Tallas (The Tallas Series Book 1)

by Cathrina Constantine

  “Yeah,” interjected Babbit, “we’ve all heard you’re the best surgeon to come along.”

  Malkus didn’t conceal his scathing sneer. For some unknown reason, Doogan sensed the man had been snubbed for the position, which it appeared he’d been banking on. Moreover, the Elites viewed his old man as a traitor, why offer him the job?

  Whereas Malkus was displeased, he was flummoxed. Words escaped him. Pomfrey knew he despised Merkle and Sese’s barbaric methods. What’s he trying to prove?

  “Aahhh…” All eyes transferred to him.

  “Father, Doogan was going to check on Mother.” Paniess came to his rescue. “A celebratory dinner is not the place to discuss business. Isn’t that correct, gentlemen?” She flashed her smile and, with delicacy, guided him from their clutches.

  Hailla was sitting next to the bed reading to Mrs. Addler from a book. She looked up as they walked in. “Hello, Miss Addler. Your mother’s doing well. She just wanted a droning voice to help her sleep.”

  “Just Paniess, Hailla,” she reminded the nurse. “And thank you for taking such good care of her. She always loved her books.” She bent over, pecking a kiss on her Gwin’s cheek. “How you feeling, Mom?”

  Doogan went to work checking Gwin’s vitals, then reading over a chart where Rooney and Hailla had detailed her progress.

  “I’m good. How are you?” she said in a sliver of a voice. Shadowed eyes peered lovingly at her daughter.

  “Me?” Paniess’s soft titter brightened the room. “I’m fine, thank you very much. Would you like me to stay with you for a while?”

  Gwin elevated a shaky hand and waved her off. “Go,” she said, “with Doogan and enjoy yourselves. Catch up on old times.” Then her eyes slid over to him.

  “Mrs. Addler, I think you’re getting sentimental. It wasn’t that long ago you swept my backend with your broom,” he said while checking her pulse. “Nice and strong.”

  “You deserved to be punished then.” She bubbled like a schoolgirl. “But I think it’s time to bring back the schmaltz.”

  “Yes, you might be right, on both counts.” He smirked. “Are you in any sort of pain?”

  “None at the moment, just tired.”

  “Hailla will finish reading, and you go to sleep. I’ll be down the hall if you need me, okay?” He looked at the nurse, who nodded.

  “’Kay, Doogan.”

  Exiting the sick room, a belligerent Paniess shoved past the Mediator. Though, Clive barred Doogan’s progress, and issued him a warning by pointing two fingers to his own eyes and then pointed to Doogan. And mutely mouthed, “I got my eyes on you.”

  “This room is for you.” Paniess switched on the lights. “There’s a bathroom over here.” She turned the lights on in the bathroom then turned to see Clive angled on the doorjamb. Her perfectly tweezed brows drew together and added a downward twist of her mouth. “Clive, do you plan on sleeping in here?”

  “Whatever it takes,” he said.

  “This is getting absurd.” She puffed an irritated breath. “The closet is full of clothing that might be of some use. Help yourself.” In a sulky mood, she marched from the room.

  The airy evening sifted the curtains, caressing Doogan as he lay on the bed, while Clive slept on two chairs by the window. Evidently he was committed on discouraging any plans he might craft to slip out in the middle of the night. Pillowing his head on his hands, he stared at the whitewashed ceiling.

  Why’d I ask Paniess for help? Because I’m running out of options. He answered his own question. Even though he’d just made the request to search for Fabal, Pomfrey had put him in a tight spot. The bastard had planned on reneging his offer. Deciphering the mind of a tyrant was unfathomable. If only Paniess could come through with some food and water, a gun, and transportation would be a definite bonus.

  Doogan tossed and turned on the springy mattress as the Mediator filled the room with his snoring. A stab of light pierced his eyes as the door cracked open. A figure moved across the light and melted into the darkness as the door closed. He heard a whish of material.

  The mattress bowed with her slight weight. Wordless and ever so nimble, she nuzzled beside him. As if in a trance, Doogan submitted to Paniess’s stroking ministrations with lamentable pleasure. Her fingers glided tantalizingly along his torso as her mouth nibbled the column of his neck.

