Snow on Cinders (The Tallas Series Book 2)

by Cathrina Constantine

  As Management decreed, all citizens, young and old, must be present to witness chastisements. The only exceptions were those too weak or those dying to attend. It was the Elites method of subjugating people into obeying precepts.

  Instead of blending and walking with citizens, Pomfrey ordered Clive to drive them to the main square, hardly one hundred yards ahead. Another one of his tactics, to make people move out of his way: make room for the King, the Elite.

  Once parked, Paniess perceived the galvanized blue sedans. Zent and Cletus were present. The three Elites prepared to pass judgment on one of their own, Fulvio.

  ***

  “Peter, I believe it’s time.” Fulvio had flattened his tormented back on the wall. A rigid Malkus held securely in front of him, and the blade posted like a death warrant across his throat.

  “You remember what I said,” Fulvio addressed the physician. “Not one word about the boy, or one night in your sleep you’ll have your throat cut from ear to ear.” He sawed Malkus’s skin, producing more blood. “I might be dead, but Peter has lots of buddies willing to keep the revolution alive. Right, Peter?”

  “Yep.” His face decked with beleaguered brows; Peter lips tightened. “Why won’t you let us get you out of this?”

  “My boy,” Fulvio said, his chest deflating. “I deplore dead bodies scattered about for my sake. Let it go.”

  “But, but, we could at least create a little havoc and—”

  “Come now, Pipsqueak.” The boy’s mouth heightened into a grin hearing his old nickname. “Make me proud. Do your best performance of a lifetime. I hear them marching this way.”

  “HELP!” Peter screamed and ran for the closed wooden door. “HELP! Fulvio attacked Doctor Malkus!” He pounded his fists on the doorframe for effect.

  A crew of Mediators stampeded into the jail room. Fulvio and Peter exchanged nods, as the boy squelched around the corner and out of harms way.

  “Malkus, stick to the script,” Fulvio whispered in the man’s ear, which happened to be only inches from his mouth. Corralling Mediator brandished pistols and rifles. His muscles convulsed as he clutched the doctor. “So boys, is it time for the walk of shame?”

  ***

  Doogan cuddled Keeyla. Gazing into each others eyes, neither one spoke. Doogan, the first to make a move, captured her lips.

  “Aw-w-w, ge-e-e-ez...you two are making me nauseous,” said a miffed Smelt. “Doogan, if you’re listening to a word I’m saying, we know the plan, and we’re outta here. Gotta get our asses moving.”

  Doogan and Keeyla parted, arms still embracing.

  “Hey, Gus,” Doogan said. “How’s the arm?”

  “We making small talk? Now?” Smelt looked angst-ridden and plastered a hand to his face.

  Gus raised his arm, shoving up the sleeve to his jacket. “Feels good. You’re the best, Doc.”

  “Your girl, Jane, will make a fine nurse one day or maybe even a physician.” He smiled at the boy. “You have a jewel there. Take care of her.”

  “Daggummit.” Smelt scorned, beating his feet on the ground. “You guys are talking like somebodies gonna die. I don’t wanna hear it. We’re all goin’ home. Maybe not in one piece, but we’re all goin’ home.”

  “Actually, it’s a bonus that Tibbles is here,” Ennis said. “He’ll be our ride.”

  “Thanks for showing me the ropes.” Doogan pumped Ennis’s hand. At that juncture, an open-armed Smelt rounded their shoulders. Keeyla, Gus, and the blue bear joined the group hug. Blatant snuffles mingled in the air.

  The men hitched up their weapons and turned toward Tallas with Tibbles leading.

  Doogan and Keeyla rooted themselves in the heliocraft and prepared for the end of their journey. The engine coughed and sputtered to life, and the diverse whump, whump, whumping of the propellers pounded the plain. Both knew the clamor would carry into the village.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “Gentlemen, calm down.” Fulvio knew they wouldn’t dare shoot and destroy Pomfrey’s theatrical show. The dictator’s ploy of demeaning him, and at the same time signifying he’s not standing for any monkey business. The strains of the revolution must be crushed.

  After his talk with Peter, Fulvio felt his execution might initiate a sure-fire uprising. An uprising that Management won’t be able to quell.

