Lower Earth Rising Collection, Books 1-3: A Dystopian Contemporary Fantasy

by Eden Wolfe

  "I know you hear the Queens of old, my Ariane. But you do not hear them as I do - "

  Their breath moved together in time, nearly imperceptible.

  "Ariane, they know our circumstances. They have seen it all before. Ariane, you cannot - "

  Aria let her forehead graze her mother's, the white hairs intermingling, sensing the heat of their skin coming together.

  And they touched.

  The Queen jerked back as though slapped. The vacuum created by her speed sucked Aria in, just slightly, but enough that she appeared to lunge toward the Queen.

  The Queen recoiled, a leap backward and her body curved into a defensive position. Aria could hear the Queen pull the air behind her teeth; she saw the red of the Queen’s blood.

  She is alarmed. Her blood rolls hot in her veins. It is beating against the inside of her skull. Dread. Terror. What is behind it?

  The Queen stood tall, seeming to gain height and Aria felt again like a child looking up to her mother. The Queen moved her mouth, no sound emerging, but Aria heard the air pass through.

  "The threat will come," the Queen's eyes narrowed, "If even one comes – scout, traitor, or otherwise – you do as you must, and you do not pause to think. Do not believe your eyes, believe your instinct. You have been taught all you need to know. Never forget what I say to you now."

  In the charged silence, Aria watched the Queen, her face dark and unreadable, waiting for a response.

  Aria could only nod.

  “Beware your loyalties. Never forget, Ariane. They will come, and they will look just like us. Just like you, and just like me. Never forget.”

  She took in one breath before the Queen was gone, running across the plains as a deer. Moving the way Aria moved, moving like no other on Lower Earth.

  Aria considered the Queen's words over and over.

  Beware my loyalties. A threat.

  She ran the possibilities and scenarios; ratios of likelihood rose and fell. She sought answers from within, the movement faster than human perception but the questions came and went without reply.

  Insufficient information. The threat may look like us? Like me? Where is Archer? He must know more. I must find out what he knows.

  Aria paused.

  Beware my loyalties. Is Archer a threat?

  While the Queen had not been to Gana in more than a year, Archer was a regular visitor. But that was to be expected, it was part of his role as the Queen’s aide. He had never posed any risk; Aria had known him as long as she’d been alive.

  He wouldn’t dare step out of line. Not for a second.

  After all, Archer was one of those people who had the right to utter a name, and that person would be disappeared before the night turned to morning. He, more than most, knew he wasn’t immune to the same punishment.

  And regardless, he had only ever been earnestly dedicated to their service, to the Queen and Future Queen Ariane. She saw it in the way his heart calmed on seeing her.

  Aria thought of the fire in the Queen's eyes. There was something real inside them. She was not testing Aria. The Queen's heartbeat had beat faster than Aria had ever heard it before.

  Betrayal, deceit. The Queen is threatened. But by whom? Upper Earth? Another scout?

  No scenario fulfilled the criteria. The pathways in Aria’s mind leaped in cycles but came up empty. Activating more than sixty percent of her brain, with a maximum of seventy-seven point two-seven percent, there was simply insufficient input to define the threat.

  An animalistic fear, primeval and deep. It shone from the Queen's eyes.

  I am to be her hands and feet. Why this fear? It is not only Upper Earth. Her reaction was raw.

  The threat will look like me. She fears the threat and she fears me.

  While the Queen had many minor enemies across Lower Earth, the Guard was skilled in the art of disappearance. With those dissenters cast into Rainfields or the forgotten islands, all accounts were that the Queen was loved, supported, and respected.

  And feared.

  Fear is a powerful driver to an enemy.

