Elei's Chronicles (Books 1-3)

by Chrystalla Thoma

  Hera put the gun down. “So it means nothing to you?”

  Elei shook his head. He wouldn’t ask if he knew what it meant, right?

  “But even if it means something, what’s the purpose?” Alendra bit her lip. “We’ve done all we could. The Gultur are infected and their system is collapsing.”

  “Their system may still hold,” Hera said darkly. “The infection weakened them. Now is the perfect moment to strike them and take over.”

  “Yeah, right,” Alendra muttered. “Easy like taking a stroll. The Undercurrent heads will never agree to outright war, Hera. Who do you think we are? We don’t have your strength. We’re mere mortals.”

  “We’re more than that. We’re the reason they’re weakened.” Kalaes nodded at Elei. “He’s the one who did it all.”

  Oh shit. “Kal, no.”

  “Did what?” Alendra glanced from one to the other, golden brows knitting in a frown.

  “Infected them. Brought down the system.” Kalaes grinned.

  Alendra’s chair screeched as she pushed backward, her face going chalk white. “You’re not saying... He’s infected with that parasite too?” Her face scrunched up in such disgust that Elei suddenly couldn’t breathe.

  He prepared to get up, but Alendra beat him to it. She backed away from the table, spun around and walked out.

  Well, damn. Maybe he should turn in anyway. He reached across the table for his gun, when another sweet smell hit his senses. He glanced around and his eyes zeroed on the bottle in Kalaes’ hands.

  “Here, try this.” Kalaes offered the bottle, his teeth flashing in a broad smile. “It’s strong stuff.”

  Elei took the bottle in shaking hands and sniffed it. Sweetness. His eyes watered from the potency of the stuff and his gut clenched hard. Sugar. He licked his lips, saliva pooling in his mouth.

  “That is a really bad idea,” Hera said with a glare and reached out to take the bottle. Elei raised it just out of her reach. “Elei, with Rex and who knows what else in your system, you should not experiment with alcohol.”

  But the smell was potent, like condi flowers and sugared nuts. Another hand reached for the bottle, this time from his left, and he moved it a little to the right, his pulse roaring, Rex gripping his skull like a huge jaw. Sweet. Sugar.

  At least it wasn’t Hera’s blood.

  He tilted the bottle up and swallowed the stuff down in great gulps.

  It was an explosion inside his body, like bullets hitting bones and organs, crashing inside his head. The bottle fell from his fingers and the world swayed, once, twice. He reached out, trying to grab hold of something to steady himself. Colors flashed and swirled, blinding, and his neck and back burned like fire. He arched against the seat, trying to reach over his shoulder, to put out the flames.

  “Elei!” someone shouted, but he couldn’t tell who, all his concentration on not falling.

  Then he did, and everything went black.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pelia held him in her arms. He must have fallen sick, but he couldn’t remember. He didn’t mind, because she was there, holding him, warm and cool, soft and solid at the same time. He wanted to stay like this forever.

  She stroked his temples. Her caress tickled.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “A parasite,” Pelia murmured. Her breath ruffled the top of his head. “Very strong.”

  Ah yes. “I’ve had others,” he said.

  “Never like this one.” Her hand cupped his cheek. “And you’re not fighting it.”

  “It’s too strong.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “Besides, I need it to live. Can’t get rid of it.”

  “But you should try to contain it. Control it.”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you gave it to me,” he said, surprised she’d forgotten that small detail. “Now it’s too late.”

  “Don’t give up. I put my hope in you.”

  “And that was a mistake,” he said bitterly. “I let you die and can’t even control my own body.”

  “Just...” She leaned over him, kissed his brow, soft, feathery lips. “Fight. Remember the number, Elei. Unlock it, find the information.” Her voice changed, became that of a child, and Afia said, “I believe in you.”

  “That makes one of us,” he said, wishing he believed in himself too, and opened his eyes.

  He lay in a narrow bed, in a room lit by a window set high up in the wall. Hairline cracks spread like spiderwebs across the ceiling. Where was he?