  Doogan groaned. In one fell swoop, he knotted fingers into her hair, drawing her lips to his mouth. She smelled of zesty bath salts, whereas Keeyla tasted fresh like springtime. His brain was a jumble of conflicted emotions, thinking only of Keeyla. It was Keeyla’s lips he desired. Keeyla’s tongue thrusting into his mouth. Keeyla’s arms holding him.

  “What the hell is this?” A beam of light poked them in the face. Clive stood above the mattress, holding his flashlight steady.

  “Get the damn light out of my face,” Doogan objected.

  “As you can see, Doogan and I are…busy.” Paniess mewed like a kitten. “You can either stay or give us a little privacy. It’s your call.”

  Clive doused the light, and grumbled under his breath. He filched a chair and paraded smartly from the room. Before closing the door, he turned to say, “Make it quick.”

  Chapter 26

  “Fulvio, I don’t like this one bit,” Keeyla said, daunted.

  The entourage collected by the exhumed chamber, and an updraft reeking of implacable cold enveloped them. And hand-held torches cast ghastly shadows over them and inky silhouettes stippled rocky walls.

  “My dear, we’ve already gone over this a hundred times. Please, trust me.”

  After a few hours of restive slumber, the attempted rescue had been put into motion. Fabal tried to appear confident by straightening his shoulders and tipping up on his toes, in hopes of looking taller. With Swan standing next to him and a head shorter, it actually lifted his spirits, a little.

  “Just in case the Mediators tune in to the cell’s signal, Mortmiller and I will distance ourselves from Three Rocks to make contact with my person on the inside. Remember to wait at least ten minutes. Smelt is to stand guard with you.” Fulvio glanced at the pugnacious man. “Smelt, you know what to do if no one returns.”

  Smelt’s curt nod undocked lanky hair from behind his ears.

  “I’d never go and hide.” Keeyla struck a tenacious pose with her hands on her hips. “Not without my son and Doogan.”

  “Please, Keeyla,” Fulvio implored, rolling his eyes. “You’ve gone beyond Tallas’s perimeters, pilfered food, stolen medicine and a vehicle. How many lashes would the Elites give you? We know of their misguided justice. They’ll make you suffer.”

  “Mom, just do what Fulvio says, okay?” Fabal didn’t want to show weakness, however, turning to his mother, he reached up to wind his arms over her shoulders.

  “Fabal, I love you.” She wiped at her tears. “Now, go and save your father and Knox.”

  Fulvio bent to retrieve a burlap bag lying at his feet. He extracted what looked like three hand-held sickles. “Here, you’ll need these. Watch out for each other’s extremities.” He handed one to Horatio, one to Swan, and the last to Fabal. He then hooked a duffle over Horatio’s shoulders. “Food, water, and Fabal’s slingshot, just in case.” Pressing his fingers to his brow, he pondered for a moment. “Remember what we discussed. Horatio will aid them till the path narrows. Swan knows how far she can go.” He peered at Swan and Horatio. “You’re both expected back here with the others once your task is complete.”

  “What are those things for?” Keeyla pointed to the sickles. “Wouldn’t a gun be more appropriate?”

  “Those aren’t for the Mediators,” Smelt snipped, “it’s for those blasted—”

  “Enough, Smelt—” Fulvio ordered, frowning. “In the past, we’ve had difficulties with the chamber. You’ve seen how rapidly Three Rocks repaired our entrance? It’s been exhausting work to impede the crawling roots from our excavated chamber.” Anxiety spiked over Keeyla’s face. He held up a palm, warding he
r off her protest. “Fabal’s small size will be sufficient to break through, and if there’s any problem, he’s to come back.”

  Swan shuffled over to her mom, hugging her waist. “Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll get Knox.” Tanya held her fingers under the Swan’s delicate chin, raising her face, and smoothed the child’s hair.

  “Remember, ten minutes.” Fulvio turned, lumbering toward the front of the cavern with Mortmiller. Unexpectedly, two arms locked his waist. He glimpsed down into the round face of his grandson. His large hands cupped Fabal’s cheeks, peering hard into his unwavering eyes.

  Nearby, a throaty gurgle issued from Tibbles as the beast enclosed the pair with furry arms. Fulvio belted out a laugh, then ruffled Fabal’s curly locks, and squeezed his shoulders.

  “Hey, Mort,” Smelt said, “take care of my Gingersnap.”

  Mortmiller saluted for his response.

