Elei's Chronicles (Books 1-3)

by Chrystalla Thoma

  Hera’s hand hovered over Kalaes’ chest, then she let it fall to her side. “I’d planned to find a boat to the north, but now it’s too late.”

  That didn’t sound reassuring. “What is this place?” He glanced around at the bare concrete walls and a shiver wracked him.

  “It belongs to friends of the resistance,” Hera said. “We’re lying low until the pursuit cools down.”

  “A basement?” Elei guessed.

  Hera nodded. “Like you said, we cannot stay here. It’s dangerous and we have no provisions. We’re trying to find an aircar.”

  “Dangerous?” His heart lurched. “Didn’t you say here it’s safe?”

  “Safe for now. It will not be for long.”

  The fine line of her jaw drew his gaze to her small mouth, her throat, even lower, to her collarbone where tiny scales glinted like crystals. Her scent of sweet fruit and flowers hit him like a slap in the face, focusing his attention. A vein pulsed under her skin and he thought he heard the rush of her blood. His hands curled at his sides with the overwhelming need to grab her and sink his teeth into her flesh, to taste her.

  His breath quickened. What was this? It wasn’t desire, hells, he didn’t even want to kiss her, no, above all he wanted to bite and draw blood and—

  “You must eat something,” she said.

  “Wh- What?” His whole body shook. How did she know—?

  “You lost a lot of blood. I’ll bring you some bread and mineralized serum. At least the others thought of bringing that much with them.” Her tone was reprimanding.

  Maybe she was right. If he ate, maybe that other, unnatural hunger would wear off. ‘Rex wants Regina’ the Gultur — Sacmis — had said outside the hospital. Was this what she’d meant, that Rex wanted to snack on Regina?

  “Wait here.” Hera got up and left the room with quick steps, oblivious to the effort it took not to move, not to try and grab her, pull her close. Her scent lingered, rich and sugary, sending cramps through his middle.

  She returned before he could get his body under control, carrying a bottle of what had to be the serum and a loaf of blue bread. But it was her smell that made his mouth water and his stomach growl.

  “Here,” she said, her voice distant over the roaring in his mind. “These are painkillers. We do not have anything stronger, but it’s something.”

  He unclenched his hands, finger by finger, and took the pills, the bottle and the bread. He set them on the floor and stared at them. There was the tale of a demon, he remembered as he unscrewed the lid and took a swig of salty serum, a demon from the old days who drank blood and ate people. He closed his eyes and swallowed more serum, trying to chase away the image.

  The image of bending over her, tearing with his teeth at her flesh while she clawed at him and screamed, her dark eyes wide, struggling to get away, to save herself, the small scales on her chest shimmering like the waves of the sea.

  While he tasted her death.

  He choked on the pills and the serum and lowered the bottle. Gods, this is sick. Damn you, Rex. A jolt went through his body, and the objects around him began to glow. “What do you want from me!”

  “What?” Hera frowned. “Are you all right?”

  He took a deep breath and picked up a slice of blue bread, crushing it in a death grip. “Yeah. It’s that pissing parasite. Rex is...” He wondered how he could say it without scaring her. “It’s trying to control me.” I won’t let it. Not if I have a choice.

  She cocked her head to the side. “Control you, how?”

  “It wouldn’t let me go into the hospital.” He remembered the agonizing pain, slivers of fire jabbing into his bones—

  “Go into the hospital?” Her eyebrows lifted. “What are you talking about? You were there already.”

  Right, she didn’t know. “I escaped. Then I went back in to get Kalaes. The street kids helped me, gave me weapons.”

  “Is that true?” Her dark gaze bore into him, pulled him apart and examined him.

  “I went in, but Rex didn’t want me to, and it tried to stop me.”

  “For your own good,” she whispered.

  He jerked. “What? Yeah, okay, but it wouldn’t let me—”

  “Kill yourself?” Her voice snapped like a breaking thread, and a scowl darkened her face. “Is that it?”

  He recoiled at her anger, wondering why he felt so jittery. “Who said anything about killing myself? I had to go get Kalaes.”

  Hera’s nostrils flared. “Because I was not there.”