  The remaining men of Lower Earth were in no state to revolt. Even if a few of the strongest amongst them tried to unite, they would be infiltrated at their meeting point. The backroom men had never been able to mobilize into a force. They never would. They had been well controlled, necessarily so given their history. Given the Mist. Aria knew that if a man wanted to commit some treachery, the only real way to do it was through Central Tower. That was where men held their highest seats. And it was the reason for the Green Files with each detailed DNA sequence. The extended file included their affiliations and movements. The Queen reviewed the extended files weekly for any potential traitor within.

  They pose no threat. Not now. The only clear and uniform enemy for the nation is Upper Earth.

  But what of the women of Lower Earth? Threat takes many shapes. Does she fear for me?

  Aria’s identity was more or less protected, but that was only until the day she would take over the reign. No one from outside came into Gana without clear authorization, and Aria had not been to the capital since Festival Day in her second year.

  Will she advance my coronation in light of the threat? Or postpone?

  She had no claim to the throne until it was granted to her - or the Queen died.

  Is the threat her own mortality?

  The Queen had not yet reached seventy years. She could theoretically have many years reigning ahead of her. The Queen had been eighteen when she'd taken the throne at the death of Queen Idia. Somehow Aria had always believed that when she reached eighteen the Queen would bestow the seat upon her, eager to pass it to her bloodline, the line which had ruled Lower Earth since the first settlers came.

  She felt ready. She wanted it so badly. To live out her destiny and guide Lower Earth to a new generation, of more prosperous times. To reinstate the passion for the settlers’ ways, the glory of the lava amulet they all wore around their necks. To pay homage to all that came before as she built a future where viruses and bacteria were eradicated. She'd dedicated years to mastering the structures of some of their most destructive proteins.

  The Queen's words rolled through her mind as she assessed the possibilities, running the options available, but the answer glared at her as bright as the sun.

  The Queen will not just give the throne over to me.

  The meaning of the words rang louder in Aria's head.

  The throne is never gifted, the throne is an outcome.

  Queens died, like Queen Idia. Queens disappeared, like in the ninth generation. Queens deteriorated, like in the second generation. But no Queen in Lower Earth had ever just handed over the throne.

  The firing flew from one pathway to the next in almost reckless succession through her brain as Aria tried to follow it. She closed her eyes and searched her memories. Rushing waves of images took her back through the years; she sought a sign that she may have missed. She quickly dismissed any memories of calm and simplicity, for she had always been extra vigilant in those periods. She so greatly feared her vulnerability in them.

  Running through each day in her mind she watched the film of her life in reverse, seeking flashes where something had felt off, moments that hadn't seemed to have meaning. Times when questions had been left unanswered.

  She walked back to the river and kneeled at its edge. The currents had nearly come to a complete halt. Aria looked at her reflection, waving slightly in the water’s movement. Her brown eyes glistened back at her. The unknowns within the interaction with her mother would not settle as her brain relentlessly sought a solution to the riddle.

  Am I the enemy?

  Run, run, run.

  The voices echoed between her ears.

  Aria was not in full consciousness but was already at pace, far from the gate of Gana. Far from her permitted area. It didn't matter that the Queen forbade her to leave Gana, her body did it to her in the middle of the night. She was running without knowing why.


  But she knew the destination.

  Rainfields.

  Her pace quickened. The call would not end until she stepped on Rainfields’ rocky terrain and the voyage would take close to a day on foot. She had to move fast if she were to make it back to Gana before the priestesses realized she was gone.

  Rainfields, the birthplace of society as the Final War drew to a close.

  Rainfields, where life began again.

  Revered Rainfields.

  Feared Rainfields.

  Rainfields of her waking nightmares.

  And still, she ran to them.

  Voices, not just in her blood, but in the hills, across the Central Mass. They screeched at her, demanding it, pleading for it.

  Begging her to return to Rainfields.

  So many nights she cursed her blood for this call.

  Why? What is in my blood, this code of the old Queens, that demands communion with such a wretched place?

