Elei's Chronicles (Books 1-3)

  “I happened to be in the area. In fact, my gang’s right outside the door.” He stalked closer to her, gave her a hot look. “And who are you?”

  “I’m Alendra.” She shrank back in her chair, her cheeks infused with red. It made Elei’s neck prickle. He wanted to punch Mantis.

  Are you jealous now? He got up. “You just happened to be here.”

  Mantis gave him a sideways glance. “Yeah. And I had to meet you. This is important.”

  “Because?” Alendra asked.

  Mantis sighed. “Because. We’re at war now, full-blown war. Since the Gultur became infected with Rex, since their control shattered and infighting began, the regime has been teetering on the verge of something huge. Another great war, another attempt to wipe us mortals out. We think they’re preparing for a full assault, bomb the cities and slaughter the population, scare them into submission.” He didn’t sound light-hearted or teasing anymore, but like a leader of the resistance. “They’ve been evacuating the unaffected Gultur from the big cities. I think they’re planning to attack soon. We’re running out of time.”

  Elei exhaled. “That’s why you need us.”

  “Because of the map you found.” Mantis smiled. “Pelia’s map.”

  “You knew Pelia?” Kalaes pushed off the wall, his gaze intent.

  “I knew her.” Mantis smile seemed frozen, tiny cracks showing in the dark mirror of his eyes.

  “You...” Kalaes advanced on Mantis, then stopped a few feet from him. “Haven’t we met before?”

  Mantis gave him a pensive look. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Kalaes.”

  A soft gasp escaped Mantis. “You. You sent me to Pelia. You found me and helped me and sent me to her. Oh, gods, it is you!” His face had transformed, the arrogant, confident mask slipping. “Kalaes.”

  Kalaes’ eyes widened. “You’re that scrawny little kid I sent to Pelia? Frigid hells, that was at least three years ago.”

  “Four,” Mantis said. “I was thirteen. I met Hera a few months later.” He made a face. “I was scrawny, wasn’t I?”

  “How do you know about the map?” Hera interrupted. “Did Sacmis tell you?”

  Sacmis drew a sharp breath. She was rubbing her bandaged arm. “I answer to Mantis, Hera. He’s the one who told me where to find you and what you were trying to do.”

  “How did you know what we were trying to do?” Hera focused her dark gaze on Mantis. “Who told you?”

  “We knew Pelia had information about the islands, about resources that we needed. She’d told me as much. She’d promised to let me know when she’d be able to give the details to me and then she’d create a distraction to help us.”

  “She kept in touch with you?” Kalaes’ voice was bitter. “After she left Dakru?”

  Because she hadn’t kept in touch with Kalaes, Elei knew. She’d abandoned him and never told him where she went. Why had she done that?

  “Very little,” Mantis admitted. “But I waited. I knew she couldn’t send messages for fear of someone intercepting them. Whoever knew she was in the resistance risked death.”

  And that was probably why she’d never contacted Kalaes. To keep him safe. Though it must’ve hurt him. Hurt them both.

  “When was the last time you had a message from her?” Hera asked.

  “A few weeks back.”

  Right before her death. The thought surprised Elei. It felt like years. “Did she say who she’d send?”

  “No, of course not. But when she died, we knew the Undercurrent had assigned someone to find her driver who’d gone missing. We found Hera’s tracks, found you. After that, we followed the Undercurrent Council’s moves. We knew something important happened when Nine came to meet you herself.”

  “How do you know all this?” Alendra asked.

  “We’ve got a mole in the Undercurrent Council,” Mantis said.

  “You’re spying on the resistance?”

  “Haven’t you been listening?” This time Mantis’ smile was all teeth. “They’re fighting against us. Of course we’re spying on them.” He licked his lips. “We need to find a cache. We need vehicles, weapons, dakron, anything we can get our hands on to win this war. That’s why I’m here. To help you. To help us. I lead the resistance, the real one. Join us.”

  “I still can’t believe all this,” Kalaes said.

  “You think in straight, simple lines.” Mantis lifted his chin. “But reality isn’t simple, is it? The resistance, Kalaes, not the regime, killed Pelia.”