  Well, there was that. “No, you weren’t, and I didn’t know where to find you.”

  “I let you down.” Her dark eyes shimmered with a sheen of sadness.

  “I didn’t say that.” Gods, he was tired. “I just wish I could get rid of the damn parasite, that’s all.”

  “The only reason you survived being shot at the Sacred Fountain,” Hera said, her tone soft but her voice hard, “is Rex. The only reason you and Kalaes are still alive is Rex. You’d never have been able to walk and run on that leg so soon. No way you’d have been able to carry Kalaes around and break him out of the hospital if it was not for Rex. So maybe you should be thankful.”

  Her words hit him like a punch. He stared at her hard gaze, her clenched jaw, and wondered why she’d gone from sad to angry.

  “Fine.” He unclenched his fingers, stared at the mashed piece of bread. “Okay.”

  “I have to go and talk with the others.” She sighed. She had streaks of blood on her cheeks and forehead, as if she’d wiped sweat or tears with bloodied hands. The dark bags under her eyes told him she hadn’t slept a wink since the gods knew when. Taking care of him, and Kalaes. Looking out for them.

  He vowed not to complain about Rex again.

  “I have to see if there’s any chance of us moving out, if the blockades have opened,” she said. “Watch over Kalaes for a while. Eat.”

  He nodded and looked at the bread in his hand, but his stomach was in knots. He put it down. With a sigh, he sat up as best he could, leaning back against the wall. He folded his arms across his chest, trying to conserve what little heat he had left, to ignore the throb in his thigh.

  I can do this. And he wasn’t even sure what exactly he meant to do, only that he had to try.

  Chapter Seven

  A muffled cry jolted Elei, and he looked around, dazed. He’d dozed where he sat propped against the wall. Eyes finally focusing, he saw Kalaes struggle with his blanket, caught in a nightmare.

  Paralyzed for a long, dreadful moment, Elei could only stare at the ashen face twisted in a grimace of pain and fear.

  Then he shook himself. Hera wasn’t there to help. Move. He dragged himself across the floor, splinters of pain plunging into his thigh, and grabbed Kalaes’ shoulder.

  “Hey, man, wake up. Kalaes!”

  “Zag,” Kalaes mumbled, his voice slurring with the swelling in his jaw. “Zag, no.”

  Kalaes’ back arched off the floor, breath coming in harsh pants, and Elei shook him harder. “Kalaes. Please.”

  Kalaes’ eyes flew open. Before Elei could think, a strong hand gripped his wrist, grinding the bones together.

  “Zag?” Kalaes frowned and squinted as if he couldn’t see well. “That you?”

  “Who in the hells is Zag?” Elei muttered, scared. Hallucinations? Hera had said something about that. “Is he dead?”

  “Alive.” Kalaes’ grip loosened, though he didn’t let go, and he closed his eyes. His breathing evened out. “He’s alive.”

  Elei rubbed a hand over his face. Kalaes would be fine, he just needed some time until the drugs’ effect passed. And then...

  Then what, exactly? Things would go back to normal? What was normal anyway? He wouldn’t know it if it bit him in the ass. Was it like Menes and his daughter? A family and a place to call your own? He’d like that, he decided. Very much. He’d give everything for a chance to try it.

  His stomach clenched on emptiness, and he was so parched his tongue stuck
on the roof of his mouth. The bread and serum were by the wall where he’d left them, if only he could reach them. But when he tried to free his wrist from Kalaes’ hold, the other boy’s fingers tightened convulsively.

  He was also goddamn cold. With a sigh, he settled down, stretching his leg and trying to keep his teeth from chattering too hard. Half-formed images flashed before his eyes, snatches of memories and dreams, a girl’s grinning face and a gun, explosions and blood spraying.

  A hand on his shoulder shook him awake. He grunted and forced his eyes open. “What?”

  Hera crouched beside Kalaes, an eyebrow raised. She placed an empty bottle on the floor. “I did not know you liked Kalaes that way.” Her lips quirked. “I discover you like big guns and then boys, all in one day.”

  “What?” Elei scowled. “Why are you saying that?”