  The Rainfields of the first peoples had been fertile and green, the natural irrigation through its rocky canals making it a haven for those who'd fled to their cliffs. Boat after boat, from nations near and distant, landed at Rainfields, the corner of Lower Earth most accessible to the rest of the world. It had been their savior.

  But now it was only a skeleton.

  The drought of the second generation after the Mist had all but eradicated any life in Rainfields. The neighboring counties fared better with richer soil and closer watershed. But Rainfields dried up, a carcass of its beautiful memory. The first known victim in the post-war of the ever-changing climate in Lower Earth.

  And yet still it called her.

  The pull to the cliffs was great. Cliffs jagged and knifelike, arthritic fingers. Sharpened bones that summoned her.

  A magnet.

  The expanse of Rainfields ran a few hundred miles wide, empty of life but for the gulls that transited past on their cycle back to the Leeside mountains, and the rare soul who’d been disappeared but not jumped off the cliffs.

  Aria arrived at their cliff edge and paused. She listened. The wind hummed in the empty creeks of stone below her feet. The song was sad and compelling. She turned away from the cliffs, the wind singing through the jagged fingers. The wind sang lies at her, but she refused to surrender to them.

  Without words, it called at her to jump. To fly. To soar.

  Aria was well aware of the lies of the Rainfields wind. She’d heard their deceit since she was a child.

  She closed her eyes and calmed her blood.

  They will never let me be. Why this physical reaction? Why this power to pull me when I am barely conscious? Queens, why this place?

  The voices gave no reply. As ever, they did not respond on command.

  Aria opened her eyes.

  A figure, wind-like, skimmed the distance. Aria only saw it because the moon caught its hair in a gleam. No scent, no heartbeat, no movement of blood perceived.

  A mirage.

  Aria kept her eyes on the figure, it froze as though in a dream just before awakening.

  Mother's words are wreaking havoc in my brain. Must obtain more input. This cannot continue.

  She shut her eyes hard and reopened them. The figure was gone.

  It is not real. I am still not fully conscious. It is a mirage in my own image.

  The figure had moved as only Aria could.

  4

  Maeva

  Queen Maeva felt Ariane’s eyes follow her away, but she couldn't stay. She couldn't bear another moment of it. The secrets were starting to weigh heavily. She feared she would give something away.

  She ran. Wind-like and unseen by any human eye.

  Eighteen years old, Maeva shook her head. Her expectations are obvious. She knows my story, she thinks it will be her own. Eighteen years old and Queen. If only she knew what it had cost me.

  But she can never know.

  Maeva couldn't bear to let her own history influence the generation to come.

  But her own trauma wasn't over yet. If anything, the worst of it was yet to come.

  If only it were as simple as declaring Aria Queen. She is the obvious choice. She believes the throne is hers for the having. She's been the most adapted out of all of them.

  But Maeva knew. It wasn't so simple.

  Nothing has gone to plan from the start. The genetic code of Queens is not as simple as that.

  Maeva reached a safe distance from Gana, nearly at the checkpoint that marked a hundred miles from the Gana border. Her feet moved her at the pace of a bird's flight, even at her age. She could see the ocean off to her left and ran to its coast. The water's edge was rocky but tame. Waves crashed in a gentle rhythm. Maeva let it take her inside, the sound dulling her mind's thoughts so that she could hear the sounds which rolled in her blood.

  The voices rose up.

  Maeva closed her eyes.

  The generations of Queens from before spoke in blood sounds, but if she focused, she could call upon them, and words, phrases, or ideas would burst from within, and she knew.

  The Queens of Before who were coded into her genetic sequence would tell her what had to be done.

  But they were fickle. Untrustworthy. She would sometimes seek them and they'd lie silent.

  And then there were the times they exploded, uninvited and all-encompassing, screaming warnings or reproach. Or worse. The Queens of Before had led lives that transformed the face of Lower Earth.

  And not one had died naturally.

  It was the secret within her blood. It was what she demanded Lucius code out. And it was the reason she found herself in the riddle of her life.

