Rex Rising (Elei's Chronicles)

by Chrystalla Thoma

  With a last surge of energy, he threw back his hood, drew himself upright and climbed the last steps to the third floor. Panting, he limped past identical doors, till he found number 32b — a brown door, its paint peeling in abstract lines. He sank to his knees and pressed his cheek against the rough, cold surface.

  He banged his fist once. “Open up.” Silence greeted him. His heartbeat was in his throat, his ears, his hands; it fired away like a gun. “Open up!” Please.

  Steps sounded, then paused. A man’s voice called out, “Who’s there?”

  “Kalaes Ster? Let me in.”

  The door opened a crack and a dark eye filled the space. Then the door opened all the way and Elei fell inside. He sprawled on the floor and rolled to stare up at a gray ceiling. Before he could say anything, he heard a muffled curse, then the buzz of a sonic gun powering up.

  Panic paralyzed him. Cronion flared, or tried to. The skin of the walls and ceiling slipped away, leaving behind throbbing colors, hazy outlines. His pulse redoubled. He grabbed at his belt for his Rasmus, but a boot stepped down on his throat, cutting off his air. He struggled to push the boot off, his lungs burning, his side a white hot blaze.

  “Who are you?” the angry male voice said and a pale face swam into view, leaning over him. “Who sent you? Are you with the Gultur?”

  “I’m not.” Elei’s fingers scrambled at his throat. “Let me—” The trickle of air into his lungs lessened and he flailed, panicking, hands hitting the floor.

  “Why are you here then?” the man asked.

  “Pelia…” Elei gasped. Darkness began to erode his vision. Strength left his hands and they dropped. The face approached his; in the narrowing tunnel of his vision appeared a pair of dark eyes and a mass of spiky black hair. Then the boot pressed down harder on Elei’s already bruised windpipe. The maw of darkness gaped open and a roar filled his ears.

  The solidity of the floor underneath him melted and the pain finally ebbed away.

  Chapter 6

  “Definitely telmion. See the marks…”

  “Bleeding’s almost stopped. Can’t feel the bullet; he must’ve taken it out.”

  “Infection?”

  “No, it’s clean.”

  Young voices, one male, one female. They floated around Elei, over him. His body felt heavy, cold and dead. He tried to move his hands and they twitched on warm, smooth fabric. He lay on his back on a soft surface. A bed?

  Then pain flared his side, twisting like a hot blade, pushing deeper and deeper until his back arched.

  Fingers were digging into his wound. Again.

  Summoning all his strength, he forced his hand up to swat at the offending digits. He heard a gasp.

  “He’s awake, Maera.” The man’s voice. “Step back.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s barely conscious.”

  A faint scent of moist earth. Maera.

  He opened his eyes. Cronion asserted its presence instantly, sending pangs of pain down his nerve endings, gripping his head and plunging the world into bright colors. A form stood next to him, a woman, bright orange in her chest. Elei’s hands jerked at his sides, seeking his gun.

  Then she bent over him and cronion constricted his airways. Bright red flared over her heart. No! Gasping, he willed cronion to subside and blinked to refocus his possessed right eye. I’m not going to kill her.

  “Hi.” Her voice held a smile. “Can you hear me? I need to bandage your side, or you’ll keep bleeding.”

  Reluctantly, the surface of things, the skin of reality, returned. A young woman dressed in dark green overalls. Soft curls framed her face and a tattoo of two black dots marked her chin. On the other side of the bed stood a man all in black, perhaps twenty or so, strong and tall. He stood easily, confidently, in a sphere of strength and good cheer. His lips were tilted in a smile — but he held a gun in one hand, trained on Elei.

  “Kalaes Ster…” Elei breathed, more of a question than a statement — the name written on his piece of paper.

  “That would be me,” said the young man, lifting an eyebrow.

  And, with that statement, cronion relaxed a little, allowing Elei to breathe. He closed his eyes, basking in the slight release of pain, a feeling bordering on pleasure. “Good.”