  It took him a moment to remember. The safe house. This had to be the bedroom where he’d changed his bandages. Someone sat on the bed, a dark figure in the low light.

  “Elei? You awake?”

  “Yeah.”

  A smile tilted Kalaes’ lips. “How do you feel?”

  Good question. Elei lifted his head from the pillow. The world turned in lazy circles. He fell back with a groan. “What happened? Did I...?” Dear Gods, did I really down a whole bottle of liquor?

  Kalaes ran his hands through his mass of matted hair. “Survive it? Looks like it. What the hells were you thinking, fe?”

  “It was the smell. It was sweet and I needed...” Elei sighed. “Rex needed sweet. It makes me crave the stuff.”

  “And you just do it?” Kalaes rolled his eyes. “Hells, Elei, you’re letting the damned parasite get stronger. It could kill you.”

  “Eventually something will,” Elei said and shrugged. “I survived all else.”

  “What else?” Kalaes blinked. His eyes were bloodshot. “What are you talking about?”

  Elei shifted, uncomfortable. “The bullets. The explosions.”

  “Where are you seeing the explosions, in your sleep?” Kalaes snorted.

  Elei shook his head slowly. Did Kalaes really think it was funny? “I’m talking about the hospital,” he said. “I can’t help thinking about it.”

  Kalaes frowned. “What about it?”

  Elei’s pulse pounded behind his eyes. “It wasn’t easy for me to kill all those Gultur. I didn’t live in a gang, like you, I didn’t—”

  “You should count yourself lucky you didn’t have to kill until now.” Kalaes’ dark eyes burned. “You think living in a gang makes killing any easier?”

  Elei swallowed hard. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “You have no pissing idea what it’s like, what I’ve had to do. You know nothing about me.” Kalaes’ hands clenched.

  There it was again, that statement. “Then tell me about yourself. About your past, about what you had to do. What are you waiting for?”

  Kalaes’ eyes widened, and two spots of red stained his pale cheekbones. He shook his head. “You’re better off not knowing.”

  “Then why do you keep saying that?” Elei tried to keep his voice from rising and didn’t know if he made it. “What in the five hells did the Gultur do to you at the hospital?”

  Kalaes’ face twisted. “They made me watch it all over again, fe,” he whispered. “All my mistakes. All the people I got killed. Everything... everything I screwed over.” His breathing sped. “I watched you die. Watched Zag die. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Yeah, you’ve said this already.” That you can’t protect me, can’t take me home. But, damn, it still hurt, and the last spark of anger faded, leaving Elei cold.

  “Hey.” Hera stepped through the door, her hair pulled up in a smart twist, secured with what looked like a knife. “Good, you’re awake. I told you not to drink.” She scowled. “You should listen to me from time to time; it would save you some trouble.”

  He had no energy for an argument. “Yeah.”

  “He says it’s Rex.” Kalaes’ brow wrinkled. He got to his feet and started pacing. “It’s asking for sweet stuff. If Elei can’t resist, you know what that means.”

  Hells. “What does it mean?” Elei asked.

  “Here, let me see.” Kalaes sank back down on the bed and gestured. “Sit up.”

  With a glance at Hera’s serious
face, Elei pushed himself up. “What is it?”

  Kalaes grabbed the neckline of Elei’s shirt and pulled, ripping it a little. “The marks.” He touched something on Elei’s shoulder. “They’re spreading again. Son of a bitch.” He released Elei and rubbed a hand over his face.

  Dammit all to the five hells. Elei clasped his legs, rested his forehead on his black-clad knees. “Now what?”

  “Why didn’t you do something about this?” Kalaes glared at Hera who took a small step back, pressing a hand against her stomach.

  “But if Rex makes him so strong, why not let it help him?” she muttered. “Why try to suppress it?”

  “Because it’ll kill him. And you know it.”

  Shit.

  “Or maybe not.” She lifted her chin in challenge. “Regina does not kill us.”

  “Let me not get started on Regina, with the arrogance and violence it gives your kind,” Kalaes snarled, his nostrils flaring. Elei didn’t think he’d ever seen him this pissed and figured that his recent torture by the Gultur had probably something to do with it. “So, why didn’t you do something, fe?”