  Fulvio released the knife; it clanked on the floor. “Just a difference of opinion men.” He poked his fingers into Malkus’s back and pushed him forward. “I didn’t seek medical attention.” As was his habit, he stroked his mustache and beard. “Seemed a waste of Management’s time and medical supplies to take care of me when I’ll be swinging into a new world shortly, eh?”

  Mediators contained their chuckles, appearing apprehensive.

  “Watch out for this man,” Malkus warned, clutching his bloody neck. “He’s a tricky fucker.” He snaked between the Mediators and clasped the handle of his briefcase. Prior to exiting, he sneered. “Since I’m the physician that’ll declare you dead. I’ll be on the gallows watching your face turn purple. Have a good day.” With those final words, he pushed through the men and out of the jail..

  Coot charged into the cell, his complexion ripening red as he commanded, “Okay, men. Cuff him.”

  Two Mediators spun Fulvio around, stringing his arms behind him.

  “Before we cuff him, should we put a shirt on him?” Korbi Segway cringed observing Fulvio’s wounds.

  “Why bother.” Mediator Grunt said in jest. “I broke a sweat giving this guy what he deserves. You think he’s going to catch a cold?”

  “Grunt,” Fulvio’s voice sounded muffled with side of his face squashed against the wall. “Are you proud of lashing a whip and causing young boys to die?”

  “He knows about the Tanner boy?” said one of the Mediators, his tone despondent. “That was unfortunate.”

  “The boy was a candy-ass.” Grunt exploited the butt of his rifle into Fulvio’s spine. “Stop talking old man.”

  “We need to think fast,” Coot said. “The Elites and the Executives are ready for us.”

  “His appearance will draw sympathetic supporters,” Korbi said and appreciated the possibility. He already sensed Managements erroneous decision to execute an Elite.

  The McTullan’s had lived diagonally from his home. He remembered their kindness to his mother, especially after his father had died. He never knew for certain who left meat portions on their stoop. But once, in the middle of the night, during the ambiance of a full moon, he spied a man with a wide brimmed hat dropping a burlap sack. Then, when his mother grew sick, it was Doogan making a house call and gave them unlawful antibiotics to ease her pain. Korbi never reported his activity. He’d been grateful.

  “What do you think?” Grunt turned to Coot. “Should we put a shirt on him?”

  “That’s a hard call.” Coot swished open the sides of his jacket and shelved fingers on his hips. “I should’ve asked Mr. Addler. He might want spectator’s to witness what happens when you break the law.” Shuffling of boots grew stagnant in the cell as they all considered the options.

  “I vote to keep his back exposed.” Grunt conveyed his opinion with a hard-edged look to the men. “Citizens be warned. That’s what Mr. Addler wants.”

  Coot appeared uneasy. It was well known, ever since the Tanner boy had died, he’d felt liable. “Okay, men. Let’s just cuff him and get a move on.”

  Parading down the middle of the mucky roadway, Mediators armed with weapons, guarded their prisoner. Fulvio squared his aching shoulders and walked the mile of his final journey with dignity. Head held high; he observed the brilliance of the sun, though, shivered. “A good day to die,” he whispered to himself.

  Even though the main square was packed to capacity, you could hear a pin drop. Accommodating Citizens retracted a step, formulating a passage to the gallows. Profound messages swirled in cool breezes. “We love you, Fulvio.” “Thank you.” “You’ll never be forgotten.” “You’re the finest Elite that ever liv
ed.”

  Fulvio blinked, curbing teeming tears. His head veered to the heartfelt stirrings. Peter and his mother lined the path. And dozens of familiar faces nodded and placed their hand over their hearts as a sign of allegiance.

  Someone clapped. The dainty applause suddenly amplified into climatic cheers. Every Mediator had been called to duty and a handful of men bordering the square clapped their hands, supplementing the ovation.

  Fulvio’s sentinel arrested at the foot of the gallows. On the platform stood the Elites, clad in stylish overcoats: Zent, Cletus, and Pomfrey, his fingers constricting Paniess’s arm. Her white rabbit’s fur coat draped over her thin frame; she stayed stationary and stoic. Only her gaze strayed to touch Fulvio. The irascible Malkus with a gauzed bandage concealing his neck stood off to the side. Tallas’s Management, which consisted of Executives, were cordoned off and safeguarded by Mediators, just in case of an insurrection.

