someone crashes into this here rock, and we hears it give. We starts bashing the crap outta it, and it opens a crack. We crawls on our bellies and watch as it closes in on us.” He snickered, the folds of his missing eye buckling. “Those Mediators never did find us.”

  “We’ve been secreted in here sporadically over the years,” said Fulvio adding a voice to the conversation, “with Mediators perched on the plateau.” He snorted and the hairs of his mustache fluttered. “Their range of topics was invaluable. For example, they discussed where Mediators were patrolling, who was posted at the Infirmary, and what was transpiring in Tallas.”

  “Yep,” Smelt said. “Those ijits still can’t figure out how we know their info.” A chortle rattled up his esophagus. “One day, they talked ’bout a spy in their midst, and how they was gonna git ’em.”

  Keeyla rose from her position by the warm fire and, sweeping her hair into a knot, and strode to Fulvio. “With the fence in place how will you get into the village?”

  “Ever since we learned of the barrier, we’ve been taking a great chance by coming to this area and working diligently day and night.”

  Baffled, she tilted her head, and said, “Working on what?”

  “Come with me.” He grasped a length of wood, and set it into the fire to light. “We’ll use a torch to conserve the flashlight.”

  Holding the flaming branch, they walked into the darkness. As they made their way farther into the cave, coldness crept over her skin. She rubbed her hands over her arms to keep warm.

  Fulvio hoisted the wood higher to expose a tunneled fissure supported by two-by-four pieces of hewn logs. Huge mounds of dirt decorated the caves walls. “We’ve been making our own secret entrance,” he said. “If my calculations are correct, this should end right behind the Infirmary, or in the general vicinity.”

  She stared into the eerie passage.

  “Unfortunately, it narrows considerably. It’s not complete, but I believe someone as little as Fabal might be able to break through.”

  “No.” Her voice pleaded with him. “Then what? What could Fabal possibly accomplish on his own? I’ll go.”

  Flaming light flickered around them as he peered at. “You’re petite, but not as small as Fabal. And your shoulder wouldn’t fare too well.” He inhaled a breath of soot and coughed. “I will be in contact—” Coughing, he cleared his throat—“with someone in the village, notifying them of his arrival―”

  “How?” she broke in. “How are you going to get in touch with your person on the inside?”

  “Let’s go back to the group so we can discuss what’s in store for us, shall we?” He indicated with his hand for her to walk ahead of him.

  Patience wasn’t Keeyla’s virtue, and when Tanya indicated the meat was cooked, they bellied up to the fire. Stressed over the thought of Fabal becoming an actual mole, the meat seemed to stick in her throat. She tramped around the cave like a neurotic-nilly.

  “Okay, Fulvio,” she said breaking into their chewing action. “What are you planning?”

  Fulvio brushed crumbs from his mustache and beard before speaking. His gray eyes, now a shade of black, drifted from person to person. “We’ve attempted a rescue on several occasions. Thrice, we were successful, while the others…” He lowered his eyes and paused. “We comprehend the severity of the situation. Are we all in agreement?” No one spoke. “Right—”

  “I still think this stinks,” Smelt piped up. “The passage ain’t done yet. I offered to help out, but I’m not gonna git myself killed―”

  Mortmiller jumped to his feet. “Who say’s you’s gonna git kilt? You’s a lazy, good fer nuttin—”

  “Stop, stop.” Fulvio lumbered to his knees then stood. Tension shrouded the cave as tempers flared. “We’re all anxious, I can identify with that. But you all volunteered. And I need everyone’s undivided assistance.”

  “Fulvio,” Keeyla said, “I’m still wondering how you plan on contacting someone in the village to alert them of our plan?”

  He patted his side pockets and, fishing inside, withdrew a black enamel device.

  Fabal’s eyes lit up. “A cellular.”

  “Yes,” Fulvio confirmed. “These electronic devices are the main reason we proclaimed the planet was a dead zone. We know there must be functioning satellites in space because these devices can communicate. But as far as I know, we haven’t received any response to our broadcasts since the end of the war.” Firelight glimmered off the ena
mel as he turned the cell in his fingers. “Though, once I switch it on, we’re likely to be located by the Mediators radar. The timing must be perfect.”

  Chapter 24

  “I thought your mother wanted to see me?” Doogan asked as Paniess navigated him to a side door on the main floor of the Infirmary.

  “Oh, but we are going to see her. She’s at the mansion.”

  He frowned. “She shouldn’t be out of the Infirmary so soon after surgery,” he said like a concerned physician.

  “You’re right. You know my father, though. Nothing is good enough here. Too many germs he said. He felt she’d be attended to better at home.”

  Doogan extended a hand to open the door. But Paniess held the wall for support while slipping out of her heels and guided her feet into a pair of ankle boots. And swinging the navy pumps from her fingertips, she offered him another appealing smile. “I’d hate to ruin my heels in the mud.”

  By early evening, the sunlight had mellowed, having already evaporated much of the standing water. Marshmallow clouds dotted the cerulean skies and, instead of the whiff of blood rising from the roadway, the air was spicy with perfume of crushed flowers. Paniess linked her arm round his elbow, shepherding him to a lone vehicle.

  Most citizens had finished their day’s work and were hustling with their typical tote bags to the rationing station located by the square. Doogan had lost track of time. It must be mid-week. Happy children romped in clusters, knowing they’d have full bellies that night. Upon identifying Larkson Tanner in one of the groups, he turned melancholy. If Fabal were here, they’d be cavorting side by side.

  “Hey, Ennis!” someone yelled.

  Ennis had blended into the background so much that Doogan had forgotten he was still being guarded. They all stopped and turned. Clive came hurrying into view carrying a shoulder holster. Wearing a dingy gray T-shirt, his biceps pumped with each arm movement. He shrugged on a green shirt, part of the Mediators uniform. “Your shift’s over,” he said to Ennis. “Basta wants to talk to you. Now.”