  A horrified hush fell over the room. But it made sense, if the Undercurrent didn’t want the Gultur overturned, and they’d know what she was trying to do. He’d often wondered how the Gultur had found out. Well, they hadn’t even needed to try. Pelia had reported to the resistance.

  Not about everything, though. Pelia had known all along something wasn’t right.

  “She was a Gultur, wasn’t she?” Elei was surprised at how calm his own voice sounded.

  “Yeah.” Mantis nodded, mouth twisting. “She was.”

  “So she really was Hecate,” Hera said.

  Sacmis reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, and Hera let her, probably too distracted to react.

  “I don’t know, fe,” Kalaes whispered. “You drop all these bombshells on us and expect us to take you at your word. It’s all too damn perfect.”

  “Perfect?” Mantis jabbed a finger at Kalaes. “You were betrayed too, a few weeks back. By a girl. Maera.”

  Kalaes stiffened, all color draining from his face. “What do you know about her?”

  Mantis let his hand drop to his side. “She has become a member of the corrupt Undercurrent Council. Now tell me, Kalaes, if I showed you a video of that moment, would you believe me?”

  ***

  Hera barely heard the back and forth between Kalaes and Mantis. Past and present blurred. She remembered the day of her first patrol with Sacmis, the day she came face to face with the lies of Gultur teachings and the end of the world as she’d known it. She’d been fifteen, full of pride and zeal.

  She remembered two mortals on their raft, helping her save Sacmis who’d fallen into the sea. She remembered the sensation of tumbling into a void from which there was no way out, only a struggle to reach the bottom and find the truth.

  And the truth had come in the face of Mantis, a boy leading a gang of street children. He’d taken a huge risk— talked to her openly, even though she was a Gultur, took her to see a Gultur raid, and then put her into contact with Pelia and the resistance.

  We’re all human. Afia had said it in Teos, told Elei to use the words as a battle cry, to summon the street kids if he ever needed help. She’d hinted at a revolutionary movement among children.

  And she’d thought, then, that Mantis might be involved in this. It was, after all, to him she’d first spoken those words, words she’d read in an old letter her mother had written, hoping to gain his trust and be accepted into the resistance. She’d thought that he might have started his own revolution. In his dark eyes she’d seen a spark of defiance and strength even then.

  She’d never thought he’d end up being the new leader of the resistance, unofficial though the title might be. Then again she’d never thought the Council would be corrupt, causing internal strife and necessitating a counter current led by children. It was not the first time she’d been wrong, nor would it be the last. Gultur were, after all, still human.

  But something was hissing and clawing inside her.

  No, not human. A hot wave pressed inside her chest, trying to burst out. We’re not human. We’re better. We’re stronger. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms, pinpricks of pain.

  She blinked, trying to clear the dark haze, and another wave of heat went through her. Look at them, so weak and fragile, sick and vulnerable. Her blood rushed in her ears, deafening. Sick. Sick. Not like us. Kill them.

  “Hera?” Sacmis’ face swam in her eyes, and Hera brought a hand up convulsively to
grab her friend’s arm.

  “You have to...” She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Have to stop me,” she whispered.

  “What are you talking about?” Sacmis winced, and Hera belatedly realized she was squeezing the hell out of her injured arm. She let go, bowed her head.

  “Regina. You must promise me.” There was screeching in her head, and she closed her eyes. “Promise me you’ll stop me if I try to kill them.”

  “Hera. Look at me.” Sacmis placed a finger under Hera’s chin, lifted it until their eyes met. Hers were gleaming gray, not like steel, not like stone, but like rippling water, clear and transparent. “I know you. You can control it. You’re strong. Do not listen to Regina. Listen to your own beliefs. You always have. And you were right.”

  “I wish you’d promise me,” Hera whispered, “I really wish you would.” Because she was an Echo princess, carrying the original strain of Regina, the purest, the strongest — and sooner or later, she would fight a battle she might not win.

  ***

  Mantis produced a sort of flat data-rod from a pocket. He lifted it for all to see. A clip was playing in a loop on its small screen.

