Elite Nation: Book One

by H. A. Rockley

  ‘Well,’ the hooded figure has blended into the shadows and Ari can just make out his form in front of her as they continue wading through the brown thick sewage, ‘As far as I know people like yourself were taken by The Elites to serve them. Long after The Old War, when The Elites were forming the New World, and established such cities like The Republique, they took those that were seen as commoners to serve them.’

  ‘What do you mean took?’ Ari asks, horrified to think she might have been kidnapped.

  They come to another intersection but this time they continue straight ahead. A large furry object brushes past Ari’s ankle and she jumps, splashing sewage water over herself and the walls.

  ‘What part of staying invisible don't you understand?’ whispers the shadowy figure, suddenly closer than Ari thought. She apologises vaguely, as she peers into the darkness looking for other abhorrent creatures lurking in the murky water below.

  ‘Hundreds of years ago,’ the assassin continues, ‘They had to forcefully take slaves but in the last hundred years, or so, they've been given up willingly.’

  At Ari’s silent realisation he explains, ‘Yes, many have gone willingly. Some volunteered with hopes of reaching an esteemed status in a better part of the world, others were sold into slavery.’

  ‘Sold?’ Ari is incredulous. How could someone contemplate selling another human being into slavery? Could she, herself, have been sold by her family?

  Or worse, did she volunteer?

  ‘Don’t be so quick to judge,’ the masked assassin counters. They start climbing a metal stairwell to the blackness above. ‘Since the War of the Ages, populations have died out for many reasons - poverty, radiation fallout, decreasing resources. A lot of families didn’t have a choice. It was the only way they could survive.’

  ‘How do you know all of this?’ Ari asks, as they reach the top.

  Slowly sliding open the man-hole cover above with the slight grating of metal on metal, he answers, ‘Because.. it happened to me.’

  The two figures emerge into the night, moonlight beating down on them. In the pale light, Ari can just make out a bit more of the assassins face hidden beneath the hood and mask. His eyes, hazel with a rim of green, seem older than the person they belong to, having seen things beyond his years. His eyebrows are a lighter brown than hers, set in an olive complexion. He quickly and almost silently replaces the cover to the sewers below and without a word shifts back into the shadows of the surrounding buildings.

  Looking around at the towering sky-scrapers, Ari is in awe. She had never imagined humans could construct such massive structures. The shadowy figure gestures for her to follow him into the reprieve of the darkness. She obeys and they continue their journey forward.

  ◆◆◆

  The République buildings are numerous, with smaller annexed structures surrounding them. Some have glass domes extending from their bases, harbouring the plant-life that would not survive in the harsh conditions outside. The air Ari breathes is thick and stifling, not like what she was used to where she had spent most of the life she can remember. The roads are clean, with no debris or litter, leading outwards in a maze around each building and flower dome. The city is eerily quiet with the occasional sound of laughter or music, carried on the dense air, emerging from a restaurant or tavern.

  Colossal figures move on screens above, with the text: ‘We are the Elite. We are the Saviours of the New World’.

  Another with an old couple with the usual wax facies, slanting eyes and fish-like mouths, smiling down on the empty streets, holding onto a child, with an expression between reverence and fear, with the words: ‘The Future Generation needs You. What will you Provide to the New World?’ sprawled underneath, followed by a flash of a snake devouring its own tail.

  Suddenly, The Chancellor of The Republique appears on screen. Behind him stands his top advisor. Chancellor Heston with pitch-black dyed hair and tanned orange-brown leathery skin starts to speak about the role of the Elites in the New World. He speaks of how the remaining population now thrives because of the sacrifices they have made these last hundred years. His stoney-faced advisor, the Vice-Chancellor, with grey-peppered hair, light-blue suit and orange tie, looks younger than the usual Elites. His face with less evidence of nip and tuck work, stares straight ahead, unblinking, and at times seems uninterested in what The Chancellor has to say.

  ‘This is where I leave you.’ A voice breaks through the Chancellor’s address, snapping Ari back to reality.

