Elei's Chronicles (Books 1-3) (12 page)

“And how are you today, Elei?”

“Poena.” Cold wind buffeted him and he raised his hands to protect his face. “I’m sick.”

“Give it time,” she said and winked. “Time is a field, on it things grow and roots plunge deep. There are ruins in that field, and ruins hide much that once was alive. And what once was alive can come to life again.”

What?
He frowned, and she giggled.

“Echoes wander there and one has found you, Elei. Soon you will be ready. Poena will be coming to you until then, until you reach the citadel and fulfill your mission.”

“My mission?”

“Yes. Now wake up. Wake up, Elei.”

“Wake up, we’re here,” a woman’s voice said very close to his ear, and his eyes snapped open. “Elei? You were dreaming.”

No shit
. Dazed, he looked up into Maera’s face. Her cheeks dimpled in a smile. Kalaes opened the door and a gust of cold entered, echoing the dream.

The aircar had landed. Elei pushed off the bench with a grunt of pain and took Maera’s offered hand. He stepped out.

The spires of Artemisia pierced the horizon and on the other side hills rolled in soft waves, framed by the mountains he’d seen from Aerica, closer now, steep, jutting out of the plain like teeth.

All around him, ruins met his eyes, glimmering gray slabs of stone, some standing, some fallen, like corpses. He blinked away the image his mind provided. Trying to take his mind off blood and death, he walked toward the nearest standing stone. Patches of lichens ate at it, some red, some purple, some bright orange. He placed a hand on the rough surface, felt its grains beneath his fingertips, underneath his palm. At first, he thought the stone had a heartbeat — then realized it was his own pulse, thundering on his fingertips, echoing the ache in his head.

He looked over to the other slabs.

Kalaes strode toward a tall, square pillar. He knelt before it.
A ritual?
Elei was about to call out to him, when Kalaes turned and waved. Maera headed that way. Elei followed and saw an opening at the base of the pillar.

“Go down.” Kalaes gestured at the hole. “Maera knows the way. I’ll cover the vehicle.”

Maera tugged at Elei’s arm. “Come.”

She went in first, down a rough stairway, winding into the earth. He kept his hand on the wall, not sure of his balance. The dark was broken by phosphorescent fungi that shed light on symbols carved in the walls. The steps gave way to a hallway, and then an underground chamber.

Maera walked to the wall and pulled a lever, so that air and some light spilled inside, showing stone benches and a table. The floor was composed of gray flagstones, the same material as the standing stones outside. It was bitter cold.

Elei shuddered. “What is this place?”

Maera stood at one of the openings, eyes closed, breathing in the air. “Pelia brought us here once. She was to meet someone, never let us see who it was. She showed us the entrance, told us to wait here. We came here a couple of times. It was fun back then.”

She turned to him. “We’ll wait here today. Then tomorrow I’ll go back to town, see if things have calmed down.”

“Dangerous.” Elei sat down on one of the stone benches and took slow breaths, trying to convince his stomach to stop roiling. “You shouldn’t go.”

“We can’t stay here indefinitely. We’re not prepared. The water and food will run out by tomorrow.”

She was right, of course. They couldn’t remain on the run forever. First he’d caused them to lose everything, and now he was placing them in grave danger again.

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “You had no other choice.”

Oh great, he was doing it again, speaking his thoughts out loud. He had to explain. “I should never have come to you. To Kalaes.”

She shook her head. “Then where would you go?” She frowned and tilted her head at the stairwell. “What’s taking Kalaes so long?”

He was about to stand up, too, when Kalaes appeared at the door, his cheeks red from the cold. He came to sit beside Elei, face serious.

“Now we wait,” he said.

Maera sat opposite them. “This woman…”

“Hera.” Kalaes rubbed his eyes.

“Hera then. Are we going to see her again or is she done helping us out?”

Kalaes sighed. “I wish I knew.”

Pelia had brought them here years before Elei met her. Pelia worked for the Undercurrent, fighting for a world with fewer taxes, fewer problems, less fear — more water, more food, more calm.