  She shrugged and her lips twitched. “You’re holding hands.”

  “This isn’t ‘holding hands’.” Elei nodded down at Kalaes’ fingers around his wrist. He tugged, to no avail. “He won’t let go.”

  “I see.” A spark went through her eyes, but her face remained blank. “Well, you’ve kept him quiet for a while, at least.”

  And that, Elei realized, was the truth. Kalaes hadn’t given any signs of a nightmare. He licked his dry lips. “Hey. You fancy him, you hold his hand.”

  “Who said anything about fancying him?”

  He shrugged, tired, his head feeling strangely light on his shoulders. “Everyone fancies Kalaes.” His mouth had trouble forming the words, slurring them. “He’s the handsome one.”

  She frowned, then leaned over to peer at him more closely. “Elei.”

  “What?”

  Her frown grew darker. “Have you had the serum, eaten any bread? I swear, you’re as white as Nunet’s tits.”

  Again he tried to pull his wrist free, but Kalaes grip ground his bones together.

  “Sobek. One moment.” Hera started to pry Kalaes’ fingers off, one by one, and he stirred, mumbling something. She pulled harder and managed to loosen the hold. “Go.”

  Elei rubbed his bruised wrist and shifted. His leg ached so much he wanted to weep. He hadn’t had the chance to give this much thought, but how was he going to walk? He glanced around, looking for something to use as support. “I need the bathroom.”

  “Better not put any weight on that leg just yet. I had to stitch you up again, and the older stitches are barely holding.” She held out the empty bottle she’d brought. “Here.”

  He stared at it. What did she expect him to— Ah. He took it, unscrewed the lid and tried to decide how he was going to piss into that thing, when he felt her gaze on him and looked up.

  Hera hadn’t moved. Arms folded across her breasts, kneeling next to Kalaes, she was squinting, examining him as if he were a bug under the sole of her boot. She wasn’t going to sit there and watch him piss, was she?

  Tongues of fire curled around his neck, licked his face. He cleared his throat. “Could you... not look when...?” Gods, why was this so hard to say?

  “You want me to leave?” Hera’s tone was mildly surprised, as if watching men piss into bottles was something she did every day.

  “Ah.” His fingers squeaked on the bottle, his ears burning. “S’okay, just turn—”

  A knock on the door froze the words on his tongue. He twisted around, dropping the bottle, reaching for a gun he didn’t have.

  “Relax,” Hera said. “It’s only Alendra.”

  His pulse drummed in his ears. “Who in the five hells is Alendra?”

  “Resistance.” As if that explained anything. “I asked her to let me know when the others would be on their way to check on their aircar. We need to move out before we’re discovered.” She frowned. “I may need to leave as well at some point. I’ve asked Alendra to look after you while—”

  “I don’t need a nurse.” He winced at the snappishness of his own voice. I need... What exactly?

  “I see,” Hera said, rising, her face unreadable. “Then you’ll be fine if I go out with them.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Remember not to put weight on your leg.”

  And what in the pissing hells did she expect him to do? How was he going to walk without putting weight—

  “Wait.” His mind finally caught up, and he tried to hide his panic. “You’re going now?” With Kalaes out cold, she was the only constant he had, the only safe place, and he felt scattered and fragile like thin glass.

  “I will not be very long. Just get some serum into Kalaes. And yourself.” Hera started toward the door. She paused there, not turning. “Will you call Alendra if you need anything?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay.”

  She nodded, and with that she was gone, the door closing behind her.

  Elei pressed the heel of his palm between his eyes, fighting the fear. He’d be okay. He didn’t need anyone’s help. He fumbled with the fly of his pants and grabbed the bottle again, determined to relieve himself before this Alendra or whoever walked in on him. When he finally managed, he bit his lip in relief as the pressure in his gut eased. It was one pain less.

  Screwing the lid back on and plonking the bottle down, he closed his eyes and tried to gather his strength, his confidence, his courage. He told himself that was all he needed.

  He just had to believe it.

  ***

  Hera leaned against the closed door and drew a deep breath. Calm down. How had she failed them so spectacularly? She was supposed to protect them, save them, be there for them, and instead Elei, a mere mortal boy barely out of the hospital bed, had done all the work, saving himself, saving Kalaes.

