Lower Earth Rising Collection, Books 1-3: A Dystopian Contemporary Fantasy

by Eden Wolfe

  She raises her eyes to meet his.

  How his eyes beseech her.

  Why doesn't he speak?

  She looks deeper into him, through his eyes to his soul.

  Why does he look so despairing? Why does he look at me so?

  His left hand lifts in the periphery of her vision and comes to rest on her shoulder. Skin to skin, there is a rush through her.

  Electric.

  This is dangerous.

  She knows it, but she cannot articulate why. Not now, not in the safety of the dream.

  The back edge of his hand runs from her shoulder to the shelf of her chest. Still, he does not stop looking deep into her eyes.

  Speak, she thinks to him, but she too is silent.

  A shock runs through her when his hand passes along the side of her breast, the feeling inexplicable. Old and new.

  They are together, watching his hand trace the curves of her body in the stillness of a moment that sits between the seconds. It is almost not lived at all. They both watch his hand come to sit on her thigh.

  His head snaps erect and she meets his gaze, his eyes now panicked, his mouth opens a sliver.

  A line of blood gathers at the corner where his two lips join, and wordlessly, breathlessly, it falls down his face, a single drop landing on the lava rock cliff beneath them. It's then she sees the point of the knife protruding from his chest, pointing at her like a finger of death. Pointing at her, for she is to blame.

  She wants to scream. She wants to hold him as his body goes limp. But she is stuck in this dream world where she is frozen and her body won’t respond to her commands.

  He falls. Backward, headfirst, without sound, he is over the Rainfields cliff and into the sea below. She scrambles to the edge to watch him.

  A head crests from beneath the water.

  He is not dead! She declares to the stone of the cliffs. He is not dead! He will rise from the water!

  His head raises toward her, his body still in the water, though it lifts him. The water itself raises him up, swirling as a platform, bringing him back to the place where she sits in her nakedness.

  He is coming back!

  The water falling over and across, she cannot make out his shape, but only that he is there.

  He’s nearly upon her, the rising swirling sea, and she can hardly wait, hardly contain her beating heart.

  The waters slow as he approaches her, this immortal king of her dreams and of history. She stares unblinking, and his form is there.

  He, too, is unblinking, his face frozen in love.

  His face frozen in death.

  Blood pours from the wound in his chest. His dead-love face grows grotesque, the shame splashed in blood smears from the water's madness.

  She vomits. Vomits all the love, all the humiliation, all the things she should have known, and didn't. It projects out of her onto the dead man's body. He crumbles under the weight of it, he falls off the water's platform back to his grave below, and standing before her, bloody knife in hand, is the one she knows is her mother's mother's mother. Or even of the one before. Perhaps this is even the first queen shaking her head at her, it doesn't matter now.

  This Queen of Before just shakes her head, slow and deliberate, eyes unforgiving on the Queen's naked body.

  "You will kill us all."

  Maeva awoke, the cold of night descending. Her flesh was torn, she'd been tearing at her body again.

  Lifting herself, healing herself, she dressed in her long, green velvet robe.

  It was time to call Archer.

  Archer stood at the window, looking out into the square. She couldn't take her eyes off him. Even with everything she knew, everything that went so far back, she was nonetheless transfixed under his gaze. His jaw was as strong as the first day she’d seen him, of special note given how young they both were at the time. It came down and set hard in a square to match the line of his shoulders, leading the eye down the gentle curve of his neck, which contrasted harshly against the lines of his chest. But somehow even this jarring was perfect in itself.

  The old King’s code lived well all these generations later. He had hardly degraded at all.

  His hair remained full and his gait was bouncy, even youthful. He was one of the few men who had crossed the invisible line of time and come out the other side. The rest of them began their slow or quick declines, but Archer evaded age. The skin on his cheek was smooth but not soft, showing his experience but not his years.

  He'd been protected from the worst of it.