  Elei stared. Maera. Alive and well, dark curls soft around her face, the two black dots of her tattoo visible on her chin. Favoring her right leg, her arm in a sling, smiling as she took a seat at the council table. She looked around, confident, and gave a small speech about how they’d be strong together, meshing their power with that of the Gultur regime, so that they’d soon reign supreme over the Seven Islands.

  He hadn’t killed her after all.

  Elei realized he’d been holding his breath and let it out explosively. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his heart. “Holy shit.”

  “Hey,” Alendra said, “are you all right?”

  “Are you having any chest pain?” Hera frowned at him.

  Elei dropped his hand. Holy crap, he’d scared everyone with his almost heart attack back at Gortyn. “I’m okay. Really.”

  “She’s alive,” Kalaes said in a faint voice and Elei turned to look at him. The pallor of his friend’s face was alarming.

  “Do you believe me now?” Mantis demanded, hands on his hips.

  “I’m willing to listen,” Hera conceded, the glimmer of her eyes barely visible beneath her thick lashes. “Will you help us do what we must?”

  “I’ve got a boat,” Mantis said, “to take you—”

  Kalaes pushed his chair back and staggered to his feet, his face gray. He spun on his heel and lurched to an open door and out of the room.

  Elei swallowed hard. “That’s good enough for me.” The seleukids’ hum seemed to be getting closer. “It’s not like we’ve got many choices.”

  Mantis nodded somberly. “We need to move as soon as possible. They’ll be sending drones and the gods know what else to flush you out.”

  Elei got up. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Kal!” he called as he entered a dark corridor. Doors opened left and right into dim rooms with shut windows, pale ghosts of beds and chairs in the gloom. “Kalaes!”

  Elei found him in a small bathroom. He’d splashed water on his face and it dripped from his chin.

  “What’s wrong?” Elei asked, leaning on the wall next to the sink.

  “I’m...” Kalaes wiped the water off his face. His hand was shaking. Blood trickled from his nose, bright red.

  “Damn it, Kal—”

  Kalaes brought his fist down and slammed it into the sink so hard it cracked, a hairline fissure, making Elei flinch. “I thought she died.” Maera. “But, hells, she’s alive, fe, and a member of the Undercurrent Council. How’s that for a shitty way to start this trip.” He gripped his head. “Damn.”

  “Let’s get you some painkillers.” Elei grabbed Kalaes’ arm and dragged him out of the bathroom and into a random room. He settled him on a bed, where Kalaes hunched over, eyes scrunched shut.

  “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong with you?” Elei asked, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides, fear and worry twisting his stomach. “How I can help you?”

  Kalaes shook his dark head, didn’t look up. “Just the painkillers. I’ll be fine.”

  Elei suppressed a sigh. He gave a towel for Kalaes to press to his bleeding nose and left to look for the medic-kit. He found their bags by the entrance of the apartment and rummaged inside. A shadow cut the light from the overhead lamp.

  “Looking for something specific?” Alendra asked softly. He looked up at her, at the white arch of her throat, her golden hair curling where it touched her shoulders. Then she knelt next to him, placing a warm hand on his bicep. “What is it?”

  “Painkillers.” The slight pressure of her fingers distracted him. Her warmth seeped through his shirt and trickled into his chest.

  “Where does it hurt?” she asked, a note of concern creeping into her voice.

  “Not for me.” He forced his mind back to his task. “For Kalaes. He’s got a headache.”

  She rummaged in the bag. “Is it that bad?”

  “It is.” And the fear returned, little shards of ice cutting into his insides.

  “Is he sick?” Her voice wavered and he wondered if she thought Kalaes had caught telmion from him, despite Hera telling her repeatedly it wasn’t possible.

  “He won’t tell me.”

  “Maybe it’s nothing.”

  “Maybe.” He desperately wanted to believe that, but in his mind he kept seeing Kalaes’ slack, bleeding face, overlaid with images of him hanging between the Gultur guards at the hospital, blood dripping down his braids. If he didn’t know what was wrong with Kalaes, how could he help?