  She had to declare the next Queen.

  And Maeva didn't know who it was.

  For the rest of Lower Earth, it was obvious. Their next Queen was Ariane. Ariane, like Maeva, was descended from the code of the settlers, revered and honored settlers, they who'd been the answer when the world was dying. The line of Queens kept the settlers’ blood alive.

  The secrets in that blood were well-kept.

  The sound of the waves wove with the voices within. Maeva could make out their warning. She would have to steel herself for the period that would come. It might be years away still, decades perhaps.

  Or the day when Maeva would have to declare the next Queen could be just around the corner.

  5

  Uma

  Preparing for a new cohort of Willing Women was the most exhausting part of Uma’s job. It wasn't the logistics of it that got her down since they were straightforward enough: ensure facility space, print enough brochures, organize the speakers, recruit current Willing Women to buddy up.

  She believed in the need for it, but it was the women themselves that irked her.

  She stood at the welcome desk for two hours. At least this was a small event, not like the summer campaign that was coming. The women were becoming more and more ignorant about the program. While the Willing Women program had been in full swing for years, many of the hopefuls didn’t even have the most basic facts straight.

  "Can I keep the baby?"

  "What happens if I can't carry it to term?"

  "Is there a chance I won't get pregnant?"

  Uma smiled and shoved a brochure in each little, fertile face. This wasn’t supposed to be her job. She was a scientist. She could have been spending these hours investigating the newest crop killers. Central Tower didn’t have near enough resources to be spreading themselves so thin across the laboratories. And yet there she was, convincing girls to use their wombs for what they’d been designed to do.

  She was on the verge of losing her patience when a young one approached her. Uma tried to look very busy doing something important.

  "Ma'am, excuse me?"

  Uma looked up at her, but she wasn't about to encourage her with a word of welcome.

  "I just need some advice. See, I'm not sure why I should become a Willing Woman."

  "Well, don’t then."

  "But everyone says I should."

/>   "And why does everyone say that." She tried not to sound as sarcastic as she felt.

  "Probably because I’m not good at anything else."

  "You’re not a Cork Town deviant. I'm sure there’s a career path for you."

  "I don’t think so."

  "How about sign painting? There's always a job for a sign painter."

  "I spell words all wrong."

  It was because of girls like this that the program was so important. They couldn’t leave genetics to happenstance. Uma smiled. "Well then, perhaps everyone might be right. Perhaps you should be a Willing Woman."

  The girl's eyebrows came down into a frown before lifting as her eyes welled up. Uma took a deep breath and a step towards her.

  "Willing Women are important." You idiot, she thought. "The country needs women like you, strong women."

  "I'm not strong."

  "Healthy then."

  "I am healthy."

  "There it is. Healthy women. We need healthy women. Haven't you heard about the Directive? You'll have to go through all the regular screening first, and I'm not going to lie. It's invasive. But this could be your chance. You could be the one who produces a boy child. Imagine that!" Uma clapped her hands and smiled while looking past the girl's shoulder, waiting for the moment to pass.

  "Thank you," the girl whispered and then walked, bleary-eyed, away.

  With a sigh of relief and a deep swallow, Uma tried to rid herself of the lump that was growing in her throat. Perhaps she should change her role at these events. She just didn't have the energy for it anymore.

  She would soon have to prepare for the summer session, which was always the most difficult campaign event. There would be additional crowds after exam results. Inevitably the young women who’d failed their exams would find their way, usually with someone else dragging her, to the Willing Women event. The girls would have wet eyes and speak in stops and starts.

  For Uma, participation in the Willing Women program as an overseer had been both an honor and a responsibility. These were trying times, and while some questions around the program’s ethics may have been justified, Uma believed that participation in the program should have been mandatory for all women of childbearing age, except those, like her, who were designed for other callings. How else could they ever expect to grow back into the population from before the Mist?