  He'd have been suitable for the Queen's Guard, except for the women-only policy. She could have changed that. She could have given him a military position. She could have offered him greater leadership, Commandante even, but she didn’t. Most simply accepted that Archer held a favored role as an aide to the Queen, even if they didn't know why. He had the code of Kings, but never their authority. He was not to be trusted with even an inch of power. Never.

  She’d always had his movements closely monitored. "Exceptional visits to the outlying areas" were the only anomaly ever in the Green Files. And she knew why he went there. East Gana and West Strangelands. Perhaps it was just as well he was going to be the one tasked with the act - he'd always been too drawn in by Future Queens that lived in the protectorates and their perfect duplicity.

  Despite her warnings.

  Archer stood across from her, waiting for her to address him. Patient and silent. As she stared at him, something began to flutter in the bottom of her stomach.

  Stop it, Maeva. It's just the code, the affinity you feel is just the code.

  But she wasn’t sure. Her heart accelerated and her eyes wouldn't lift, wouldn't turn away. Archer stood there, unmoving, gazing off somewhere far in the distance. There was such softness in his face, something so familiar in the way his cheeks relaxed. Something warm.

  Comfort, that's what it is, comfort. He’s nothing special. Just a man. A man with the code of Kings.

  He turned and looked into her eyes. She sought the code out from within them, a heat rising up her neck.

  Where are you, King?

  The first King of Lower Earth, the direct descendant of the settler King. The king who'd changed the game - the king who'd altered the course of their modern history.

  What is so special in this DNA after all? Take the crown off the king and all that’s left is a regular man. And yet this man survives when all the others are degrading around him.

  She knew there were questions about why she held him in such esteem, why she kept him as though he were kin.

  For her, the answer was simple.

  Keep your enemies close.

  Yet, not only did Archer seem to be the most loyal of her aides, he did not seem capable of the level of deceit that the voices of the old queens’ warned her about.

  Still, the history of his code was too well known. Her own mother's words had been stark in their reminder.

  "When he seems calm, expect rage. When he seems kind, expect menace. This is how we know him to be, and one day he'll live out his history. There's no doubt of that. Will it be now? Will it be with you? That remains to be seen. But what you can be sure of is that despite any effort you make, his blood lurks at the beginning of it all. Tweaks of him are across the Male Program. No matter how you try to shut it down, that self-preservation will supersede, just when you aren't looking for it. I won't pretend I know how, Maeva, but you keep your eyes open."

  Standing before him now, she didn't see it. Could it be that this version of the man was somehow lesser? He looked on her with such adoration, such deference. She found it hard to believe this line of DNA could have ever been responsible for all it was claimed to have done.

  Just look at this man. He will follow my every word, simply because it was me who said it.

  This task would put it to the test. She inhaled deeply.

  "Archer, there's something you must do."

  She divorced herself from her body as she explained in detail h
is mission ahead. She watched him with detachment, not allowing the chaos in his eyes to dull her to the violence. She observed it with curiosity.

  “You will use the discovery of the female scout as a ruse. It is believable. Ariane would be expected to seek out such an enemy. She will think she’s killing a scout who has disguised herself. If you’re lucky, they will cull one another in the fight. If you’re not lucky, you will have to ensure she dies as painlessly as possible. I will arrange for the weapons and poison.”

  Archer’s eyes shut gently, remarkably gently, the lids sitting just so in seeming absolute peace, though she knew all that was rushing through him.

  He has to understand. He must own the act. I must make sure he will follow through, despite his affection for them. He is human, but I cannot let his humanity distract from the necessity of the act.

  "Do you understand what you must do?"

  Archer swallowed hard. "What you are asking of me, my Queen," and now it would come, the excuses and fear. His voice quivered. "I just don't see it, I don't understand - "

  "I'm not asking you to understand the reasons. I imagine -" she sought a little bit of sympathy inside for him but found none, "I imagine this must be difficult for you to comprehend."

  Archer pulled back.