He saw again her face, her eyes wide, blood everywhere. Her lips were moving, she was telling him something, calling his name, but he couldn’t hear the words. There was a sound like a storm brewing, wind blowing in his ears and blotting out all sound, a roaring gale that shook him. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and his body convulsed with pain. He bent over and vomited onto the stone floor.

“Hells, not again,” Kalaes muttered. Elei’s legs were sliding off the bench and Kalaes thrust out his arm, stopping him from falling to the floor. 

Maera’s voice said very close to Elei’s ear, “What in the hells do you mean again?”

Something about the situation struck him as funny, but for the life of him, Elei couldn’t put his finger on it, not when he hadn’t felt this bad since telmion had almost killed him as a child.

On cue, he vomited again, thick, bitter bile, for his stomach was completely empty by now. Moving was out of the question, but somehow he found himself lying on his side on the bench. Hands held him down. A jacket fell on him, covering him.

“It started last night, when Hera was there at your place,” Kalaes was saying. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but whatever it is, it’s bad. He’s burning up. I think he needs a hospital.”

“Yeah, and how are we going to take him there with the Gultur after him?”

Elei closed his eyes. A relapse. It had to be. He’d been quite healthy in the last years, apart from the occasional gut twinge. He didn’t remember going to the hospital, except for one time. Pelia had taken him there. A drip of strong painkillers had been inserted in his hand, and later Pelia told him he’d spent the night weeping and calling for Albi. He didn’t recall any of it, thank the gods for small mercies.

“Hey.” Maera touched his face. “How do you feel?”

He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to answer that.

“Like shit, that’s what he must feel like,” Kalaes said, and Elei felt a smile tug at his lips again.

He thought that it was strange how often that had happened in the last days, considering all that had taken place. It was pleasant in a disconcerting way; it made the world seem brighter, even in sickness.

Chapter
Fifteen

W
ith
stern instructions to a sulking Iliathan to cover her tracks, since he had a knack for hacking into official files, Hera climbed into his small aircar, drove out of Aerica and set a course toward the field of stones. Funny how she’d driven by so many times in the past but had never stopped there, had never wondered what hid below. She’d taken it for a cemetery.

The stones rose from the field like the islands rising from the deep in her dream. She saw them again emerging, soaring, resplendent and blinding in their radiance.

Stop daydreaming,
hatha
. Focus.

Disappointment simmered inside her skull. She’d thought that, by finding the boy, she would have her answer and the shipment. She’d been so sure the boy would know, that Pelia had confided in him.

She’d made so many wrong assumptions. No wonder she was trying to escape in her mind.

Hands clenching on the levers, she turned into the field of stones and parked the aircar. Why was she still trying, still helping these three? The boy was sick and clueless, the others just tagging along, carried by the events. Given the circumstances, she should have left them to perish and returned to headquarters.

Yet, a tiny doubt lingered. What if Elei’s memory returned? What if she left him and the Gultur found him and extracted the information? She could not allow that to happen. Too much was at stake.

With a sigh, she turned off the ignition and stepped out.

***

The soft buzzing in Elei’s ears broke down into words.

“I think he’s awake,” Kalaes said in a low voice, “look.”

Awake
. Elei lay on his side on cold stone. In the dark, bunches of green fungi glimmered on the concave roof, illuminating a tall, cavernous space. The stale air stank of cold humidity. Stiff and frozen to the bone, he tried to move his lips, to ask for water.

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” Kalaes said. He sounded pleased.
Strange man
. “Here, drink.” He pushed a bottle to Elei’s mouth and dribbled cool water through his parched lips and down his chin.

Albi had done that for him when he’d been sick, spoon feeding him water and soup. He recalled her rough hands and her wrinkled face. Gods down deep, he missed her still, even after all these years.

Pelia, too.

He’d never see them again.

He turned away from the bottle and closed his eyes, the cold void inside echoing the ice in his limbs. He wished to feel her warm hand on his brow, her voice telling him he’d be all right. She had to be there, had to come back.

Elei drifted in and out of sleep. The girl Poena giggled in his dream, running from fields to shores to trashlands, blond hair flying. She gestured for him to follow, but he lagged behind.

She turned, stood in a halo of yellow light. “Blood in the water, Elei. Find the fountainhead.”

“What do you mean?” He reached out to her. “What fountainhead? Where is this?”