  Then Zennith, Gingersnap, Mortmiller, and Fulvio travelled between the layers of fossilized timber to the exterior.

  Once they were gone, the oppressive atmosphere seemed stifling.

  “This is gonna be the longest ten minutes of my life,” Smelt said, pulling on his greasy hair. He walked in circles. Pausing temporarily, he veered to Fabal. “You sure you can do this, kid?”

  “Yup,” he replied, more decisive than he felt.

  “Smelt, why don’t you go and sit by the fire,” Horatio said, clearly aggravated. “You’re making us nervous.”

  “Shuddup, Horatio. It’s jus’ this waiting. ’Member the last time?” Smelt stomped a foot on the ground like he’d found a bug to squash. “O glory be, I thought I was a goner.”

  “Not a good time to bring up the past,” Horatio said with an edge to his voice. “Hey, kids, can you fetch another torch by the fire?”

  When the children walked toward the fire pit, it was Keeyla’s chance to pose a question to Horatio. “Do you feel the tunnel is safe?”

  “Like he said, Fabal can get through.” The dwarf gave the outward impression of assurance.

  A subdued groan rambled in Smelt’s chest. “I’d never go down there again. Those roots nearly buried me.”

  “I can’t let Fabal go down,” she voiced in a trilling crescendo.

  “Fulvio has confidence in me,” Fabal said, approaching from behind her. “Nothing you say or do will stop me from going.”

  Fabal was strong like his father and bull-headed like her. Her maternal instincts cried out to shelter him from mishap, pain, and hurt. Hadn’t he seen his fair share of trauma? The ordeal caused her angst beyond her wildest dreams. She struggled to cap her emotions, to be cool minded when her insides were shredding into thousands of pieces. For all she knew Doogan could be dead, and to lose Fabal, too—it would destroy her.

  “Fabal,” she whispered, her voice faltering, “I can’t lose you—”

  “You won’t, Mom.”

  “We got to go,” Horatio said. “You first, Fabal, then Swan.”

  ***

  Striding with dignity, Fabal passed his mom, hoping she didn’t cry or grab him. He didn’t want to lose his nerve. Prior to entering the passage, he turned, and gave her a buoyant smile. Then he plunged ahead.

  Walking in single file, the initial stink of musty, dank earth welled in his mouth, and he breathed in short gasps. The chamber, sustained by beams and jagged rock, was coated with firmly packed, reddish-black soil. Minuscule trickling rivulets cleaved the rock.

  He stretched his arm holding the torch to see into the void, but smoky residue stung his eyes. Gathering the hem of his T-shirt, he rubbed his face and tried to lift the torch higher. The excavating party was encompassed in a sphere of illumination.

  Throwing a transient glance over his shoulder, Fabal saw Swan’s shiny head, followed by a shambling Horatio. Astoundingly, Tibbles was bringing up the rear.

  “Tibbles.” Fabal’s voice rebounded in the passageway. “I didn’t know you were coming with us?”

  Tibbles responded with a snuffle.

  Stumbling on a protruding root, Fabal steadied himself and said, “Watch out for that.”

  “You’re going see lots more,” Horatio said.

  Fabal leaned slightly as the path began to decline, and diligent in watching his feet for roots. Head down, he barged into a root partition looking like vertical bars. “Look at this.”

  Swan poked her head under his arm for a peek.

  “Stand back.” Then swinging the sickle, he chopped the roots. Fabal and Swan easily squeezed through the gap he’d created. But Horatio had to hack at the roots further to extend the breach for Tibbles.

  Waiting until they were all accounted for, Fabal again delved into the abyss. The air thickened, making it difficult to catch a clean breath. The resonance of panting and brusque inhalations filled their ears.

  Tibbles emitted raspy groans, obviously uncomfortable, as the conical chamber decreased in size. Fabal turned, noticing the immense beast was seemingly wedged in the passage. “Tibbles, I think this is as far as you can go.”

  The beast shook his sizeable head. His liquid black eyes caught a twinkle of torchlight. Following a host of grumbles, Tibbles twisted and turned, rocking back and forth.

  He was stuck.

  “Don’t try to turn around,” Swan advised. “Just back up.”

  Tibbles reversed with sounds of scuttling paws. They observed him until he dissolve into the darkness, though, his whine lingered long after he was gone.