  "Difficult? Difficult? This isn’t a question of difficulty, Maeva. This isn't even betrayal. Betrayal is glorious besides what you are asking me to do." He grabbed a chair and pulled it closer. He sat and put his face in his hands.

  She closed her eyes. "You're overreacting."

  "Don’t you get it, Maeva?" his eyes searched her, she felt them burning across her skin, and it felt good. "What you're asking of me is to put a dagger in my own heart. These girls, they are the very center of -"

  "I do not ask you to understand, this is not for you to understand. I am not asking anything, but I command that you obey." Her voice cracked.

  I must control my temper. He cannot object and he cannot dissent. If it’s the last act he will ever do for me. This must be done. He must believe that it is the right thing to do.

  "You do not know what is on the line here, Archer. You have only ever had a sliver of awareness of the world in which we live. Nothing more than that. You've been privy to more than most, but you must see," she walked to the window facing the west square, "none of this happens by accident. The world is changing and we are changing with it. Lower Earth needs more than you and I can offer it. This must be done for all the world to carry on."

  "But they are just girls."

  The voices rumbled within, her patience was running low. She couldn’t bear to reflect on it further. It just had to be done. "They are women, Archer! And they are too many. We must cull the crop to only she who will stand forth as Queen. Don’t you see what the consequences are otherwise? I will have them brought to the same region. The guise will be arranged. You will need to see the act done quickly. I cannot guarantee how they will react once the first one is dead. This is about pragmatism now, Archer. The remaining one could respond in a multitude of ways. This is where you must use the trust you have built," Archer winced, "to ensure you can execute the other one. Use the lines I have given you, they must believe they are killing the scout, the scout in disguise. They must not know who is under the cape across from her."

  "But they'll know."

  "They won't know."

  "THEY'LL KNOW!"

  Maeva was thrown aback by the force of his body rising to stand, the chair falling behind him. He continued in whispers.

  "You are asking me to do an impossible thing. Even if they don't know at first, the moment they look in my eyes, they will know everything." He lifted his head, looking beyond her. "I'm not strong enough to do this."

  He might be right.

  "Perhaps not. But you are not doing this only because I say so. Archer," she came close to him. Their forearms touched and the heat of his body rolled over her as she looked up into his eyes. He seemed to be growing taller before her. "You are the only one I can trust to do this, and you must do it because you love them. Because only you can do it and be sure they are killed dead and without pain. It's not only for them, but we have a world of people looking to - " she hesitated, "To us. Archer, they are looking to us to lead them. This farce never should have gone on so long, and I do regret it but here we are and I'm not sure I could have done any different. It is not their fault that they were destined to this - but it is indeed their destiny."

  "I cannot believe that."

  "Believe what you want, Archer, but don't be so naïve as to say you can't at least see what’s happening here." She walked to the window, her eyes fixed on him. “I cannot bear to look on you now. This is the moment I have most needed you in my life. Do you hear this? I need you, Archer. They trust you. They love you. Let them die with the dignity they deserve.”

  Archer’s face twisted and the Queen couldn’t stand it.

  She opened the window and stepped onto the ledge, another step to the roof. She would not let him see her this way. She was at a loss.

  How to convince him. How to make him close his eyes and do the act?

  She'd been foolish to think he'd blindly commit it after the years he'd spent with them. She never should have let him set eyes on their newborn bodies.

  Their newborn bodies in his arms. Their beautiful bodies.

  Do not let those memories in now.

  She looked out over the night from the rooftop.

  Just some air. I can’t bear to look at him.

  She let out a violent breath. She felt like her guts were being compressed.

  Focus.