  Kalaes stalked closer, and when Elei blinked he found him grinning, though his eyes were narrowed. His black hair stuck out in all directions and two thin braids hung over one ear, caught with metallic rings. A tattoo of three diagonal, parallel lines marked his right cheek. He kept the gun trained on Elei’s head. Another tattoo decorated the back of his right hand — a black spiral, probably a gang marking.

  “I’m Kalaes, but who are you?”

  “Eles. But everyone calls me Elei.” With slow movements, Elei pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing, and looked sideways at the woman. She stared back apprehensively, eyes wide.

  “Who’s everyone?”

  Elei opened his mouth but nothing came. Well, thinking of it, right now… Albi had. Pelia had. Now they were both dead. “No one.”

  Maera giggled and brought a small hand up to cover her mouth.

  Kalaes shifted his weight and his grin vanished. He sighted down the barrel of his gun. “Not funny. Look, you mentioned Pelia. What’s she to you?”

  Elei ducked his head and swallowed hard. Kalaes wouldn’t shoot, would he? “My boss. I’m her driver.” Cold spread through him again. He shivered and pressed his lips together, hoping to stop his teeth from chattering.

  “You look barely sixteen. Aren’t you too young to be a driver?”

  He shook his head and managed in degrees to sit up, the pain less than he expected. “No.” He’d always been old enough — for disease, for work, for hunger. Never too young.

  “Pelia’s driver. Five hells.” Kalaes sighed, rolled his eyes and lowered the gun, which, Elei supposed, was a good sign. Kalaes clicked on the safety and placed the gun on a small table, far from the bed. Still being careful. Then he folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head to the side, the thin braids swinging with the movement, the metal on them ringing. “Well, well.”

  Maera approached with a wad of gauze. When she bent over Elei, a small gasp escaped her mouth and she reached toward his throat. Her hand hovered, never touching him. “Gods, look at your throat, these bruises. Kal, is that your doing?”

  “Does that look like a boot imprint, fe?” Kalaes huffed. “You know I only wanted to scare him a little. These here… Someone tried to strangle him.”

  Elei said nothing. Besides, Kalaes didn’t seem interested in knowing more and Maera appeared more shocked than curious. Maybe getting strangled wasn’t anything unusual here on Dakru.

  Maera glared at Kalaes, then turned back to Elei and raised the gauze like a peace offering. “Let me.”

  In silence, awkward and clumsy at the proximity of her pretty face, he let her roll up his t-shirt and then kept the pad in place over the wound while she unrolled the gauze. Afterward, he lifted his arms as instructed, feeling like a child. Calm filled him, and he glanced up to see a crooked smile on Kalaes’ face. Then it was gone, so fast Elei wondered if he’d really seen it.

  Maera wound the white swath of thin cloth around his waist. Her sure, smooth movements, her scent, the warmth of her hands where they touched his bare skin bathed him in a glow of safety.

  A beep sounded, breaking the spell.

  “Crap, it’s late.” She stepped back and took out a small black device from her pocket. A beeper. “I’ve got to go, my shift’s starting. Take care, Elei.” She grabbed a dark blue handbag from a chair and slung it over her shoulder. Her boots squeaked on the linoleum floor. “See you, Kal!”

  Kalaes smiled at her, a real smile. His eyes crinkled, trailing her lithe form to the door, lingering. “You know, you interrupted what might have turned out to be the night.” He sighed. “I swear, fe, that girl’s driving me up the wall, I can never tell what’s on her mind. And when I thought I’d finally get her to give me a ki
ss and hopefully more, bang, you fall through my door like an armed grenade and it all goes to the hells.” He grinned good-naturedly, then frowned, his good cheer draining away. He walked back to the bed. “So, enough beating around the bush. If you hadn’t mentioned Pelia I’d have already tossed you out. You say she sent you to me. Why?”

  Elei stared at his hands, the various scars covering them. His memories swam in a dark haze. Pelia had pushed the paper into his pocket and said something. He tried to remember the words, but they refused to come, so he just shook his head and took out the stained piece of paper. He held it out.

  Kalaes hesitated one second, and then took it. “My address and name.”

  “Yes.”

