Children of the Kradle (Trilogy Book 1)

by Alexa Hamilton

  He grabbed Elyse’s arm. “Let’s go. Hurry.”

  “Wha--?”

  They scurried down the stairs leading to the tunnel-trains. “We’re definitely being followed,” Eli said. “Just stick with me.”

  “Ok. Ok.”

  He could feel her tension beneath his hands.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Eli immersed them into a crowd and then clambered on to an escalator going back up. “Get down,” he ordered, crouching, ignoring the glares from those standing over them.

  He cautiously poked his head up and spotted the guy at the bottom of the stairs, scanning the crowd. Eli ducked back down.

  “There’s a guy in a velvet jacket who’s following us. The one from the elevator.”

  Elyse looked terrified. “What do we do?”

  “Get out of here that’s what.”

  Once at the top they ran to the other side and then took a different set of stairs down to a separate platform. From below came the squeal of train brakes and a whoosh of air. Perfect timing. “Hurry.” Eli jumped the last four steps and sprinted over just as the doors were closing. He stuck in his arm, much to the protest of the other riders, and pushed the sliding glass open.

  Please stand clear of the doors. The automated voice said.

  Elyse dashed inside, and looked up at Eli, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose, her hair frazzled. They both broke into a laugh as the train pulled away from the station.

  The train was busy but they managed to find an empty pair of seats and sat down. “I’ll get off at the next station and head back home,” Eli said, still a little breathless. “You go on to the next one, and then do the same.”

  “Is that safe?” Elyse bit her lip. “For either of us?”

  Eli nodded. “I think it’ll be all right. They were probably just following us to see if we’re digging into Hersche’s murder.”

  After a pause Elyse asked, “So now, I’ll just go on as usual, keep a low profile. Is that right?”

  “Right. And if anyone asks you why we were together tonight, just tell them we met up to celebrate Dr. Hersche’s life. Have a drink in his honor.”

  “Got it.”

  The train began to slow for the next stop. Eli stood up beside the door.

  “Hey.” Elyse stood with him, clutching the rail. “We’re going to work together on this, right? You’re not going out cowboying on your own and leaving me twiddling my thumbs, are you?”

  “Of course not.” He looked at her firmly. “I promise I’ll get in touch with you soon. Right now, I just need to find out who in CorMand might be behind this. I already have my suspicions.”

  “Really? Tell me.”

  “Later,” he said glancing around the car.

  “Alright.”

  The doors opened and Eli stepped out. “Have a good night, Elyse. Lock your doors and be careful. I’ll call you soon.”

  “I will.” She waved and turned to sit. “Oh wait. Eli!”

  “Yes?”

  She moved closer to the gap in the platform. “You had said earlier that you believe Medusa, the doctor, and CorMand are all connected, remember?”

  “I do.” He nodded.

  “Well, don’t forget about your parents. We need to dig into their history. I think we’ll find a lot of vital information we can use.”

  Eli’s stomach turned rusty, but he ignored it. “You’re right. Thanks, Elyse.”

  “And who knows,” she said with a shrug, “maybe we’ll even cure your allergy in the process.” She waved as the doors closed and the train pulled away.

  Eli stood alone on the platform, a single figure dawdling while the rest of the crowd ambled up the stairs toward the surface where their rendezvous’ awaited them like a private circus. The train disappeared into the tubal darkness, pulling further and further away, leaving him more and more alone with each passing second.

  He didn’t know what to think anymore, but he was certain that if they were right and there was actually something bigger, deeper and uglier behind Medusa than what the world was told, then they were about to wonder into dangerous territory. It was the kind of territory he would need to shield Elyse from. If he came under the scrutiny of Congress, or worse, the Premiere Loxley Kradle, then no amount of hiding, hacking or “yes sir-ing” could save him. The head controlled all.

  He was now completely alone in the dark, empty station, listening to the distant rumble of the vanished train. If Elyse was right about someone in CorMand being responsible for the murder, then that fact narrowed Eli’s guess of who did it down to one person: Villus. Eli didn’t have any evidence, but if it was out there, he’d find it.

