Gentle Chains (The Eleyi Saga Book 1)

by Nazarea Andrews

  I’m expecting the blow. It catches me high on the cheekbone, strong enough to throw me against the surgical table. The pain radiates, blurring my vision and chasing fire through me.

  “You’re a slave bought and paid for, leech. And your owner asked for this service. If you cooperate, we can give you pain management.”

  “It’s easier for you, when we cooperate. Most of them don’t even think to fight back,” I say conversationally, straightening. Xtan watches me, an anticipatory edge to his psyche—he wants me to fight him.

  So I do. I know I’ll lose—even if I were able to escape, there is nowhere to go. But I fight anyway. It isn’t in me to do less.

  Xtan meets every punch, every wild blow—he’s toying with me. I think he just wants to see how far he can push me. After a blow that leaves my head ringing, I slump on the floor, trying to get up. Every inch of me aches.

  “Enough,” Xtan says, almost to himself. “Let’s get this over with.” He pulls me from the ground and I try not to scream as I land on the surgical table, jarring my bruised ribs. Xtan secures my hands while I reach tentatively for Juhan’tr. The space where he should be is dull and I wonder if they had to sedate him after my owner’s demand.

  Xtan leans over me, and whispers, soft and menacing. “That pain management we offer? Your owner didn’t request it—and you were such a little bitch in space.” Icy terror floods my veins, and he injects something in my arm. “Just a little agent to keep you awake. Wouldn’t be any fun if you blacked out, now would it?”

  Before I can fully process what is happening, his hand clamps down on my right wing, stretching it out. Heat—hotter than anything I’ve ever felt, hotter than the brand—sears into me, and I can smell something burning. Blood and flesh and the unfamiliar scent that has to be bone. I hear a sick snap, and then the wing tip clatters down on the ground beside me.

  There is a curious delay in the pain. I can actually see the clipping of my wing—a neat triangle from the bony upper corner—before the pain slams into me.

  Juhan’tr

  Everything around me is hazy from whatever they drugged me with. But I’m stronger than they think, and I can feel her—the choking terror and then a blinding pain, so thick she throws up, and it pulls a whimper from me. I reach for her, but she’s out of focus, a distant pressure. -Be strong,- I murmur.

  Her thoughts are chaotic, horrified and enraged.

  “Hurry,” Sadi says to me. Tin strides alongside her, bent around her, shielding her as I lag behind. “Come on.”

  “Why the hurry?” I ask, and Tin throws a quick frown over his shoulder at me.

  “Because I’d prefer to get off planet without an assassination attempt, if you don’t mind,” Sadi snaps. “Now move your ass.”

  We’re hurrying through dirty crowded streets, and all around me, I can taste the fear of the slaves inside the auction houses. So many races—and so many of my people. I slip in a greasy puddle, and Tin catches me without stepping away from Sadi. “Focus, Eleyi.”

  The space port is crowded, and I am pulled close by the chain Sadi holds. A bubble of anger settles in my chest—she’s holding a leash, like I’m a dog. She mumbles, softly under her breath, and I reach for her mind. Beneath that blank expression, her emotions churn—anger and fear and so much excitement I feel an echo of it in myself. She’s nervous though, and something in her brightens as we take another turn.

  “There,” she points at a small sleek black ship, the word Leen painted on the side, obviously a personal craft, “we’re almost there. I told you—”

  Her words are cut off by a sharp whistle. I feel a splash of heat, and the road explodes, spraying us with shrapnel. It cuts me, and I touch my face numbly as Tin thrusts my owner behind him with a curse. “Damnit, Sadi.”

  “That was hardly my fault,” she says, indignant. Another shot rings out, and the mass of Others around us skitter away. Tin shoves her, hard, in the direction of the ship. “Run,” he snarls.

  She doesn’t question him, just sprints for the small spacecraft. I’m jerked after her, and spread my wings for balance as we race through the crowd.

  -Why are they shooting at us?- I ask, pushing the thought at Sadi.

  She laughs. “Because of my father. They don’t like him.” She hits a quick sequence in the tiny tablet on her wrist and the ship shivers to life, a ramp sliding down. Without hesitating, she darts up it and into the cockpit.