  Kalaes’ mouth thinned. “And this means?” He glanced up, dark eyes flashing, the beads on his two small braids clinking.

  “She just gave me that.”

  Kalaes nodded. Then his eyes narrowed, zeroing in on Elei’s face. The paper fell from his hand as he stepped up to Elei and grabbed his chin in a bone-breaking grip. “I’d noticed the tel-marks, but your eye,” he whispered, “the color… Can’t be. You have telmion, that’s for sure — but you have cronion, too?”

  Most people had that reaction with him. Incredulity, then anger and violence. Elei waited, heart beating erratically, trying to ignore the red flashing on Kalaes’ chest. Somehow he didn’t think Kalaes would hurt him. Try telling cronion that.

  Kalaes released Elei’s chin and gave him a light pat on the cheek. “Full of surprises, aren’t you, fe! Cronion, to control telmion. That’s a risky solution. And you survived it. When I saw the tel-marks on your side, I thought you’d be dead before the night was out. It’s always hard to tell how old the marks are. And I’m still not sure… How come you weren’t vaccinated? Have you carried both parasites a long time?”

  “Since I can remember.”

  Kalaes snorted and sat down on the bed beside him, eyes a little wide. “I’d have written you off for dead, but you’re very much alive. Cronion… Can you see heat sources?”

  Elei stared at the far wall. “Yes.” Silence stretched, and he decided that maybe more information was expected. “When I sense danger.”

  Kalaes shifted. The bed creaked. “I see.”

  A rustle of thin paper. Kalaes offered him an ama cigarette from a half-empty packet. He took it. They lit their amas in silence.

  “Maera was worried about the bullet.” Kalaes blew a cloud of gray smoke. “She was relieved when she found none. Good thing you dug it out earlier.”

  Elei took a long drag of the ama’s sweetness, watched the smoke spiral upwards and let the soothing effect of the herbs take hold and ease his pain and fear. The bullet. The girl in that back alley had actually managed to dig it out and take it with her, so fast. Go figure. Maybe he’d zoned out after all.

  “So Pelia wrote this.” Kalaes bent and retrieved the piece of paper from the floor. “I remember her handwriting. She always had that peculiar way of writing the “a” like a head with a knife stuck in it.”

  Elei choked on the smoke. Was the guy ever serious? And did that mean… “So you believe me?”

  “Perhaps. Question is, why would she send you here, fe? We haven’t seen each other in a long time, Pelia and I.”

  Elei raked his hands through his short hair. “I don’t know.”

  “She must’ve told you.”

  “I can’t remember,” he said quietly. “I was on the run.”

  “From who?”

  “Falx and his men.”

  “Who’s Falx?”

  “The head of her security.” He winced. “Looks like he didn’t like me much.”

  “I see.” Kalaes took a long drag from his cigarette. “A guy came after you — I sure as the hells don’t know why — and Pelia thought she could send you to me.” He pulled an ashtray from under the bed, put his cigarette out and offered it to Elei who took it without a word. Kalaes laced his hands behind his head and stretched. “Well, I’ve no time for this. Haven’t got the goddamn patience, or the stomach for it, either. You can go right back and tell her that. I’m done taking in strays. She’s got some nerve, sending me someone after all this time without a word. I owe her nothing. She can look after her own.”

  Strays? Perhaps he should feel insulted, but Elei was just numb. He supposed he was a stray. He stubbed his cig out and lowered the ashtray onto the bed, spilling some ash on the sheets. His hands shook.

  Kalaes was sending him back.

  “She can’t,” he mumbled.

  “Can’t what?”

  “Take me back.”

  In a single, fluid motion, Kalaes got up, walked over and opened the door. “Whatever. Listen. Your wound has been taken care of. You won’t bleed to death. I don’t think there’s anything else I can do for you. I’ve got enough on my plate with work and the street gangs. Good luck, fe.” He rubbed the furrow between his eyebrows with his thumb. “I just… can’t take anyone in right now, okay? Maybe you had a row with Pelia, or this guy, Falx, I don’t know. For all the gods’ sakes, go back. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you again.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow when Elei didn’t make a move to rise from the bed. “Hey, can you hear me? Did you understand what I said?”