  It wasn’t until that moment that Eli understood just how deeply Villus hated him. But why? He understood the distrust, but what would drive him to murder? This story had many twisted hallways and more locked doors than Eli had originally thought.

  But who in the world was better at picking locks than he?

  Chapter 63

  Mevia

  Mevia awoke to the sprinkle of three dimensional stars spreading before her like a king’s concubine, jezebels adorned in diamonds, sprawling across the endless diopside bed. Grey clouds, almost intangible, curled over the abyss like smoke through an opium den. The once full moon had a sliver of an eclipse, a modesty veil across her queenly face. The scene reminded her of a fairytale she was told as a child, the name lost on her now. It was a story of veiled ladies, bejeweled war horses and sword bearing sultans. The memory of which, alongside the enchanted sky, made the tale seem magical and yet real, as if being performed before her very eyes.

  “What a face on that one. A true beauty,” Cree spoke from behind the sagging cloth shelter. In the breeze, the canvas inflated and deflated laboriously as if it were breathing. “But I can’t see the stars so good under this thing.”

  Mevia wasn’t sure at first if he was speaking to her or if he was talking in his sleep.

  She sat up. Every bruised inch of her bones groaned from the day’s toils. Although she had gone to bed that evening nearly batty with sleep deprivation, she spent hours tossing and turning unable to quiet the maddening alarm in the back of her head constantly jolting her awake, heart pounding, preparing for the worst.

  She threw her legs over the side and eased herself into the black water, shivering from the wetness and chill. She looked around at the formless night. It was like standing inside of an iris. If some of those jezebels in the sky were looking down on them, what would they see? Perhaps a stick figure standing upon the water next to a rickety vessel, encircled by infinite miles of hopeless black ink. Or maybe they would think she was a saint, a biblical manifestation, walking on water, shepherding her crew to safety. But she felt more like the stick figure, small, insignificant, breakable.

  Cree smiled as she approached. “That’s very kind of you—getting in the water so not to wake up James.”

  Mevia moved quietly through the stream. “He needs his rest, otherwise, I don’t know if he can pull tomorrow. He collapsed twice today.” She began to unhook the canvas. “How are you feeling?”

  He looked down at his stomach, frowning. “Numb,” he said flatly. “Well, sort of anyway. I’m losing blood, see?”

  Mevia had placed a section of folded cloth underneath his back to catch the draining blood. It was soaked with layers of red to where the color had become a deep maroon.

  “Do you want me to change it?” she asked apprehensively, not sure if they had any cloth to spare. “Or I can give it a wash.”

  “No. I’m as comfortable as I’m going to get. I’m weak as tea but my lungs, my heart, they’re still grinding the gears.” He laid a closed fist over his chest.

  Mevia pulled off the shelter. “Are you sure you want this down? The sun will be bright in the morning.”

  Cree’s smile faltered, his eyes flickering in the starlight. His face glowed in the moon reflecting off his smooth, mahogany skin. “I’m not worried about the sun. I’ll be dead before dawn.”
>
  Mevia’s voice caught in her throat. She tried to conjure her inner healer. “No you won’t. You’re getting better.”

  A relaxed expression washed over him, as if shedding a heavy pack after a grueling journey. “No my friend. This boat will be much lighter for you come morning.” He was quiet for a long minute before turning to face her. “I want you to bury me, right out there. Face up. I want to watch the clouds by day and the burning sky by night.”

  Tears welled in Mevia’s eyes. “Cree, don’t—“

  “We were foolish,” he said, his eyes darting from star to star.

  Mevia sniffed. “What do you mean?”

  “We were fools to ever think that we could hide from them. And don’t you go thinking it was your fault they found us,” he said sternly. “You can’t go through life fence sitting like a dumb duck. Never taking a side. When a man says he’s neutral he’s really just telling you he’s an asshole because he helps no one but himself. In fact, do me a favor; if you ever meet someone who calls themselves a pacifist, I want you to spit in their teeth. Because all they’re saying is they won’t lift a fist to fight for anyone but themselves.” He turned to her. “You’re a good girl, Mevia. You’re strong.”