She placed her hands on her slim hips, cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips. “There’s only one fountainhead that matters.” She walked over to him, and he wondered why he had to look up into her face when she was just a little girl. “Only one thing that counts. Blood in the water.” She caressed his cheek. “Go to the sacred citadel, Elei, to the Bone Tower. It’s almost time.”

Loud knocking broke her image into tiny pieces that lingered when Elei opened his eyes. Disoriented, he blinked at his surroundings until he realized his cheek was pressed against hard stone. Someone sat next to him.
Kalaes
. A heavy object lay on his ribs, radiating warmth.

“Hey.” Kalaes shifted, and Elei realized the heavy object was Kalaes’ hand, keeping the covers from slipping to the floor.

A low buzz rose through the stone to his ear; the sound of machinery. “They’ve come,” Elei croaked, his voice a rough whisper.

“What?” Kalaes jumped to his feet. “Have you heard something?”

Too late, Elei realized that Kalaes’ hand hadn’t kept only the covers from sliding off the narrow bench, but also Elei himself. He grabbed the edge not to fall as Kalaes hurried, cursing, to the dark staircase leading out of the underground chamber.

Elei pushed himself back from the edge, his knuckles white on the stone. The movement left him winded and he blinked dark spots from his eyes. The thought of getting up was enough to make him dizzy.

Still, no way he’d let the Gultur take him. He patted his belt, found his Rasmus, took it out and aimed at the door, steadying his hand on the stone surface of the bench. Whoever came through would find him ready. Lying flat or not, he wasn’t going down without a fight.

Only he saw two doors instead of one. He frowned and his aim wavered. An echoing noise filled the room. Deafening footsteps reverberated in his head, crashed on the walls of his skull. He gritted his teeth, fighting down nausea, and had to swallow. He steadied his hand.

In walked Kalaes and Maera with their afterimages, and Hera.

Cronion didn’t react. Relieved, Elei laid his gun down on the bench and his cheek against his arm, and just stared at Hera.

Gods, she was beautiful. Even with her back so stiff as if she’d swallowed a rod, even scowling like she’d spank them for being naughty, he had to catch his breath at the symmetry of her face, the contrast of her dark eyes and luminous skin.

“You truly have no idea how to hide, do you?” Hera bit off each word.

“How did you find us?” Kalaes folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head back, observing her through narrowed eyes.

“I found your signal. From your beeper most probably.” The furrow between Hera’s brows deepened. “Give it to me. If I could find you, so will they. I shall dispose of it somewhere far, throw them off your track.” She threw a bulging bag on the table. “Here. Water, food, blankets. They should get you through a couple of days if you’re careful. Stay here, they’re combing the town. It would be a bad idea to go back.”

“Crap.” Maera kicked at a wall. “You’re so full of good news.”

“Still no memory of what Pelia told you?” Hera strode to where Elei lay and bent over him, a dark silhouette. He tried to focus his blurry eyes on her face. He blinked and that helped. Her features sharpened, fine and lovely, her lips full and shapely. There was only one of her now and suddenly Elei wished there would be more.

“No memory,” Elei said. “Nothing new.”

“He’s sick.” Maera offered it like a challenge.

Hera leaned closer, straight brows drawn together. Her dark eyes flashed. “Sick, oh really? What an astute observation. He has telmion, one of the most lethal parasites of the seven islands. It tends to kill people within days, if not hours. Sick is an understatement.”

He shivered.

Maera threw her hands in the air and stomped over to the table. With jerky movements, she lifted bottles out of the bag Hera had brought and banged them on the stone surface so hard Elei winced.

Kalaes clucked his tongue. “You’re wrong, Hera. His telmion is controlled by cronion. Looks like it’s been in check for years now.”

“Has it? Well, not anymore,” Hera said coolly. “He has telmion now, and I do not see cronion controlling it. In fact, you can see the tel-marks spreading on his neck. These,” she gripped Elei’s chin and turned his head, “were not here when last I looked. They have reached his cheek.” She released him and stepped back.

What?
Elei raised a shaky hand to his face.

Kalaes loomed over him, cutting off the dim light. He pulled down the polo neck of Elei’s sweater. “Shit. You’re right.”