  Cletus and Zent stepped forward fanning their hands, gesturing the multitude for quiet. When all were subdued, Cletus unrolled parchment paper. In his nasal voice he read: “Fulvio McTullan has been tried by Management and found guilty of thievery, hunting beyond the borders, conspiracy to harm citizens, and treasonous acts of espionage.”

  I don’t recall standing trail, thought Fulvio. An icy tremor of trepidation weakened his knees. He prayed for strength.

  Murmurings revolved around the congregation, insulted by Management’s verdict. A shout criticized, “Let him go!” Bodies joggled forward heckling mandates: “Release him!” “Fulvio helps us!” “Stop!” “You can’t do this!”

  Pomfrey trooped to the forefront, exposed a revolver and fired a shot over their heads. “Quiet!” Citizens jerked, repressing taunts. “Bring the prisoner up,” he said to Coot.

  Fulvio stumbled up the steps to the hangman’s noose.

  “Citizens of Tallas.” Pomfrey’s timbre was authoritative and intimidating. “We’ve struggled for years and persevered in gathering survivors. And together formed a governing community to stabilize humanity. It was rough, but we managed to carve out of this basin a flourishing village. When someone decides to cause chaos or a riff, for his or her selfish needs, punishment has to be allotted. If we turn a blind eye, Tallas will suffer the consequences. Our laws are put into practice for the well-being of our citizens. No one person is above the law, not even an Elite.” He paused, his gaze skating over the people. “It is for you—” He gestured to the crowd. “That I bravely endure the responsibility of helping citizens survive, no matter what the cost.” He glanced to Fulvio. “To give you a better life.” He raised his arms for approbation. “A life of fulfillment.”

  Implausible snorts and snickering blended among them and shifting of feet.

  The planes of Pomfrey’s face-hardened as his hands clasped in anger by his side. “You are being told merely an ounce of Mr. McTullan’s deceit.” He turned and drew Paniess into his arms, displaying her to the crowd. “My daughter has been effective in uncovering traitors we have living among us. We have learned our beloved Goshen was a spy for Fulvio.” Jeers and mutinous decibels erupted, Pomfrey had to raise his voice to speak over the tumult. “He helped Doogan and Keeyla McTullan steal from Tallas. From you! Large quantities of medications and food. We starve so they can feed those…those undesirable mutants!” He spat the last word.

  Paniess felt Fulvio’s eyes boring into her. She wondered if he believed her fathers speech. She’d supplied her father with trivial details to satisfy him of her loyalty. For one, she gave away Goshen as a traitor. He was already dead; her father could no longer hurt him, and a few minor instances that didn’t matter. However, she’d been certain Doogan would make an appearance to save Fulvio. Even Pomfrey felt certain about an imminent assault, so she lied and said she’d been in contact with him. Telling her father in the strictness of confidence, “Doogan will return.”

  Now, her father whispered in her ear, “I’m done procrastinating, and no Doogan.”

  She shrugged and shook her head.

  “Fulvio will hang.” He turned and said to Mediator Coot. “It’s time.”

  A thick bristly rope lowered over the wooden tie bar of the gallows. A well-constructed noose swayed in Fulvio’s face.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Citizens heard it. Mediators heard it. Executive’s and Elites heard it. The whopping reverberated throughout the basin. All eyes flew to the sky. Gliding swiftly, they viewed the descent of a heliocraft.

  Incredulous people scattered to the outskirts, making room. Eddying dust-clouds whipped around the square and people screened their faces from the buffeting. Oscillating propellers gradually slowed, and the motor ceased.

  Doogan exited the craft. His arms held in the air, surrendering.

  “I’m unarmed.” Stunned citizens gasped. Like they were beholding a mirage, his name hushed off their tongues. “I come in peace.”

  “Paniess, you were right. He did come.” Pomfrey’s mouth engaged into a sinister grin. “We can rid ourselves of the McTullan clan forever,” he whispered in her ear. “A double hanging might set the scales in my stead.”

  “No. You promised me he wouldn’t be harmed.” With a racing heart, she stared at Doogan. His ebony hair blowing in the breeze, he walked toward them like a reserved predator. She resisted the impulse to fly into his arms. “You need him. Tallas needs him. He’s the finest physician we have.”