  She looked down, afraid to speak, because what kind of healer would cry in front of the dying?

  He turned his eyes back to the sky. “I know I was against fighting the Poachers but I was wrong. You can’t be next door neighbors with evil. You have to weed it out or it will grow and spread and find you. A dead man can’t find anybody.”

  Mevia gently placed her hand upon Cree’s abdomen. His wound was soaked with blood. “I need to change your bandages.” She moved to get the clean strips.

  “No you don’t. Come. Climb back here in this boat. Stay with me. We can star gaze together. It’s better to do it while we can. Soon you’ll see nothing but that damn cloud.”

  She tried to offer him water, but he refused. “Cree—“

  “Shh. Come, lay down, and I’ll tell you all about fair lady Cassiopeia.”

  Mevia pulled herself in, and they lay shoulder to shoulder. Eventually she fell asleep listening to his stories about the constellations, “gods of the night sky,” and their lives filled with tragedies, love stories and battles. The last words she remembered Cree speaking were, “No different than we poor mortals.”

  Her dreams that night were mythical with luminescent rainbows and schools of fish swimming through the stratosphere, weaving in and out of cotton candy clouds. Great warriors and fair maidens danced among the shooting stars, beckoning the little boat to follow, guaranteeing safe passage as they reached down and lit the miles of their path all the way home.

  Someone was calling, and she finally awoke. James was leaning over her, his salty, windblown hair hanging in his eyes. Beyond him the pale blue morning light sat like a naked canvas with pink and white stars still faintly visible through the fresh dawn.

  His face was solemn. “Cree’s dead.” The corners of his mouth quivered.

  Mevia turned to Cree. They were still lying next to each other. His head was tilted, facing away in an unnaturally relaxed position. She didn’t immediately rise, but remained next to him, feeling the stiff chill of his skin against her own, knowing that no matter what, her warmth would never bleed into his cold.

  “At least he didn’t die alone,” said James.

  Bottom of the barrel blessings.

  They buried Cree weighing his body down with scavenged rocks, arranging them across his torso. Then they covered him with silvery sand, mineralized with dust-fine flecks of shiny broken shells, fossils and fish bones, enveloping him like a chrysalis cocoon. Only his face remained exposed, his eyes half open and serene.

  “So he can watch the clouds by day and the stars by night,” Mevia explained.

  After that, neither said a word, only hung their heads and cried silent tears. Then they left their friend, now the eternal fisher and weatherman resting beneath the glassy ocean, his braids flowing in the current like turtle grass.

  Back at the boat they ate their breakfast of beans and sashimi. In absence of a knife, they ripped apart the stunned fish with their bare hands. Each took a ration of water before they grabbed a section of rope and continued on, neither one mentioning the much lighter boat.

  Despite the lack of weight, within an hour James had collapsed again into a coughing fit.

  Mevia flicked her head. “Go,” she said sternly, too tired to argue or spare his feelings. The salty rope was digging into her shoulders tearing her tender, sunburned skin. The layer of sand underfoot was depleting, shrinking down to only a cloudy spread over the rocky surface, making the going far more treacherous. At some point she had ripped a sandal, the leathery straps falling away like dead flower petals. She pushed on with only her right shoe, her bare left foot scraping and curling over the crudely angular rock.

  James must have been feeling low because he said nothing, just handed her his end of the rope and went to the boat. However, as he climbed in, the boat scraped against the rocks under his weight.

  “I’ll just walk behind you,” he said thinly.

  Mevia tied the rope around her waist, pulled the knot up to her shoulders and started off again wondering just how wide an underwater mountain could possibly stretch. Five miles? Ten?

  James coughed. She worried about him keeping up and how he would fare once they arrived at the mainland—if they got there at all. For the first time she was confronted with the dreadful thought that he might not survive the journey to wherever Kilt was waiting for them.