  The assassin has taken Ari to a small square, nestled amongst smaller buildings than those on the other side of the city. Like the rest of the city, it too, is empty. A dried out stone fountain sits in the centre, a five-point base, with a circular tier and, above, a statue without a head. The decapitated figure holds a rocket launcher, directed towards the night sky. A brass plaque below reads: ‘The Saviours of the New World. We will Defend Our Right as Elites and Rulers of the Land.’

  ‘You can’t just leave me,’ Ari whispers, looking around for the exit to the square, ‘I have no idea where I am.’

  The hooded assassin shrugs, ‘Not my mission - not my problem.’ He turns to leave the way they came.

  ‘But I’ll be killed,’ Ari races after him, ‘If I’m discovered. I’ll be destroyed.’

  ‘Again,’ says the masked man, ‘Not my mission - not my prob- get down!’ He yanks Ari down with him, crouching in the shadows of a derelict building, with a worn sign that reads: ‘Saloon’.

  Lights in the distance approach, growing brighter as they near, cutting the thick dusty air. A black limousine emerges from the darkness, passing slowly by, inching forwards as if looking for something - or someone - lost. The shiny black body atop chrome spherical wheels looks out of place in this unsavoury part of the city. Ari tries to see into the pitch-black windows as it moves past.

  Without warning, the assassin moves swiftly, tailing the limousine, keeping to the shadows of the dilapidated buildings. Ari follows close behind, trying to make as little noise as possible, but struggles to keep up with the long legged figure.

  As they move further and further away from the city, the buildings are much smaller and appear to be more and more abandoned and run-down. Some have collapsed roofs and others with doors barricaded from an unseen foe. Alleys conceal relics of the world before, with bins full of decaying books, furniture and even bodies of the cars of yore - ones that ran on oil and moved with rubber tyres. Orb-like eyes peer out from the darkness of the rotting items from hundreds of years gone by, staring unblinking at the two figures that move in the shadows before them, tailing the limousine down the road.

  The pair pass by numerous shop windows, blackened with dirt, cracked from years of neglect, some with faded signs, barely readable in the moonlight, ‘Costumes and Wigs’, ‘Laundromat’, ‘Small Goods’. They pass a small store with beads hanging in the windows, the words: ‘Psychic Readings’ peeling from the glass.

  The Limousine comes to a stop outside a large old-style building. Columns support a porch and the roof covered in tiles, sprouts a tall chimney of red brick, something, Ari has never seen before. The windows draped in white and magenta, allow small slivers of light to escape into the world beyond. Music and raucous laughter can be heard, as the double wooden doors, carved in ornate flowers and birds with golden old-world handles and knocker, swing open to greet the limousine guests.

  Looking on from behind the burnt out remains of an old-world car, Ari sees a woman with a mask of silver and gold filigree, hiding her cat’s eyes, emerge from the limousine. A woman she’d recognise anywhere, from the sleek white gold locks, cascading down her small back, to the blood red dress, corseted around her waist, with frills blooming around her ageing feet, housed in heels of silver nine inch platforms. Madame Chavez greets the woman who slips out of the wooden doors, directing a purple taloned hand towards her to be kissed. They talk for a brief moment, hands clasped together, before the woman ushers Madame Chavez inside.

  ‘
Madame Chavez?’ Ari blinks after her, ‘What is she doing here?’

  The assassin turns to find Ari peering behind him, ‘That is Madame Trousseau’s whore-house.’

  ‘Her what?’ Ari is finding it hard to keep up with this new found knowledge now her brain is free of her captors.

  ‘It’s a brothel,’ explains the assassin.

  ‘Kaley!’ Ari stumbles forwards, only to be grabbed backwards by her masked companion.

  ‘Wait!’ he hisses, ‘We can’t just go barging in there.’

  ‘But my friend was taken here,’ implores Ari, looking between the old but beautiful redbrick building and the hooded assassin.

  ‘I won’t let you jeopardise my mission,’ he says bluntly, ‘I am going inside and you are staying here.’

  Ari shakes her head, buzz cut, catching the rays of the moon, ‘I can’t. I need to rescue Kaley.’

  The masked figure looks into the big brown doe eyes begging him to concede. He does not know why, and he is sure it will be of detriment to them both, but he agrees. Ari smiles and he cannot think he has ever seen a more dazzling smile on a bald-headed woman before.