  Hera exhaled. “Rex saved his life.”

  “Rex pushed him to kill himself!”

  “But without Rex he would not have survived all those bullets,” Hera said. “You never did tell him, did you?”

  “Tell me what?” Elei asked, tensing again.

  Kalaes looked away, running a hand through his wild hair. “Elei...”

  “Four bullets fired through your chest.” Hera folded her arms across her chest, her shoulders stiff. “One broke two ribs and tore your lung. Another nicked your kidney. The two bullets you shot through your leg broke the bone and fragmented, severing veins and muscles. The surgeons could not believe it when they operated to remove the fragments and stop the bleeding.”

  Elei bent over. He couldn’t breathe. “Couldn’t believe... what?”

  “That your kidney was already healing, the lung had already scarred and the fluid was clearing up, your femur was knitting quickly. That you were not only alive but healing so fast.”

  Elei pressed the heel of his hand against his throbbing forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “The doctors said not to stress you more,” Hera said. “I thought Kalaes would tell you eventually.”

  “Pissing frigid hells,” Kalaes said with feeling. “When did you want me to tell him? He was conscious, what, twice before we were attacked, and even then he was so drugged he could barely talk.”

  Hera sighed. “It does not really matter.” She leaned on the door and closed her eyes, looking exhausted. “What matters, Kalaes, is this: you said you cannot worry about him, cannot protect him. Well, Rex can do that. Rex takes care of him.”

  “Yeah.” Kalaes folded his arms across his chest, one side of his mouth twisting into a sneer. “A load of good it did him when we were prisoners at the hospital and you broke us out.”

  Hera turned to him, eyes darker than ever. “I did not,” she said, pronouncing each word carefully, as if speaking to a child, “break you out of the hospital.”

  “Heh, right.” Kalaes swallowed hard and lifted his chin. “If you didn’t, then who did?”

  Hera nodded at Elei who sat, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.

  “What?” Kalaes’ eyes flicked to Elei and back to Hera. “I don’t understand, dammit. Alendra told me Hera broke us out of the hospital.”

  “Elei did. Not I.”

  Kalaes snorted in disbelief and crossed his arms. “Oh, come on. You’re telling me the kid did it? He was hooked on painkillers so strong they’d put a sea cow out of commission, and his leg’s so busted he needs a cane to walk.” He shook his head. “This isn’t funny, fe.”

  “I did not say it was,” Hera said coldly, her face pinched, and left.

  ***

  Kalaes’ incredulity only made Hera feel guiltier, and guilt brought on another hot wave of anger. Failure. All those wounds, all that blood, because she had not been careful enough, had not kept guard over them as they slept, not entered the hospital fast enough to help them.

  She twisted and smashed her fist into the wall, welcoming the pain. I let my guard down. She really needed something to take her mind off this guilt-trip from the nether hells.

  Then she caught Alendra staring and scowled. “Why are you so nasty to Elei?” She advanced on the girl, watched her eyes widen, watched her scramble out of her chair, face paling.

  Hera halted, checked her temper. Not Alendra’s fault; her guilt was all her own. Besides, she still had to practice politeness the way mortals liked it. Damn complicated creatures.

  “Listen. Please.” Maybe it was time they had this conversation anyway. “I know about Asine. I know about the telmion plague and the death toll. I understand the sight of the scales on his skin reminds you of terrible things.”

  “Then why do you ask?” Alendra mumbled and glared back.

  Hera snorted. “He does not know why you react like that, and you do not explain. You simply act as though you do not care for his feelings.”

  “It’s not like that.” Alendra sniffed and looked away, shaking her head. “Not true.”

  “So you do care.” It was a hunch, a gut feeling. The Gultur rarely declared what they felt out loud. One had to watch for small reactions, shifts in expression when one was caught off guard. Like the color rising now to the girl’s cheeks, her parted lips, the dilation in her pupils, the hitch in her breath. That wasn’t surprise. It was admittance.

  “He’s all right, I guess,” Alendra whispered.

  Hera’s lips curled in a faint smirk and she decided to push more. “You think he’s handsome.” She winked.