  The sun moved into the apex of the day, the rays peeking out from behind the clouds, frying the top of her skull until her temples pounded like tambourines. Mevia reached down and splashed water on her head, relishing in the temporary coolness.

  They passed a pod of dolphin skeletons partially buried in the sand, their long, thin mandibles lodged into the ground like a reversed chisel on an ancient plow. Their spines, curved like a wave, crowded with vertebrae, were sun-bleached and exposed above the water line.

  “Wow. Did you see that?” said James. “Must have gotten stuck.”

  Mevia didn’t answer.

  “Did you see them, Mevia? I bet there were over twenty—“

  “I saw.”

  “Oh.”

  They were both quiet. Mevia stared intently at her feet as she hurried on, for what was the point of looking up? The horizon never changed.

  “Mevia!” James sounded panicked. He had his hand shaded over his eyes, looking to the north. “I thought I saw something.”

  She set down the rope and went to his side. “Like what?”

  “Like a boat. But now it’s gone.”

  “Maybe it’s the mist.” The northern sky was growing stuffy with clouds. “We could be getting some rain. Or it might just be the big cloud.”

  “I saw something,” James repeated. He leaned over, clutching his knees, wheezing, like he might pass out.

  Mevia looked, but there was nothing but ocean and haze, a storm was brewing some miles away. “Maybe the light was playing tricks. Either way, it wouldn’t be much of a concern for us. It’s a boat full of Poachers we have to worry about and they’d be coming from the west.” She shifted her outstretched arm like a compass needle and that was when she saw it.

  “Oh my god.”

  “Do you see it now?” James clutched his heart but didn’t look up.

  Mevia couldn’t answer. She was quivering from head to toe.

  James turned to where she was facing. It took a moment, but then he saw it too. “Oh god! Oh god!” He fell back, landing with a splash. “Come on. We’ve got to go!” He struggled up and tugged at Mevia’s elbow. “Snap out of it! They’re coming.”

  Out from behind the horizon came a dark figure in the shape of a small boat. They were chasing them after all.

  She broke free of her trance and took off. They ran, dragging the boat, the water swishing around their legs. James sounded like he had a
hole blown into his lung.

  “How…far?” he asked.

  Mevia wasn’t sure if he was asking how far they were from the edge, the mainland or from their pursuers. No matter, the answer was the same. “I don’t know!”

  Thunder cracked above their heads, and a cold wind swept over their wet bodies. The storm was coming on quickly, already blotting out the sun. James and Mevia forged ahead like two lost seagulls wandering over the merciless sea in search of precious land.

  James coughed and stumbled to the ground. Mevia helped him up and noticed blood dripping from fresh cuts in his knees. He looked at her, panting, gaunt and pale faced.

  Ok, Eli. She thought. I could really use one of your schemes right now. Where are you?

  She looked back at the boat, wavering on the horizon, a growing black hole, fast and hungry to swallow them alive. Then she glared at the war-zone of ocean stretching between them and the mainland.

  The bottom of the sea. She told herself. I will swim to the bottom until my lungs give out and the world turns black. I will hunt my death down and catch it in my teeth before I ever let them get ahold of me.

  This vow she swore as they pushed ahead toward the unattainable horizon.

  Chapter 64

  Captain Bora

  Captain Bora liked to steer his boat one handed while standing up at the wheel like a decent, self-respecting sea man. This was done in the same tradition as his father and his father before. His free hand was put to work lifting the bottle to his lips as he swigged the homemade sugar hooch, he kept under his seat. This too was done in the same tradition as his father and his father before. May they rest in peace.

  He checked his instruments, banging a fist against some of the more ornery devices until the needles ticked around and settled on their units. Normally, he didn’t depend too much on the dials, for he knew these waters like the innards of his eyelids. But the storm that came and went left him a slight disoriented, and now a fine flog had settled.

  Bora was born on the water so storms and fog weren’t much to get excited over, but he was sweating from sailing so close to the Quake Continental Shelf. It was enough to make him as nervous as a gnat. However this was the route he chose in order to avoid detection on his way to the island by the GovCorps.