  ‘Before you go marching in,’ he says, ‘We need a plan.’

  ‘Ok,’ agrees Ari, ‘What’s the plan?’

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘I can’t believe I agreed to this,’ Ari huffs into the air, as she adjusts her wig.

  Just hours ago, She and her hooded companion raided the abandoned costume store they’d passed earlier, finding dusty dresses from an era long ago, and powdered wigs of various colours. Ari chose a pink beehive, feeling it brought out her rosy complexion. Her emerald green dress sits snug around her small bosom, falling about her tiny waist, hiding her worn boots below. Her brown eyes are swathed in a bejewelled dark green, almost black, pointed mask with tiny jewels, like raindrops, around the edges. Her companion found dress robes of simple black with a deep purple tie. Hoping she might catch a glimpse of his face, Ari was disappointed to find him hiding half his face behind a white mask.

  ‘So do you have a name?’ she’d asked as they made their way back towards the brothel.

  ‘I cannot give you my name,’ says her companion, ‘For you to know my identity is a big risk to my mission.’

  ‘Your mission..,’ Ari says quietly, trying to figure out what her companion is exactly up to.

  ◆◆◆

  They walk in silence towards the old building, standing alone on an open plain. Ari picks up the brass knocker in a white gloved hand and knocks once, twice.. and the doors swing open.

  Madame Trousseau stands before them, black robes falling from her shoulders to her feet. Her face, Ari notices, is not as wax-like as the many other Elites she’s come to serve. Her hair is a natural silver-grey, swept up into a high bun. Her grey-blue eyes are surrounded by hues of lapis lazuli and her lips, less fish-like than most others, a deep red hue. ‘Can I help you,’ she asks with an air of superiority.

  ‘We’re here for the party,’ says the assassin.

  ‘And you are?’ Madame Trousseau does not seem impressed, as she looks between the man in front of her and Ari.

  ‘I am Lord Darius and this is my wife, Lady Chontay.’ he bows his head, ‘We are from the City of Secrets and we heard your masquerade parties are not to be missed, when one visits The Republique.’

  Ari curtseys, nervously, as the Madame casts her knowing eyes on her.

  ‘I see.. I hope you plan to stay for the after-party,’ she grins, leading them inside.

  ‘Of course, Madame,’ smiles the assassin. ‘That is what we are looking forward to most, after-all.’

  Crossing the threshold, Ari’s eyes are immediately drawn to walls and ceilings of this wondrous building. She has never seen anything like it. It was so different to the plain white of The Holly-Oaks Centre.

  A baroque style of ornate artwork covers the walls, the floors, and the ceilings. A golden-yellow chandelier hangs low in the first room, casting the walls and its inhabitants in an otherworldly glow.

  Below the chandelier, standing atop a round velvet magenta stage, is a beautiful woman with warm chocolate skin, white-blonde hair set in finger waves across her scalp, silver beaded dress draped over her lithe body. She sings to the crowd, eyes unblinking, staring into nothing, as her hands gesticulate and hips sway with the beat of the music composed by the men sitting with their instruments on the other side of the room. Ari has never heard such a beautiful melodic voice before.

  ‘Meet the other guests. Mingle,’ Madame Trousseau says, gesturing to the others, as she leaves to rejoin Madame Chavez up ahead.

  The other guests lay on velvet chairs and futons, drinks in hand, others sitting in booths, separated from the rest of room by magenta silk curtains with thick plumes of intoxicating smoke billowing out from behind them.

  Suddenly, Ari feels light-headed and distant.

  Colours seem brighter and sounds louder.

  The silks of her dress feel too coarse.

  She needs to get out of this dress. Ari looks around, desperately, heart beginning to race, chest feeling tight. She feels she might start to panic and lose her mind. A hand gently takes hers. She looks up to find her assassin companion looking down at her.

  ‘Calm down,’ he says softly. ‘You’re doing fine.’

  Ari shakes her head and tries to compose herself. She looks around the room once more as her companion leads her to the chamber beyond.

  ‘We need to follow Madame Chavez,’ he whispers, as he scans the next room.