  “Here you go.” She retrieved the black box from the bag and shoved it into his hands. Her breath ruffled his hair, blew sweet on his face, and her eyes held a bright light. His skin tingled all over and his mouth felt dry. He gripped the medic-kit and tried to thank her, but all words had fled his mind.

  She smiled, a light curl of her full lips, and she got up and left him kneeling there trying to gather his thoughts.

  He brought the pills to Kalaes who took them without any fuss, which was worrying. No sooner had Kalaes lain down than he fell asleep, which was worse. Elei covered him and hovered. There was a weight on his shoulders when he headed back to the living room where the others still sat discussing. His thigh ached, and he tried not to limp.

  “The Siren Project is about finding resources,” Mantis was saying, running a hand through his fair hair. Longish wisps brushed his chin. “We thought our origin might have to do with these resources, with the roots of the islands and their history. Where we all came from, and why we’re here.”

  “Was Pelia working for the project?” Hera asked with a feverish glow in her eyes.

  “She never worked directly with us,” Mantis said. “She was careful not to give the Council any suspicions, or so she thought.”

  “I saw her name mentioned in one of the documents about the Siren Project,” Hera said stubbornly.

  “In a regime file?” Mantis paled. “Damn whoever did this to her.”

  Elei stood back and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Pelia. Someone had handed her over to the enemy. Betrayal upon betrayal. How could he ever know who to trust?

  Hera’s mouth thinned and she rose from her seat. “Let us get ready. You said you have a boat for us. Where is it?”

  “You need to walk there.” Mantis tapped his forefinger on the table. “They’ll be controlling everyone approaching the sea, every boat, every road.” He drew an imaginary curve on the nepheline surface. “We’ll move around the port, away from their patrols, north through the merchants’ quarter. The promontory of Calydon curves inward where Ytra bay begins. There’s an abandoned pier with old storehouses. My boat awaits you.”

  “Are the seleukids gone?” Alendra looked nervously at the shuttered window. “We can hardly go traipsing out when they’re looking for us.”

  “Best to split up into two groups,” Sacmis
said, “and carry what we can with us.”

  “We need to buy provisions on the way.” Hera started to pace. “We did not have much to start with.”

  “We’ll pass some shops,” Mantis said. “They stay open ’til late.”

  “I have enough dils for bread and water.” Hera frowned. “Not enough to pay for the boat, though.”

  “Don’t you worry, lady, the boat’s on me.” Mantis winked at her and leaned his hip against the table. “I guess we’re set to go.”

  Chapter Nine

  Evening was falling in swirls of gold and orange across the sky. A cold wind blew from the sea. Standing at the open door of the building, Elei breathed in the salty tang laced with the smell of the streets — burnt dakron from the aircars, rotten meat and vegetables from a dumpster, cat and dog piss, a fooncake being fried inside an apartment.

  Mantis raised his hand and stepped outside.

  They trickled out of the building in two groups, carrying backpacks provided by Mantis, stuffed with their things — food, water, weapons, medic-kits, clothes. Elei also carried the thermos with his medicine.

  Mantis led the first group composed of Hera and Sacmis, while the rest— Alendra, Kalaes and himself — formed the other.

  A whistle tore through the dark. Swarms of children burst through the alleys, crept from behind dumpsters and aircars, cleaner and better fed than the street kids of Teos. Mantis probably took care of them — his army, Elei realized as the kids circled them, then moved out, glancing over their shoulders and gesturing for them to follow.

  He exchanged a look with Kalaes, who seemed more like himself. He’d said he’d be fine, hadn’t he? Elei wanted to ask him how he’d met Mantis, what he thought of all they’d heard, but that could wait until later.

  Alendra wore her hood so low only her eyes peeked through, a brilliant amber. Elei tugged his own hood lower and pulled on the straps of his backpack.

  “Let’s go,” he said and they set out, following the children. He couldn’t help noticing Mantis led Hera and Sacmis in a slightly different direction, but it was probably to confuse the enemy. Hera trusted the blond boy, and he was their best chance.