  “Sit down and stay out of the way,” she says abruptly, dropping into the pilot’s seat and tapping the screen. “Leen, we need to be off planet. Now,” she snaps.

  A small green orb appears on screen. “Destination, Sadi?”

  “Anywhere but here,” she mutters.

  “Not a viable destination,” the computer answers calmly, and she huffs.

  “Ariede.”

  “Computing. Will there be another passenger?”

  “Tin. He’s coming,” Sadi says, peering over her shoulder.

  “Tinex is approximately two minutes from the Leen. Do you wish to leave immediately?”

  “Yes, dammit. Abort safety procedures and get this ship in the air.”

  The computer sounds vaguely displeased as it reports back, “Safety protocol has been aborted. Leen is in hover mode.”

  She grins, slaps a button. “Hang on, Eleyi,” she shouts, and the whole ship shudders as she jerks on the controls.

  Holy Elti roots, she’s disabled auto-pilot.

  The ship rams into something and Sadi laughs, a breathy noise of sheer excitement.

  “Please enable auto-pilot.” The computer sounds distressed. I can’t blame it much.

  “Look out the hold—see where Tin is,” Sadi orders me.

  “Tinenx is approximately one minute from the Leen,” the computer interrupts.

  She swears at it, and I duck into the back as we lurch again. The computer is shrill and piercing in my ear. “The Leen is being fired upon. Evasive maneuvers suggested.”

  The other man is running, a flat-out race to the hovering spacecraft. From within the ship, Sadi shrieks as we get hit again. Tin leaps, a flying, impossible dive, and I catch him before he falls off the ramp.

  “Tinex is aboard,” the ship reports as the ramp slides closed, and Sadi slams the throttle forward, racing away from the guns and slavers chasing us.

  Tin rolls to his feet and goes directly to Sadi. “You alright?”

  “I’m fine,” she says, brushing him away. “Leen is about to malfunction, though. Get autopilot back online.”

  The ship lurches abruptly, a sharp jostling that nearly pitches me out of my seat. Tin casually reaches out and grabs me, jerking me upright.

  “Leen is flying on auto-pilot. Destination: Ariede. We will arrive in approximately seventy-two hours.” It sounds so smug and self-satisfied.

  Now, as adrenaline fades, I’m reaching for a familiar presence. -Chosi’le.-

  She’s distant and faint; her psyche is still chaotic. As we gain altitude, gliding away from the auction houses, I feel a flutter of her thoughts, the tiny brush so soft it’s almost not even there.

  Then, she’s gone. And I am alone.

  Chapter 7

  Chosi’le

  EVERYTHING IS FUZZY WHEN I wake.

  I sit up, my whole body aching from the beating. There’s a constant throb in the tips of my wings. I fan them slowly, trying to gain my balance—only to lose it. The edges are wrong, catching the air in a way that doesn’t support me. I sweep my wings forward, as far forward as I can, and stare.

  The tips are blunt, sharply cut, square and rough where they had once been delicate and lovely.

  Angry tears prick my eyes, and I blink, hard. I can feel threads of psyches all around me, but none of them are familiar. And I can pick no words from them, only a fluid gibberish mess.

  Others, then.

  Standing makes me dizzy, pain ricocheting through me, and I pitch forward, my wings useless to catch me in their altered state. I fall hard against the room�
��s single stool, and it crashes to the ground with a massive clatter. Pain lances through me and I writhe on the dirty floor, choking on my scream.

  Along the psychic threads, I can feel a sudden prick of interest. One seems familiar—Henri, the Pente who bought me.

  -If you cooperate, it goes easier.-

  The advice comes from a thread so quiet and subdued, I can barely find it in the mess of Others. But there—another Eleyi. Older than me and unfamiliar.

  -What do they want with us?- I demand.

  There is no response—the mind has blocked himself off. I force myself to stand, and wobble to the single door. It swings open as I approach and an Eleyi of similar age stares at me, a mixture of curiosity and disdain on her flat face.

  I reach for her thoughts, questioning, -What are you doing here?-

  A delighted smile lights her eyes, and she lifts a tiny silver whistle to her lips. The sound is piercing, and I flinch as it bores into my pounding head.