  They snaked farther along the passage and hacked at wooden cords wanting to trip them up. Gulping for oxygen the effort was robbing them of their energy. Sweat plastered their bodies, and Fabal’s mouth tasted like fusty dirt. He angled his spine on the wall and slipped to the ground for an essential break. He dug a hole with the point of his blade, and jabbed the torch into place.

  Grateful for the reprieve, Swan and Horatio followed his example. Horatio removed the duffle bag from his shoulder and pulled out a flask and a loaf of bread to share. Swan laid the sickle beside to her leg while snacking on a chunk of bread.

  “Horatio, how much farther do you think?” Fabal asked after taking a swig from the flask.

  “It’s getting pretty narrow, it won’t be much longer.” The dwarf ran a crooked finger over his brow. “Maybe another hundred feet, I’m guessing.”

  “It’s getting hard to breathe,” Swan wheezed. “I can’t catch my breath.”

  The flame of Horatio’s torch wagged in an arcane draft and extinguished, leaving them in the shadowy glow of one torch. Swan’s eyes looked like round moons, and Fabal suspected his did as well. Horatio fished in the duffle, producing a flashlight.

  “You know the oxygen is getting thin when that happens.” Horatio gripped the flashlight, but didn’t switch it on. “We’re not to use it until absolutely necessary because Fulvio wasn’t sure how much life is left in the batteries. Fabal will need it, so we’ll just stick with his torchlight for now.”

  Recalling what Smelt had said about being buried, Fabal now thought it was an understatement. As he breathed, dusty bits of dirt flew up his nose, coating his tongue and throat. He gagged. Dispensing a dose of water into his mouth, he swished the liquid from cheek to cheek and swallowed.

  Scrrritch. Scrrritch. Scrrritch.

  Horatio tilted his head. “Hear that?”

  “No. What?”

  Horatio cupped his ear with his hand. “Listen.”

  Noise, like something was scraping or digging grew louder, closer. They sat paralyzed, the charged atmosphere sent a trickle of perspiration along Fabal’s temple. Loud crackling and abrading shattered the silence of the chamber. They jolted as misshapen roots wrestled through rocky soil.

  Chapter 27

  Wretchedness overwhelmed Fulvio like a knife to his heart. Even though his steed cantered beneath him, his thoughts resided with Fabal and his plight in the tunnel. It was an optimistic plan, and the only recourse to save Knox.

  Approximately a year earlier, during a clandestine encounter with Goshen
, he learned of Management’s final design to erect a blockade. The proposal of a barrier had been in the planning stages for years, as it required the appropriate materials, which were hard to come by. Fulvio’s covert espionage and embezzling of provisions would come to an end once it was completed. So he struck his own strategic design, a furtive means of achieving access into Tallas, undetected.

  The impenetrable Three Rocks hideout, contiguous to Tallas, was the most logical choice. However, the excavating had been problematic. For months they labored, digging and hollowing out the chamber to make it viable as a route in and out of the village. Nonetheless, it was the final six feet that caused the greatest complications. As the tunnel split the surface, it was those dammed roots that kept impeding their progress.

  “Hey,” Mortmiller said, diverting Fulvio’s thoughts. “What time’s it at?”

  The slender ledge was shaded in darkness, and they’d let the horses pick their way judiciously up the incline until their hooves reached the safety of level ground. Fulvio analyzed the moon’s trajectory, which at the moment had a globular haze. “Between three or four.”

  As was his habit, Fulvio probed the grasslands for predators. He noted lacy patterns of delicate glistening webs interconnecting the grassy weeds. Nothing seemed to stir in the moonlight. The region was jarringly quiet at that hour of the morning, with only the solitary squeaking of leather made by Fulvio’s saddle and the thump of hooves brushing the grass on hard ground. And riding Gingersnap bareback, Mortmiller’s bedraggled hair jounced in tempo with the pony.

  “How far ya gonna go?” Mortmiller said in a hushed whisper.

  Reaching the center of the expanse, Fulvio gave Zennith a acute, “Whoa,” and the horse’s muscled neck reared at the command. Vaporous breaths emanated from the horses’ nostrils, as the animals flanked one another. Vulnerable and unprotected in the remote grassland, Fulvio checked the bordering forest for any sign of trouble. He much preferred the security of the trees.