  Elei stared stupidly at the open door. In his mad flight from Ost he’d set Aerica and this young man as his destination, his only goal. Beyond them lay darkness and void. “Wait…”

  “What now?” Kalaes scowled and stepped aside, leaving the door open. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, his booted feet planted widely apart, and an exasperated expression on his face.

  Pelia had sent him to this man. She’d given him this address and this name. Elei swallowed hard. Kalaes had known her. He had to tell him.

  “Pelia is dead.” Each syllable hurt like a jagged piece of glass coming up his throat. “They shot her. Four, maybe five times. Falx probably thought I did it. But I was… I tried…”

  The gunshots rang again in his ears, one after the other, deafening. He thought he saw blood flow everywhere, covering the floor, the walls, his hands, spreading, darkening. Its smell mingled with Pelia’s flower perfume, nauseating. He held her as she bled and she’d pressed something cold into his side. “Elei…” he heard her voice in his head and felt the impact in his side.

  “She’s dead? What are you saying?” Kalaes crouched in front of him, frowning. “Who shot her? What happened, Elei?”

  “The aircar windows shattered.” Elei’s breath wheezed. The dizziness was back and with it the unbearable cold. “From outside… The shots came from outside.”

  She’s dead.

  Cronion rose inside him like a vengeful ghost, making the world flash, and Elei thought he was running but couldn’t feel his feet. His hands scrabbled at the bed but he could find nothing solid. The world was spilling into gray, fading away. He was falling and there was no edge to anything that he could hold.

  Then arms enfolded him in warm darkness, stopping the fall, and he buried his face in it, trying to absorb the warmth. A smell of ama cigarette and musk filled his nostrils. He gripped handfuls of rough cloth and took great, shuddering breaths.

  “Shh,” Kalaes said, his voice soft. “Just breathe, fe. Breathing’s good. Then we talk.”

  ­* * *

  Hera marched through the streets of Krisia wrapped in cold wind and rising fear. She’d thought that, once back in Dakru, clues as to Eles’s whereabouts would practically fall into her lap.

  Nothing.

  Her most recent access to the main system had showed her increased mobilization of military forces. She was not the only one searching for the boy, but of course she’d expected that. They had the means to find him before her and only the gods knew what their plans for him were.

  Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she stopped at a shop window. An antiquary. Old furniture, broken dolls and stuffed animals. Everything dead.

  Dead.

  She shivered and resumed walki
ng. All her questions about the origin of the islands and their inhabitants, her quest for an answer to the provenance of the old tech which seemed to have sprung into life together with the people as if out of nowhere — all that was meaningless if the shipment was lost; if Eles was dead and the secret gone with him.

  If she could not break the vicious circle of power before the Gultur committed a genocide.

  Hera set a course to a dingy basement downtown, underneath a small diner. Her contact there, Iliathan, should be able to help her find the boy. At least, that was her hope, and hope was all she had right now.

  Chapter 7

  Elei swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the floor. The cold seeped through his socks. His scuffed black boots were there, placed against the wall. His jacket hung on the back of a metal chair and his gun lay across the seat.

  He trailed his fingers down to his bandaged side. At least this time he hadn’t passed out. He’d slept like normal people did. Elei sighed and licked his parched lips. An improvement, all things considered.

  Light filtered through lowered shutters, pooling on the floor. Quiet. Kalaes was probably gone to work, leaving the place empty.

  A bang and a crash reverberated through the apartment.

  A sharp cry left Elei’s lips. He pushed to his feet. The world pitched and darkened, the blood draining from his face and rushing to his ears.

  “Are you all right?” asked a woman’s soft voice from his left and he spun around, listing to the side. “Sorry if I woke you up. Good morning.”

  The words finally registered and he sank back down to the bed with a groan, burying his face in his hands. When his head cleared, he peered up between his fingers. She stood at the opening of a door he hadn’t noticed before — the woman from last night, the one with the soft curls and the two dots tattooed on her chin, the one who smelled of moist earth. Maera.