  She scampers away without answering my question, leaving only gibberish in her wake, and it hits me.

  I can’t understand her thoughts.

  Eleyain is not her native tongue.

  I—any Eleyi—can pick the emotion out of anyone’s aura, Other or Eleyi. But I can only communicate telepathically with someone thinking the same language—and most of the time, a mind will think in their native language. She’s thinking in Pente—the language of the humans who settled the far-flung desert planet when Earth became too crowded.

  I tremble in anger—how young was she when she was Taken?

  The Pente who bought me appears in the door and gives me a bland smile. Another man follows him into the room, leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. “Catelyn is upset with me. She wants you punished for using Eleyain,” Henri says.

  The commtrans isn’t in my wristcuff—for the first time, I realize I’m not wearing it. Instead, a thin chain hangs around my neck, a necklace bearing three small charms—a commtrans, a silver disk with a simple design, and a diamond.

  “I am Henri Argot, and I own you,” he says, staring at me, and I take a deep breath, basking in my anger. “The first thing you need to learn is that you will speak our language. You are also not allowed to use psychic speech, unless granted explicit permission to do so for your duties. Which is rare. Catelyn is good at catching it when it happens. She was raised in my jakta and is utterly loyal, so don’t think you can play on her ties to Eleyiar.”

  “She’s a slave?” I ask, throat dry.

  “Of course,” Henri answers, almost surprised. “All of you are.”

  “Why?”

  A smile turns his lips and he drops onto the stool. “Do you know what that the Pente are known for?”

  I shake my head—aside from the slaver species, we are not taught much of the Others.

  “Entertainment,” he says, pride gleaming in his eyes. “We provide the best entertainment in the Interplantary Alliance—and my jakta produces the best and boldest blood sport. Wrestlers and gladiators and cage fights.”

  He owns a jakta—a training camp for gladiators. Disgust wars with my anger as I whisper, “What do you need Eleyi for?”

  “To help with training them. I own you. My brother, Prator, runs my jakta. My head trainer, the Primus, trains my gladiators. But someone must train my beasts for spectacles.”

  It startles me and he laughs, a surprisingly boyish noise. “When I first opened my jakta, I wanted to distinguish myself from others. I wanted my fighters—of any species —to be intelligent enough to survive their matches and make me more money. But how do you teach a wilding when to duck, how to fend off a hukron attack? How do you teach them when you can’t communicate?”

  I know the answer—use a psychic. It might take a little time, but it could be done. It was a new reason, an imaginative one, but did that matter? In the end, didn’t it just mean I was a slave?

  “So I am to train your pets to kill?” I say, my voice tight and angry.

  The light goes out of his eyes, and he stands. “Your future isn’t decided. But if you are made a beastboy, yes. You are to train them to win. And remember, little Eleyi—you share the future of your charges. You will suffer as they do. So do your job well.”

  He stands, and begins to leave the room. He pauses at the door. “You aren’t chained. I find chains hinder my slaves. You will keep your commtrans for a sevenday after reaching the jakta before you’re expected to speak Common. The diamond is a neuro-pulse. If it is removed from your body signature, it will activate and destroy everything within a fifteen meter radius.”

  The diamond feels like ice in my hand, or maybe that is my blood, frozen in my veins.

  “If you try to run while wearing it, I’ll activate the neuro-pulse remotely.”

  For a wild moment, I think he’s bluffing—there is no way he’d throw away an investment like a slave. A smile flickers in his eyes. “Catelyn had a sister, once—she died trying to escape.”

  He doesn’t bother locking the door behind him as he leaves, trailed by the brother who still hasn’t spoken, and that infuriates me: that there is no need for locks. Where can I go?

  Chapter 8

  Juhan’tr

  “YOU CAN SLEEP HERE.” Sadi gestures at a tiny, narrow bunk. It rests atop three thin drawers and I wonder, inanely, what I should put there. The room we stand in is small, but clean and private. And starkly empty.

  “Just make yourself comfortable. We’ll be at Ariede soon.”

