Elei's Chronicles (Books 1-3) (37 page)

Hera watched them, thinking. The girl knew much more than she was supposed to know for a child her age. Was there a revolt brewing among the street kids?

And what of Tefnut, her mother? Was she involved in this?

Hera halted, waving the kids to the next room where Kein and Leisa sat. “I promised them some food,” she said and watched as Leisa cooed at the girl and Kein scrambled to get some blue bread from a box he’d been preparing for their trip.

First Sacmis, now Tefnut. Her past returning unannounced. She recalled with perfect clarity the first time she’d fought with Sacmis, the first time she’d doubted the justice of the regime. She’d met a street kid back then, Mantis. He’d looked a lot like Jek, blond, scrawny, fearless. She’d given him a message she’d found in one of her mother’s old writings.

‘Tell them, Tefnut says we’re all human.’

The kid had taken her message to the Undercurrent, and she’d been called to join the resistance. It seemed like yesterday when she’d gone to talk with them. Years had passed since then.

Kein gave the kids the bread and boxes of nuts and smoked fish. Their small faces beamed and they clutched their treasures to their chests as they turned to go. She escorted them out and made sure nobody saw them as they scurried away.

She returned inside and bolted the door.

Maybe Tefnut had not been the one who started this. Maybe she did not even know.
If she’s alive
.

No, Mantis had probably taken Hera’s words and turned them into a war cry, used them to rally the children of Dakru. He’d be Elei’s age now perhaps, and she wondered how far and deep his revolution went.

If Mantis was as perceptive as he’d seemed back then, if he’d grown into a competent leader, he’d know what Hera knew: now was the time to strike the regime.

She had to keep her ears and eyes open, and take the first opportunity she found to help bring war, and with it, peace.

***

Hera stood over Kalaes, her dark hair shimmering, hiding her face. Elei hadn’t heard her come in, still trying to remember what Pelia had said in the dream. Something about a key and numbers.

“Has he woken up at all?” Hera’s voice was tight.

Elei eyed her, trying to gauge her mood. “For a moment he did, but didn’t recognize me.”

“Sobek’s balls.” She crouched next to Kalaes, her body tense.

“What is it?”

A vein leaped in her pale forehead. “We’ve stayed here too long already. They’re combing the town, checking all basements. They know we’re in hiding. I thought we could hold out longer, but for some reason there are cats mewing outside, drawing attention to us. Damned animals.”

Cats
. Elei drew a sharp breath. At the hospital, cats gathering, attacking the Gultur guards in a wave of malevolent intent, hissing and clawing. He shook his head slowly, trying to clear the image, to decide if it was real.

Then Hera bent over Kalaes and shook him roughly.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Elei gripped the back of the chair, hoisting himself up.

“He has to wake up,” she muttered, “otherwise we’ll attract too much attention on our way to the aircar. His fever has broken, he’s bruised and beaten, maybe has a cracked rib or two, but he’s not badly hurt. What do you suggest I do? Throw him over my shoulder again and run?”

Elei shook his head. Not badly hurt for Gultur standards, perhaps. “Just be careful.”

“Kalaes. Wake up.” But her voice had gone soft, softer than any other time, and Elei blinked. It reminded him of her voice when she’d sat by his bed at the hospital and shed tears for him. Unless that had been a dream.

Rough coughing broke through his thoughts.

Elei sucked in a sharp breath. “Kal?”

Kalaes’ eyes flicked open, pupils so dilated his eyes looked black. “Fran?” he rasped.

“Who in the hells is Fran?” Hera muttered. “Kalaes, listen to me.” She gripped his shoulders and stared into his unfocused eyes. Her voice had gone hard again, all business. “We need to move from here. Get up.”

Elei watched Hera pull Kalaes to his feet, his heart thumping painfully inside his chest, and hoped... hoped for something he couldn’t name.

“Hera?” Kalaes mumbled, his eyes narrowing to thin slits. “That you?”

Elei took a deep breath, relieved. Gods, he’d recognized her.
He’ll be okay
. “Kal,” he said, stepping closer, wanting to grab the man in a hug. “You’re awake.”

Kalaes’ gaze flicked sideways at him and a flash of fear went through it. He recoiled, tried to back away but Hera held him fast. “Who’s this?” he whispered.

Elei flinched. Why didn’t Kalaes recognize him? What was wrong?