  Alendra’s breath came out in a hiss and she covered her mouth. Then she lowered her hand. “He’s not bad.” But her cheeks flushed darker and her eyes glowed.

  “Listen to me.” Hera closed the distance between them and laid a hand on the girl’s bony shoulder. Her scent was so fresh, like a drink of cool water. “Trust me. I have studied parasites. You cannot catch telmion from him. Such parasites need vectors, hosts inside whom they go through their complex life cycles before they leave to seek new hosts. You’re far more likely to get a parasite from undercooked meat or unwashed vegetables rather than another mortal. Do you understand?”

  She trembled. “But at Asine, they also said that and then everyone fell sick.”

  Hera squeezed Alendra’s shoulder. “Maybe the water was contaminated. Or something else everyone was eating. Telmion is dispersed by spores in standing water or rotting meat and vegetables. Not by mortals.”

  Alendra shivered once more, lowered her eyes and nodded. “Okay.” She licked her lips. “Okay, I trust you.”

  Hera nodded too and withdrew her hand. “Maybe I’m biased, finding tel-marks attractive.” She shrugged and pulled down the neckline of her suit, exposing the fine snakeskin on her collarbone, hunting for the shift of expressions on Alendra’s face. Curiosity was prevalent. “Is it ugly, do you think?”

  Alendra let out a breath like a sigh. “No. It’s beautiful.”

  “His snakeskin is not that much different.” Hera rushed on, knowing she should shut up and let Alendra decide. “Dissociate it from your past, from the pain and fear, and you will see that it’s beautiful like the scar of any wound that we survive.”

  She let go of her neckline, let it roll up and patted it. Alendra was avoiding her eyes, and the flush had receded to her cheekbones.

  “Think about it,” Hera muttered, resisted the urge to sigh, and turned about. A shower might help loosen her tense muscles and get rid of all the blood still covering her.

  Blood not her own.

  ***

  Elei waited, not knowing what to expect. “Kalaes?”

  “You just... rest, fe.” Kalaes’ face was white and a muscle leapt in his jaw. His hands were curled into fists, held against his sides. He looked angry, and as confused as Elei felt. “I need to think.”

 
He drew a sharp breath and left the room. Elei stared after him. Kalaes obviously didn’t believe Elei had broken him out. Hells, after hearing what Hera said, he barely believed it himself.

  By all rights, he should be dead. Rex had pushed him to death, but then pulled him back from the brink.

  Why? What did Rex want with him now?

  He lingered, his mind blank, massaging the muscles in his bandaged leg. Then with slow, careful motions, he stood up and straightened his clothes. Who might know more about Rex? Hera had studied parasites. What if she had a clue? He didn’t want to discuss it in front of Alendra, though, and besides, there was still the question of the number and his dreams.

  He took a careful step. Almost no pain. Rex had sped up the healing process again. This time, when he walked into the kitchen, Alendra was doing something at the counter, her back turned to him. Kalaes sat at the table, field stripping a longgun. He spared Elei an unreadable glance before returning his attention to his task.

  Elei hesitated. His body demanded sweet, but he would fight it this time. He walked to the counter and grabbed a bottle, sniffed it to make sure it was water and took a long swig. Alendra stepped to the side, putting as much distance between them as the small kitchen allowed. He’d walk away, but curiosity kept him in place. She was preparing a mixture of blue algae powder and small pieces of meat. She dribbled pepper and poured water in the pile. Burying her fingers in it, she started to knead the sticky mass.

  A memory. Maera preparing breakfast in Kalaes’ tiny kitchen, flashing him a bright smile, dishing out the mixture on orange dishes.

  Elei blinked. Maera. She’d betrayed them, he’d shot her and nobody knew if she still lived.

  Turning on his heel, he went to sit down, resolutely steering his mind to other matters. Like Pelia’s words, and the mysterious number.

  Hera strode in, her hair wet. “The shower works fine,” she announced, her stony facade slipping, a smile showing through the cracks. Her skin shone, smooth and flawless — torn, hanging in shreds, blood pouring over her shoulders and breasts —