  Inside, sit Elite men and women, bright coloured dresses and suits, masks hiding their wax like features, some with plumes of feathers towering overhead, others with beads and jewels hanging by their eyes. Sitting draped on their laps, are girls with shaved heads and silk robes of white and maroon - shaved heads like Ari, but eyes that stare straight ahead, unblinking like the woman singing in the foyer. These girls sit amongst the Elites who laugh and smoke and spill their drinks over themselves and each other. Some lead their Elite clients away into the separate rooms beyond where they can continue their debauchery.

  Ari looks through all the faces, searching for the bright blue eyes of her friend.

  ‘This way,’ says her male companion, following at a distance behind Madame Trousseau who leads Madame Chavez to the back of the brothel.

  ‘Why those are very interesting costumes!’ exclaims a drunken Elite woman, holding tightly onto a brothel girl, as she tries to stand up straight. She extends a gloved hand towards the assassin; ‘I haven’t seen you around these parts before.’ She looks him up and down and winks at him.

  Trying not to shudder he says, ‘We are from The City of Secrets,’ and extends a hand towards the drunk woman. ‘I am Lord Darius, and my wife, Lady Chontay.’

  ‘City of Secrets, huh?’ The Elite woman says, slipping backwards and slumping back into her chair. ‘Never seen anyone venture out of that place before.’

  As the assassin makes to leave the Elite woman pouts. ‘Don’t leave! Stay! Play with me. Both of you!’

  Her cackles drown out into the music as Ari and her masked companion carry on forwards.

  Still scanning the faces all around, Ari searches desperately for her friend. They stop abruptly, as they reach the room where Madame Chavez sits - another room of magenta velvet with curtained booths, the air thick with plumes of sweet-smelling smoke. The lighting low, the chandelier casts an eerie glow below. Just as an Elite man with a full-face mask in bejewelled tones evacuates the booth adjacent to the one Madame Chavez sits in to leave with a brothel girl, they quickly take the empty seats. Elite Guards stand outside Madame Chavez’s booth, keeping an eye on the partygoers all around.

  A girl with bright blue eyes and white silk robe approaches Ari’s booth.

  ‘Drinks?’ she asks, voice flat and empty, staring at the space between Ari and the assassin.

  Ari looks up and to her shock, sees the face of her lost friend staring back at her.

  ‘Kaley?�
� Ari whispers to her friend. ‘You’re alive! You’re okay!’

  She jumps up to hug her friend but Kaley does not register any familiarity with Ari, and continues to ask, ‘Drinks? Opium? Girls?’

  ‘Kaley,’ Ari begs. ‘It’s me, Ari - Arielle.’

  Kaley’s eyes are blank and almost soul-less as she stares back at Ari.

  ‘We’ll have whatever’s the special on for tonight,’ the assassin says, looking to Ari with a hint of concern in his eyes. Kaley nods once and leaves.

  ‘Why didn’t she recognise me?’ Ari asks, more to herself.

  ‘They’ve broken her,’ says her companion, placing his gloved hand over hers.

  ‘We need to help her. We can’t leave her here.’

  The masked assassin looks into Ari’s face for a short while before he concedes, ‘But first,’ he nods towards the booth with Madame Chavez.

  Madame Trousseau enters the booth and she and Madame Chavez start to talk in hushed voices. Through the sound of the jazz music, Ari can barely make out the words, ‘Husband..murdered..’ Starting to panic, she looks desperately around for the nearest exit. Her companion takes her hand again, and slowly shakes his head. He listens carefully, and with his acute hearing can hear every word, clearly.

  ‘They found my husband, at The Holly-Oaks Centre. He was murdered in cold blood,’ cries Madame Chavez. ‘Do you think it could be linked to that girl that was brought here?’

  The head of the brothel disagrees, ‘who would care so much about a common wench as to murder for her? No, I believe it must be linked to the other deaths we’ve heard of around The City.’

  ‘But this is different,’ implores Madame Chavez. ‘The others were killed stealthily - made to look like they had died of natural causes. Not like my Herbert, who was obviously stabbed multiple times!’

  ‘I believe the enemy we are looking for are one in the same person,’ whispers Madame Trousseau, ‘and I believe they are closer than you think.’