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

by Eden Wolfe

  His breath caressed her lip.

  The alarms sounded and madness boiled up like lava from that deep place of her mother and mother's mother and so on for what felt like forever and the voices were then upon her like gaslit flames.

  GO! they screamed and her body convulsed with the power of their voices.

  GO! NOW! YOU ARE THE PREY AND YOU ARE FAILING AGAINST HIM! GO NOW! NOW! NOW!

  She was convulsing on the rooftop, completely out of control but watching it happen to her in passive observation. An active electric pain rode her as the voices scraped and scratched at her insides. Archer desperately gripped the steep roof as he looked on her with horror.

  Blood trickled from her mouth.

  What have I done!

  MAEVA, NOW!

  DO NOT THINK!

  HE'S POISON!

  GO!

  And she was up, she was off. She hurtled forward from that place of the ages, tumbling and trembling, smashing into trees and breaking them as her vision tunneled. She saw nothing but the distance ahead, thought of nothing, and couldn’t stop moving, knowing she would run until she reached cliffs. She would look into the water below, and she would again fight the Rainfields pull, to keep from throwing herself over the edge into the dagger rocks below.

  32

  Aria

  Aria prepared her satchel. Every cell in her bristled. Everything had come to this moment. Every promise, every preparation. Every ounce of her soul was focused on the singular goal.

  Kill the infiltrator.

  The throne would be her reward. The Queen had been explicit. She had only one more test, one final trial.

  I cannot be fooled. I cannot hesitate. The infiltrator looks just like us. Just like me. They have perfected their disguise. To think the scouts are across the country, masquerading as the women of Lower Earth. I must trust in everything I have invested, all my training. It was all for this moment.

  She left in the middle of the night, throwing the gate to Gana wide open and beginning the trek to the Great Rainforest. The two-day journey would crystalize her resolve.

  For Lower Earth.

  For all women who rose from the ashes of the dying men at their feet.

  For the land which is our only comfort.

  All I must do is kill the threat to our very existence, the way of life we struggled so deeply to create.

  Upper Earth will not win. Upper Earth would make us as we once were. Upper Earth would see us slaves to an obsolete doctrine.

  I will not let it come to be.

  She stepped forward, steadfast, and committed her way to her people. Raising her fist high she sang an old warrior priestess prayer for victory.

  33

  Archer

  Archer's every movement was unbearable. The weight of his clothing hung heavily on him. The simple act of dressing was more like working in a quarry under water, desperately trying to move boulders uphill and against a current. Every move strained him. The fabric of his shirt set his skin on fire, like needlepoints tearing across his chest.

  All time slowed almost to an absolute stop. Pulling on his socks and boots felt eternal. He had to find the courage to stand up and plead with himself in the mirror.

  "Anything but this. Do not allow me to do this. If only my body would rebel. Don't let me do this. Not to my girls."

  But already the momentum was pushing him forward, packing his hunting bag, his human hunting bag.

  Two daggers, cloths to wipe them down. Two daggers - one for her and one for him. And the other would have a spear. Each aspect of the plan had a backup.

  Water.

  Rope to transport them after and to mark the place for collection.

  The rest would be supplied by the checkpoints on the way. The Queen had assured him as much. It seemed she had accounted for every detail, leaving no room for him to err.

  All reality was conspiring around him to make it so.

  No matter what, he would see them dead.

  Culling. Maeva calls it culling. It is bloody execution, treachery. Treason. She won’t believe me for a second when I tell her she has to kill a scout. She’ll read it all over me. The stench of it will be unmistakable.

  He checked again that the daggers were there, careful not to disturb the vial prepared for the deed. He would treat the tips with poison.

  Then she would be the one to take that final step. Ultimately it would be her hand.

  He checked again that everything was there. He was in a state where he could very well leave it all behind and not miss them until the critical moment was upon him, and then –

  No dagger. No poison. No murder.

  But indeed, they were there. Nestled calmly into the folds of his satchel, they were waiting, dulled, and dirty. Archer did not allow himself to linger on the thought of what it would do to her insides once plunged. The dagger looked grotesque to him, and he fought the urge to wash it down, shine it, buff it until it was the picture of perfection. They deserved that much.

  The thought dropped away as the overwhelming wave of duty overtook him. He stepped forward as time resumed, a thrust of momentum at his back. He slammed the door of his modest apartment as he went.

  "Don't stop, don't think, just move," he whispered to himself.

  "Archer!" A voice from a floor above pierced through him and his numb, dreamlike state shattered at his feet. He tried to pretend he didn't hear.

  "Archer! Archer! Listen, I've got something for you!"

  He tried to push on, rushing down the stairs, as the voice became more distressed.

  "Archer! Please!"

  The desperation in the voice stopped him cold.

  "What is it, Wilma? What can be so important that you absolutely must have my attention right now?” He looked up and saw her head poking over the sixth-floor railing.

  "It's a note with your name on it."

  "I'm coming up."

  Taking the steps two by two his feet were feeling heavy again, and he wondered if he would ever leave this apartment block, never mind all that lay ahead.

  "Who is it from?"

  "How would I know?"

  He clenched his teeth. "I assume someone dropped it off."

  "You assume wrong. I found it slipped under my door with your name on it. Must have confused the apartments."

  Not likely. More likely someone knew that Wilma would make sure I received it. Someone who could ask afterward if the note had been delivered.

  "Thanks." He tapped the banister, turned, and fled, ready to ignore any protest behind him, but there was none. He paused in front of the door and looked at the note in his hand. The heavy dark writing inside was apparent but he couldn't make it out through the folds.

  If I open it now, I might not go.