“Do not worry,” Hera said, and Kalaes’ gaze slid back to her face. “It’s just Elei.”

“Elei’s dead,” Kalaes said, his voice flat, his lips peeling back in a snarl.

Elei hissed, confused. “I’m not—”

Kalaes wobbled sideways like a drunkard, and before Elei could shout out a warning, he steadied himself with both hands on Hera’s shoulders. His two thin braids swung forward, grazing Hera’s cheek, and she took a step backward, grasping his arms — like a dance, Elei thought, a little dazed.

“No, he’s alive,” Hera said, and Elei tried to retrace the thread of the conversation, but Kalaes shook her, fingers digging into her shoulders. His eyes were wide with fear. The expression looked so alien on him that Elei cringed.

“He’s dead, fe,” he spat the words and color stained his pale cheekbones. “Dead. But you...” He sighed, relaxing. “You’re alive.”

Strangely numb, Elei turned his gaze away. Kalaes would get better with time. He had to believe that. 

And it was time to move.

“Okay, let’s go.” He hobbled to the wall and grabbed the walking stick. Leaning on it, he pulled his jacket closed and took a deep breath. “Where’s my Rasmus?”

Hera shifted, lacing an arm around Kalaes’ waist and draping his left arm over her shoulders. “Alendra has it.”

“I need it.”

“She’s coming with us. She needs a ride, and right now I need someone’s help to drive.”

He snarled.
Of all people...

But maybe that was exactly what he needed right now, the cold anger that spread through him, erasing the lingering fear and worry. Rex stirred, injecting him with strength. The pain in his leg numbed, and the weight on his shoulders eased. The burning thoughts in his mind went finally, blessedly out, like stars at dawn.

Thumping his stick, clenching his free hand into a fist, he lurched among flashes of neon colors to the door.

Chapter
Nine

“E
lei, wait
. Wait!”

He realized he’d been hearing that call for a while now but had relegated it to background noise. “What?”

He limped on, among shadows and between sputtering streetlamps, his Rasmus clutched in his right hand, his left gripping the walking cane. His right eye tracked the passage of life forms across the street marked with pulsing red — not Gultur, not threatening.

“Dammit, Elei, slow down,” Hera snapped, and he halted, leaning his shoulder against the wall, listening to the mad hammering of his heart. He looked over his shoulder.

Hera supported Kalaes who was hunched forward, an arm curled over his middle, the beads on his two braids clicking. Alendra brought up the rear, her pale hair hidden under a hood, a gun bulging under her jacket. A cat meowed and rubbed its white fur against an overturned trash container, joined by a gray one who stood still, staring right at Elei.
What do you want?

Orange flashes appeared at the corner to the main street, distracting him.
Gultur
.

“Take cover.” From the corner of his eye, he watched Hera drag Kalaes against the wall and Alendra fall in next to them, her handgun at the ready. 

In the avenue ahead, a patrol marched by looking into the alley, visors reflecting the light from a street lamp overhead. Elei held his breath and ducked his head, his Rasmus pressed against his chest.

“I saw movement,” Elei heard the visored Gultur mutter, her voice ringing in his ears as if she were standing next to him. “I’ll go check. Wait for me here.”

No way the Gultur would miss them, unless they magically became invisible. As soon as she passed the third door to her left, she’d spot them.

His pulse rose to a screech in his ears and the colors around him intensified — the blue hue of the buildings and street, and faint yellow of rotting vegetables and rat flesh among the trash, the red of the cats and the orange form of the Gultur approaching. He shifted, pushing away from the wall, careful to lift the walking stick to avoid any noise. His fingers clenched around the grip of his gun. He’d shoot her and then they’d run back the way they’d come, and afterward—

The white cat growled and jumped like a ghostly fur-ball, landing on the Gultur woman’s shoulder. There it arched its back and swiped its claws across her exposed throat.

With a shudder, Elei pressed back against the slimy wall. A breath hissed between his teeth.

The Gultur cursed loudly, struggling with the bundle of fur and claws, and managed to throw the cat off her. “Curse you, pest.” She spat and took off her visor, her face in shadow, a hand pressed to her throat. Elei smelled the sweet, metallic tang of her blood.

Then she spun around and strode back to her patrol unit, signaling with her upraised hand for them to get moving. “Nothing here, let’s go.”