  The boy was stronger than her.

  The realization barely assuaged her anger at herself, and barely lulled the need to check again, make sure he was okay. Elei did not need coddling, she told herself. He needed someone to take him out of this dank basement and to a safe place.

  If only she knew how to reconcile the contradictory emotions, this sadness, and guilt, and anger, and the bittersweet sting of joy at seeing the two of them alive. The onslaught made her feel like curling up in a corner, crumbling into fine dust.

  Then a girl’s voice rang from the adjacent room and Hera straightened.

  Alendra.

  She could not let anyone see her break down, least of all the mortal girl. Alendra looked up to her, needed her to be strong. The girl had joined the resistance a couple of years back, when her family had died. Hera did not know the details, only that the other two Undercurrent members who’d answered her call for help had asked Hera to take Alendra with her, drop her off in the town of Olous on her eventual way back north. Probably for some other mission.

  Hera did not mind. She liked Alendra and needed the help. She might as well admit it to herself, although she did not plan on saying it aloud, ever: for the first time, she was not sure she could make it alone.

  ***

  Time slipped through the cracks of his consciousness as Elei dozed on and off, drifting through dreams. He was again inside Pelia’s aircar, with a cold foreboding in his chest, driving through the darkened streets of Sestos, Ost City. He drove faster, trying to outrun the night, but evening already crept over the old buildings, a dark tide that swallowed outlines, leaving behind only shadows.

  Then gunshots rang, deafening eruptions of sound waves, and he twisted the aircar around to avoid a hit. From the corner of his eye he saw Pelia slumped forward, crimson blooming on her white blouse. His blood froze. Moving too slow, a voiceless scream clogging his throat, he stopped the vehicle and scrambled into the back seat. He settled at her feet, straightened her so he could see her face, and it was Hera’s beautiful, young face. Tiny scales glittered on her throat, and he squinted, blinded, worried because they had no place being there.

  Pelia wasn’t a Gultur. Was she?

  “Where’s your gun?” Hera muttered, bloody froth bubbling from her lips, and she had Pelia’s voice.

  “My gun?”
He released her, fumbling for the holster at his waist, but when he looked, a cry rose in his throat like bile. Black holes gaped through his bare chest. Half of it had been blown away, and he could see his ribs jutting out, broken and shiny like knives.

  His breathing was harsh in his ears.

  “Your gun,” Hera said again, her words dying in a gurgle as more blood poured from her mouth. “The key.”

  For what? he tried to say but the words wouldn’t come out. Key for what?

  “Elei,” said a small voice, penetrating like a worm the loud thumping of his pulse.

  He looked around. A little girl stood there, inside the aircar, dressed in shabby pants and shirt, dark curls framing a small face set in serious lines. Her gaze was reproving.

  “Afia?” What was she doing there?

  She lifted his Rasmus with both hands and took aim.

  “Afia, give me that,” he said.

  “Read the numbers,” she said and fired. The bullet hit him in the upper arm and his body jerked. He was falling.

  Elei’s eyes flew open and he twisted, stopping his fall. Damned nightmares. His stomach roiled, and he forced himself to calm down. A glance around confirmed that no girl stood in the basement, and that Hera wasn’t dying on the floor. Hera was alive. Pelia was the one who’d died. His mind tangled everything up.

  The cold seeped into his bones, making him slow. He felt his chest and arm. Bandages. Wounds. But no holes. No fresh blood. Thank the gods. Where was his gun? Maybe Hera had it.

  He turned to Kalaes and swallowed hard. The older boy lay there, barely twitching, his face slack, one hand resting on his chest. When would he wake up?

  Elei fought the need to rub his hands over his face, pull on his hair. Instead he grabbed the bottle of serum and drank. He finished half of it before he realized and forced himself to stop. Kalaes needed to drink as well, and there was no telling when there would be more of it.

  Frowning, he leaned over Kalaes, lifted the dark, tousled head and propped it on his own unhurt leg, then uncorked the bottle and dribbled serum between the other boy’s cracked lips.