Five hells
. He’d thought cronion was acting mad in the past days. What if it had lost the battle to telmion? Elei wanted to laugh, but couldn’t, his breath short. With cronion defeated, nothing could save him. It was the only parasite strong enough to control telmion. With telmion released, he was done for.

Hera frowned. “It’s not the common kind of telmion. It’s the gray one, most dangerous.”

Of course it was. It had almost killed him once. Maybe now it would finish the job it started so many years ago.

“How do you know so much about it?” Kalaes asked.

Hera pursed her lips. “Telmion is a strain of the Regina parasite. I have studied it thoroughly.”

“What are you, a doctor?”

“A parasitologist. Studying to be one.”

“I bet you got a rich family, huh?” Kalaes sat heavily on the bench. “What happened? Why did telmion flare?”

“Maybe it’s stress,” Maera said from behind them. “From running away and being shot.”

Hera snorted. “No amount of stress can cause this, little girl.”

“Little girl?” Maera didn’t sound amused, her voice flat and angry. “If it isn’t stress, Miss Know-It-All, then what could cause cronion to fail?”  

“Blood loss?” Kalaes offered.

Hera’s face was neutral. She didn’t seem to notice Maera’s sarcasm. “Yes, maybe blood loss. Then again, he has more parasites in his body. Maybe another one matured and went on to attack and weaken cronion.”

“Ate it up, maybe?” Kalaes grimaced and ran his hands through his hair, raising it into spikes.

“I cannot think of any parasite that can fully suppress cronion. Except Regina, and Regina in a body that has not mutated means certain death.”

“So cronion is pissing number two on the list of nightmares?” One side of Kalaes’ mouth curled up in a savage grin.

Hera leaned against the stone table. “Cronion was accidentally brought by the Gultur from Torq, their home island, when they first moved to Dakru and made it their stronghold.”

Her lilting accent sounded as if from the western islands, Ert or Aue. Her musical voice was low. Elei’s eyelids grew heavy.

“So the Gultur brought this curse on us as well. Why aren’t I surprised, huh?” Kalaes muttered.

“Cronion used to be Regina’s natural antagonist, its only worthy enemy, the only parasite that could at times control it. Then of course, Regina mutated to fend off the problems of parthenogenesis, to fight off other infections, and became much stronger. Cronion lost its sway.”

“Hey, this isn’t a parasitology class, Hera,” Kalaes snapped. “Save the lesson for some other time.”

“Fine,” her voice cracked like a gunshot.

Elei hated it, lying there, so vulnerable. Yet when he tried to push himself up on his elbow, he found he didn’t have the strength.

Kalaes glanced down at him, eyes stark, then quickly looked away. “Can you help him?”

 “The main danger is dehydration. Give him lots of water. It could work, you never know.”

“Dammit, he’s still a kid,” Kalaes whispered. The pain in his voice echoed somewhere in Elei’s chest, as if it’d touched a chord.

“Practically an adult. He might survive.”

“Might survive?
Might
?” Kalaes raised a fist. “That’s not good enough. He damn well shall.”

“I’ll see if I can find some serum.” Hera shook her head. “So many diseases. A good excuse for the Gultur to clean out the world.”

“Are you defending them?” Maera said in a deadly voice, hands curling into fists.

“Merely stating a fact.” Hera leaned over Elei. Her eyes were a deep, dark color, yet limpid like glass, brown or green. There was a softness in their depths that he hadn’t expected and he couldn’t look away. His breath caught.

“Say,” Maera said, “is it true the Gultur reproduce alone?”

Silence. They all turned to stare at her.

Then Hera’s mouth twisted, one side tilting up in a half smile. She winked at Elei, leaving him confused, and straightened. “It’s true.”

“What about sex? Don’t they miss it?” There was an interesting little silence. Maera frowned. “What? It’s a legit question.”

Kalaes’ face turned a pretty shade of red. “Maera…”

“Oh, they have nothing against sex.” Hera shifted her weight so that a slender hip jutted out. The curves of her breasts and waist were soft and pleasing. “After all, that kind of physical stimulation is needed for ovulation, and therefore reproduction. But the priestesses are the ones in charge of that, usually.”