  She smiles, the first expression I’ve seen on her smooth face since we boarded. A ripple in her emotions startles me—a shaky blend of excitement, apprehension, and fear—she’s nervous and it intrigues me. So does the taste of interest and surprise I can feel on her psyche. Then she shivers, and her emotions are gone.

  I stare after the small human as she hurries away from me, past the tiny galley, back to the cockpit and Tin. He isn’t as blank—his emotions are a furious blend of anger and worry, but he doesn’t say anything as Sadi takes her seat.

  What does this girl want? She’s hiding something, nervous about telling me.

  There will be time for that later. I tune them out as I turn back to the bed. My wings twitch a bit as I stare at the narrow ledge, a subconscious claustrophobic reaction.

  I force my wings closed, and settle on my stomach. I pillow my head on my folded arms, and close my eyes. A few breaths calm my heartbeat, and I slip into a deep trance almost effortlessly.

  It’s dangerous to push this much psychically, but I’m stronger than most Eleyi.

  Eleyi shine like tiny stars in this place in my mind—scattered and clustered, all alike and different and so very beautiful. My people, their presence throbbing like so many heartbeats. I brush over them, and feel the sometimes startled response of Eleyi who have been slaves for longer than I have been alive. How many of them know this technique? How many are strong enough to use it?

  I push the thought away before it can shake my trance and search. It feels strange, looking for the soul that has always been wrapped around me, so tight I sometimes wondered where she stopped and I began. Without her at my side, I feel like I have lost a limb, lost my wings.

  I am broken, bleeding.

  I skim outward, brushing over the unfamiliar minds until I find one that shimmers and calls to me like a heartbeat echoing my own.

  She’s surrounded by Eleyi, a fierce light that outshines those around her. I brush her thoughts, and I feel her startle, feel her anger and frustration. Feel the hope that flares in her as I feather through her subconscious.

  But that is all—emotions so faint I can barely feel them. No words, no promises or false assurances. Already, we are too far apart for anything but the faintest connection.

  I have to make this count.

  Taking a deep breath, I gather all the hope I have and focus it, coiling it in a tight ball. Then I send it across the void of stars, trusting the strength of our bond to hold as I send it to her.

  I fe
el it hit her, feel the shock of her absorbing something so bright that it outshines her fear and shock and pain. Feel the hope I’ve offered up fold into her like it is her own. I feel her burst of emotion, a flare across space, before she fades into nothing but another star.

  I’m freezing when I come out of my trance. There is a thermal blanket at the base of the bed, and I jerk it up, covering my wings and curling on my side.

  I blink, sleepily, and listen to the conversation coming from the cockpit.

  “You’re playing with fire.”

  “Would you quit worrying, Tin?” She says, her voice sharp and tired, and I wonder how long they’ve been arguing.

  “That’s my job, Sadi. And it’s damn hard to do my job when you won’t play by the rules.”

  “It wasn’t my idea in the first place,” she snaps, her voice dangerous. “Daddy forced you on me, and if you think I’m going to change just because he did, you’re an idiot.”

  Hurt flares across his mind and then, stiffly, “I apologize, lady. I thought we were friends. I presume too much.”

  She makes a noise of protest, but Tin ignores it, rising and stalking out of the cockpit, past my tiny room.

  “Hell,” she mutters. “Leen, monitor Tinex for body stress.”

  “Not viable order,” the computer answered calmly.

  “Fuck your viable orders,” she snaps, and then, before the computer can respond, “Inform me of sustained elevated heart-rate or blood pressure.”

  “Monitoring Tinex’s body system.”

  What does she want? What kind of life is waiting for me, now? And how can I get to Chosi when we are destined for opposite corners of the galaxy? I hug my blanket closer, my eyes closing sleepily—in the silence, I finally pass out.

  I dream of home. Of the warm breeze stirring waxy leaves, the constant hum of wings and emotions. The taste of flower-scented rain, and my sister’s laughter as Mother cooks and shoos us from her kitchen.

  I almost think it’s real—that the slavers and the branding, the auction houses, all of it—have been a horrible dream. For a heartbeat, as the nutty smell of lemils in lynn oil fills my nose, I do.