Elei allowed himself a small groan of relief but stiffened the next moment when something soft brushed against his leg and a vibration went up his spine.

Another cat, black as dakron. Purring. Before he kicked the animal away, the cat reached out with sharp claws and climbed up his leg. Elei batted at the bullet-shaped head with his gun, but the cat twisted around him and dug its claws into his back, finally reaching his shoulder. That seemed to have been its goal all along, because it settled there, claws anchored in the leather jacket’s seam. It sat and licked its chops, staring at Elei’s face.

Its eyes were a bright blue.

Speechless, Elei stared back, his spine rigid, the gun gripped in his shaking hand. “What in the hells?” He made as if to shrug the cat off but hesitated, the slight weight somehow comforting, breaking through the ice gathering around his heart.

The cat lifted its tiny muzzle and rubbed cheeks with him, its fur soft like baby hair, its smell peppery, its touch warm.

A tremor went through his body and he reached a decision.

“Let’s move on,” he said, the cat settling like a permanent fixture on his shoulder, and he stepped out into the street, holstering his gun, avoiding the others’ eyes. According to Hera’s description, the aircar would be in an alley across the main avenue. “We’re almost there.”

***

Elei led them to the avenue, leaning on the walking stick, echoes of pain shooting up his thigh through the adrenaline haze. It only served to make his heart pump even faster. Sweat dripped into his eyes. Scents assaulted his senses — blue bread baking down the street, waste trickling into a sewer, shit and piss and bitter dakron fumes from the aircars zipping down the avenue, the sour stench of rot and the pungent smell of fried fish wafting from open windows.

They crossed as quickly as they dared without full-out running, Elei’s hands convulsing on the handle of the cane and his holstered Rasmus. He limped around a long T62 cargo aircar stalling in traffic, and then a parked streetcar with huge wheels. A street vendor approached them, a balding, bearded man, holding out round fish pies and touting his prices. The cat hissed at him, pawing at Elei’s shoulder.

Elei’s gaze flicked up and down the avenue, then to the sky, over the jagged rooftops of old buildings, parsing the colors that kept flashing in his possessed eye, expecting any moment to see a Gultur patrol car or a helicopter with the police disk symbol descend on them.

Nothing yet.

Turning, he looked back to Hera and Kalaes. He narrowed his eyes. They were slowing down. Kalaes shook in Hera’s hold; Elei could see the tremors wracking his frame.
Dammit
.

But before he started back toward them, Alendra walked up to Hera, offering her help. He sighed in relief, not sure he’d be able to walk and hold up Kalaes at the same time. Alendra draped Kalaes’ arm over her shoulders and grabbed him around the waist, lending her support.

So she could be kind when she wanted.

Elei took a deep breath and set off again, crossing to the sidewalk, the others following suit.

“The medallion,” Kalaes rasped, his head lolling, a thin line of blood running from his cracked lips. “Where is it? Who took it? Tell Pelia they’re dead. They’re all dead!”

“Sh.” Elei could feel the slight weight of the pendant around his neck. “I’m not dead, and I’ve got your medallion. It’s fine.”

“No,” Kalaes breathed, his voice choking. “No, tell her to come back.”

Hera slapped her hand over Kalaes’ mouth and shot a dark look at Elei, as if this was his fault.

The cat shifted on his shoulder and licked his cheek, a rough, warm tongue dragging on his skin. It was soothing.

Hera’s glare turned sharpened. “That cat may be sick. Throw it away.”

“The cat’s with me,” he said and took a deep breath, gathering his strength. “The cat stays.” He turned around, eyes darting to the two alleys opening right and left.

“Left,” Hera grunted and they lumbered past a diner and a grocery store, sharp smells of spices and smoked fish making Elei’s stomach roil. Kalaes’ feet dragged on the cement plates of the sidewalk, a grating sound.

Faster, faster
. He thought he heard the hum of engines but maybe it was just aircars, or even his own ragged breathing. They stumbled into a dark alley, and the cat dug its small claws so deep into his shoulder they caught on flesh.

Hera said nothing to indicate she knew where they were going until they reached a huge gate in a building, gaping open like an entrance to the nether hells, with a sign proclaiming it was ‘Moth’s Aircar Repairs’. Hera nodded toward it and they entered, their boots skidding on spilled machine oil and loose screws.