  It was too easy to be pulled into history. She hardened herself into the now and waited. It was only a matter of time. He would come to join her. She pulled her knees into her chest, perched comfortably and easily on the roof's deep slanted edge. Her robes cascaded around her like the midnight sky against the darkness above and the single light of the square below. She couldn’t see how the thousands who converged there found any space at all. From above, the square appeared no larger than a tree leaf, the buildings along the edges cutting into the open area, interrupting and jagged. In the nighttime light, it shone as something mystical. She observed the cobblestones, their uniqueness, the trodden parts more visible closer to the fortress, the outer edge in remarkably good condition. Made to last. Destined to see so much more. The thousands and thousands of feet that would trample them in rushing to briefings to announcements, to the good and the bad. And the terrifying. They would all come, and they would all be communicated here. Mouth to ear to mouth to ear, a cancer spreading as the news reached everyone.

  When will it be? When will Upper Earth finally make their move? Will we be ready to meet them? Do we even know how?

  The female scout had so far proven useless. Upper Earth clearly arranged it so that no matter the pressure, she had nothing to tell. So far the Guard hadn't used the tactics of the old world, but that wasn’t off the table.

  Maeva would do as she had to, just like those before her had done in the face of yet another attack on their very existence. Hadn't that been what all of the regulation had been for? All their efforts, all the separations, the disappearances -

  All the controls had been put in place.

  Only one star was in the sky. She stared at it, willing just a small respite, time to figure it out. The weight of it all made her body sink deeper against the roof.

  Archer's head finally emerged from the window below her feet. She heard him sigh before heaving his large body out the window. For Archer the ledge was perilous; she prepared her muscles in case she needed to grasp at him in mid-air. She'd done it before. She shifted herself a little lower, thinking how childish she must look to him, balled up on the roof.

  Why do I care what he thinks of me on the roof? I’ve just asked him to kill our kin. My kin.

  My children.

  His eyes rose to her, and it was he who looked childish. Those sweet eyes she remembered from so long
ago. They had barely been of school-going age when he’d smiled at her. He’d been hiding behind a building on the corner of the very square below them. Sahna had let it happen. She had known it was important.

  He had aged, grown stronger, perhaps even a little harder, but his eyes still gleamed in the moonlight like a little boy.

  He's been crying.

  She tried not to succumb.

  So this is what heartbreak looks like.

  "Come, Archer, come sit with me." She tapped the treacherous rooftop beside her, cold flat stones with sharp edges. Archer delicately made his way up. The balcony ledge gave him enough leverage to pull himself over the rain-worn gargoyle.

  He set himself down heavily and inched in his seated position toward her, eyes set on hers. "I'm sorry.”

  "There is no need."

  "Yes, there is."

  He seemed larger than the world somehow, beside her. His broad shoulders filled her view. His breath was quickened and shallow. She heard the flurry of his heart, but his voice was calm. "You know as well as I do that I'll do anything you say." His shoulders rose with a long inhale. He whispered, "But I know this is breaking you as much as it is me. You can pretend, you can shut the voice out, but it's there for you as much as it is for me. I know it, Maeva. I just don't know how it isn't breaking you in two."

  He enveloped her with his arms, strong arms. She felt him slip and so she solidified herself against the roof to hold him in place. He held her as a friend, a father, a man. A lover from an age past. He pulled her in closer, closer, and she fell against him, fell into him, his face in her hair, and breath on her ear. She was so little in his arms, curled up in a ball, a little ball of the woman on whom everything sat, and just for a moment, she wished for freedom.

  Settlers, just let me be a woman who means nothing to the world! Let me just live and breathe and not be responsible for it all. Why, why can't that just be me? After all these years, just a little moment's peace. Why can I have no peace?

  She didn’t fully register his hands on her waist, turning her from facing the square to face him straight on, their shoulders and chest brushed against each other. He brought her into him, into an embrace on the rooftop. She didn't register his cheek against hers, nor the heat coming off his body. She was lost to her freedom, lost in silence as she pushed the voices farther and farther down. She was deaf to the sound of his heartbeat pushing harder and harder, his hard body pulling her, firm and slow. She was lost in it and lost in the midnight moonlit sky, blind to the fire in his eyes.