  “Darling daughter.” Pomfrey’s feral gaze touched her face. “You were always the bait. Fulvio just happened to be my gift.” His oily voice curled her fingers, nails cutting into her palms. “Before Doctor Sese died, he disclosed who fathered that abomination you birthed. And I don’t have any intention of preserving his life. The prick will pay the ultimate price for what he did to you and for his disloyalty.”

  It was a blow to the gut; it seemed like the ground tipped sideways.

  “Pomfrey, release Fulvio.” Doogan balled his fingers. “And I will remain here, in Tallas. You have my word.”

  “Your word!” Pomfrey spewed, face blazing. “Doogan McTullan, you affront my integrity. You are a fugitive of the law. Take him down!”

  No one moved.

  “I said, take him—NOW!” Pomfrey dispensed a maniacal glint at his Head Mediator, Coot.

  Paniess’s panic rising, she tugged from her father’s grip and tore down the five steps to the dirt road. Her fur coat winged and billowed like a flamingo taking flight. She ran and embraced Doogan. “I warned you not to come. I warned you! I won’t let him kill you. I won’t! It was all a trap. I love you.” His arms circled her back as she drew herself onto her toes to kiss him. But he turned, offering his cheek.

  Puzzled Mediators elbowed citizens and stopped. The side door to the helio grated open, rifles at the ready for an unanticipated antagonist.

  Keeyla hopped to the ground.

  “It’s Keeyla!” “Keeyla!” Shocked voices circulated from person to person. “She’s alive!”

  Rounding the right side of the helio, Paniess didn’t believe her eyes as she beheld the beautiful Keeyla. Her arms suddenly felt like leprous infringements, slipping from Doogan’s neck. She gawked at Keeyla and then to Doogan. “I thought…we thought…she was dead.” This was a dream, no a nightmare.

  “Paniess, I thought she was dead, too.” His breath felt like a caress on her cheek. “Keeyla survived. She didn’t die. And…I love her with my whole heart…and soul.” His fingers manacled her wrists and gently moved her away from him.

  Paniess’s discordant heart twanged for an unrequited love. Years ago, their fledgling passion conveyed exorbitant hurt. She’d forever crave the love that Doogan and Keeyla shared. Her musings switched from Doogan to another physician in the throes of a life and death struggle. Rooney. She’d wallowed in self-pity, when the whole time, Rooney was standing right beside her.

  Doogan’s hand reached for Keeyla. Fingers intertwined, they stood united.

  Mediators surrounded them.

  Clive, who’d
been standing on the platform behind Pomfrey, marched to the ground. He nudged in-between the Mediators and snagged Paniess by the waist and drew her from the impassable guards.

  “Keeyla,” Pomfrey said her name like it singed his tongue. “I wish I could say what a pleasant surprise to see you. Regrettably, the purging of Tallas begins now.”

  Through misty eyes, Paniess gaped at her father. His blurred form came into view. The tick on the left side of his face accelerated, his brain was fried. Slow and in an accurate motion, he aimed his gun.

  “Say farewell to your heart and soul,” her father said.

  Paniess realized his objective and burst from Clive’s hold. Squeezing amid the seams of the Mediators, she plunged, but not to Doogan. To Keeyla she ran, thrusting the woman from her father’s maniacal purging.

  Somewhere in the recess of her mind Paniess heard the explosion. A sizzling lance struck her in the spine. Startled by the intense pain, her legs crumpled. No—this can’t be happening, flit through her numbing brain.

  “What have you done!” Doogan screamed and fell to his knees to gather her head on his lap. “Hold on Paniess.” Her eyelids flickered, pupils already vacant.

  “For…heart and…soul…” Paniess wheezed. Her chest rattled as crimson liquid bubbled from her mouth.

  Unrestrained tears streamed along his cheeks. “Oh my God. Paniess. I’m so sorry.” He clasped her lifeless body to his chest, rocking her back and forth. He kissed her still warm lips and brushed the hair veiling her face. Keeyla knelt beside him and wrapped an arm over his heaving shoulders. With gentle care, he laid her on the ground and laced Keeyla’s fingers and squeezed. He knew she’d understand.

  Like a simmering pot boiling over, Doogan pounced to his feet. “You motherfucking insane asshole. You killed your daughter!”

  Devoid of sentiment or grief, Pomfrey’s face was masked in stone. “Paniess was never my biological daughter.” His head twisted to the side. “Was she Fulvio? Tell these good citizens of your duplicity. Tell your son of your infidelity.”