They’d left their aircar inside a workshop?  Elei snorted. Not a bad hiding place. He was glad they’d finally arrived. The adrenaline rush was fading and his leg was throbbing and trembling.

Alendra disengaged from Kalaes’ side and, throwing back her hood, marched inside. Her hair glinted in the light of bare hanging bulbs like silver. Her ponytail bounced as she strode toward a man hunched in a low chair.

“Would you like some fish soup?” she asked.

Elei would have snorted if he could spare the breath. Someone ought to tell the Undercurrent their choice of passwords really sucked.

The man nodded, opened a door and waved at them to follow.

“Are we there, fe?” Kalaes mumbled, head bent to his chest. “Have we arrived? Is it here?”

“Yes,” Hera said quietly, “we’re here.”

Kalaes straightened somewhat, looking around, his eyes round and dark like sinkholes. He frowned. “Where is this place?”

Elei wondered what he was seeing now. “A workshop,” he said.

“Where are they?” Kalaes shouted, pushing off Hera, his face twisting in a grimace. “What have you done to them?”

“Kalaes, snap out of it.” Elei hobbled closer, getting into Kalaes’ face. “We’re all fine.”

“You.” Kalaes was shaking harder now, his teeth chattering loudly. “They killed you. They shot you and you died. Everyone died.” His face paled alarmingly. “Oh gods, they’re all dead.”

“Hera, dammit.” Elei grabbed Kalaes’ arm and Hera gripped the other before Kalaes could fall. “Why isn’t he getting better?”

“He will. The effects take a day or more to wear off.”

Hard not to ask how Hera knew this, if she’d tried it on mortals. He exhaled, tightening his hold on Kalaes. “How do they use these drugs? What did they do to him?”

Hera scowled. “Captives relive traumatic circumstances of their lives. This Zag, whoever he is, seems associated with such an event in Kalaes’ past. Combined with the Gultur methods of interrogation, including painful stimuli, and the suggestion that similar danger may take other people he cares for, the drugs can well lead to compounding of the psychotic episode.”

“You sound like a manual.” The heat of anger rose to Elei’s neck and ears. “This is Kalaes you’re talking about!”

Kalaes closed his eyes and moaned, pulling away from him, burrowing closer to Hera. That stopped Elei cold and he swallowed the rest of his rant. He let Kalaes go.

“You think I do not know that?” Hera’s cheeks reddened as she hugged Kalaes. “All I’m saying is he’s obviously reliving something. The effects of the drugs should wear off soon, but...” She avoided his gaze. “I do not know what the long term effect will be.”

Cold fear crushed Elei’s lungs. Kalaes would be fine. He would be okay. The cat meowed, maybe smelling his fear. Repeating this mantra, he followed as Hera hauled Kalaes toward the open door. When they reached it, Kalaes tried to tear free of her hold, but then he slumped and stumbled along.

Elei lagged behind, limping slowly. The pain was returning and he knew he needed to rest his leg as soon as possible. He staggered through the door into another huge garage, where aircars were parked in a line leading to a metal gate. Ahead, Hera and Kalaes moved alongside the vehicles, faint silvery silhouettes in the sputtering overhead lights.

They were heading to the last aircar in the line, the one closest to the gate. It was an old transport model, like the one that had taken Elei to Aerica when he’d first arrived to Dakru, its silver paint flaking, revealing patches of brown rust. He hurried on, the taps of his cane echoing in the cavernous space. Hera was pushing Kalaes up the metal ladder hanging from the deck, and Alendra together with the old man were reaching down to clasp his hands. They dragged him up, and Hera followed. As Elei reached the aircar, her long, polyesthene-clad legs and her black boots disappeared over the rail.

He leaned against the aircar’s cool metal hull and looked up the ladder. How in the pissing hells was he supposed to climb it? He drew a deep breath.
Move it
. He grabbed the rung, tucking the cane under his arm.

Hera trusted him to pull his own weight. Gultur children probably set their own broken bones and stitched up their wounds as soon as they could walk. Little wonder Hera expected the same from him. After all, Regina, the Gultur parasite, was nowhere near as strong as Rex.

I can do this
.

Clenching his jaw tight, he swung his wounded leg up to step on the ladder and the shock of pain blinded him. He lost his grip. Flailing, cursing, he made a grab and caught another rung. He hung, panting through the waves of pain and panic. Rex stirred, pounding against his eyeball like a hammer.