  Involuntarily, he unfolded the paper with the simple dark scroll, knowing it could only have come from one person:

  “She is waiting for you.”

  He crushed the note tight in his fist and pushed open the heavy door without waiting another moment.

  The sunlight accosted him. The dim corridor had given no indication of the blinding light outside. It took his eyes a few moments to adjust from the blanket of yellow-white in front of him to the quiet near-abandon of the streets.

  Where is everyone?

  It seemed too vast, this quiet. Even on a Sunday morning, there would be those already up who did the shift work, at the very least some movement around the center of town. He felt like he was in some kind of time vacuum, where everything was on hold, waiting for him.

  He pushed ahead, left foot, right foot, concentrating on moving, going forward, going ahead, not allowing the note in his hand to burn his resolve for another second.

  The fortress stood in his peripheral vision, but he couldn't see Maeva now. Even the smallest glimpse and he'd again be a cowardly wreck, begging to be freed from this duty.

  He had no choice anymore, not even in his own mind. If it had to be done, then it would be him and his hand to see it through
. He would carry it out with the greatest reverence and love he could find within his soul. That much he owed them. That, and so much more.

  Night had descended by the time he reached the first checkpoint. He was greeted with a silent nod by the woman who led the Queen's Guard in that region. He could not be sure what she had been told, but an array of meats and fruit were laid out for him, and the regular cot had an extra mattress. After being shown to his room, he sat in the dining tent and began to take in the surroundings.

  There was not a man among them, not anywhere that he could see. The eyes on him were suspicious despite their deference. They had all been prepped for his arrival, to make him comfortable, but also to keep their distance.

  An arm reached out, offering him cured ham. He took a few slices, but the woman's face reacted as though he was supposed to decline.

  Another arm offered wine, which he declined. Again, he was met with distrustful eyes. He could not do anything right here.

  "I'll take an early breakfast."

  A nod.

  "Just before sunrise."

  A nod.

  "I'll not be any further inconvenience after that."

  A nod.

  He couldn't wait to get out of there and on with the task at hand.

  He swallowed down the eggs and pork as quickly as he could will his mouth to move and took to the paths immediately afterward. The donkey had done well the day before, and he drew less attention in the rough trails this way. The all-terrain vehicles were closely monitored, and fuel was already hard enough to come by, so donkey was the only viable option.

  It was a petulant thing, as was to be expected, but it was willing enough to keep moving and didn't wince at Archer's weight. The slow sway rocked Archer into a meditative state. He welcomed the wave of non-thinking. It had all been too much these last two days.

  The same conversation played out in his head again and again.

  "I am loyal. My loyalty is no question. But you have stretched me almost to my breaking point, Maeva." The vision of her green eyes floated before him; his heart fluttered at the imaginary sight. "But can I do this? I could never betray you, but now betrayal is pitted against betrayal and I don't know if I can stay strong in the moment when I must."

  The trail ticked past him, the green lushness of the region made him fall further into nostalgia.

  Ariane’s eyes. The brown with only flecks of green. Her wisdom and innocence in those early days. Her clear intent and dedication. The future he saw in her eyes. In all their eyes. Their eyes weren't just beautiful like the Queen's; their eyes were powerful.

  Yes, they would surpass Maeva. They would, and who knew what the world would become then.

  The task started becoming clearer to him. What would the world become with three Queens all with righteous claims to Lower Earth’s throne? All with the same fervor to lead, the same ardor to create change, the same power to control.

  "I see now, Maeva."

  With three such as they were, how could there ever be only one Queen?

  "We all kill off the parts of ourselves that threaten our survival."

  He knew it too well. The draw, the pull to be something greater. He had destroyed that desire in himself long ago. He had seen the danger, the risk, in letting that yearning thrive. It was best to remain the Queen's loyal aide.

  Despite his nature. Despite his longing. Despite his need to dominate her.

  All of that he’d long since laid to rest.

  He took a deep breath.

  Slowly the countryside turned drier, yellower, and his longing descended into deep, silent sorrow. Breaking grass reeds under the donkey's hooves grated on his ears. The wind had a hot sharpness to it. He had to pass to the other side of the Central Mass to reach the agreed location, but there was nothing there. Trees became cacti which became nothingness on dry rock and sand. Such little life. When the new generation had come, they'd been overwhelmed by the Central Mass, he remembered from his lessons, and it wasn't hard to see why. From this angle of the earth, it seemed to go on forever. With the right orientation, it was only a day and a half's journey across the eastern edge, but the first arrivers after the Final War couldn't have known that. Looking at the horizon, he could understand their fear. There was simply nothing there.

  His eye caught a scorpion rushing under a rock, and he was pulled back into his body. Casting his eyes across the sand line, more scorpions came into view. And more.

  There were thousands of them.

  He closed his eyes and put his trust in the donkey. He willed the animal to know where not to step, or this really would be the end of the end. Each sway felt like an eternity as the creature lifted and replaced hoof after hoof. Archer saw the scorpions pull back underneath their protective stones every time they approached. It seemed they wouldn't attack unless they perceived threat. It was just as well, since Archer could think of no way to reassure the tiny deadly beasts.

  They continued forward. Archer tightened his thighs on the donkey as he wiped the sweat that had dripped into his eyes.

  I can do this. I must, and I will. They love me. They will believe me. And it won't be lies that fall from my lips, it is just what must be told for the world to find peace again. Peace across Lower Earth, that's what they always wanted.

  He quit his meditative state and turned his mind to the practicalities. He reached deep in his pocket for the note without realizing how moving his hands would make it so difficult to stay upright on the beast.

  He opened the note again, feeling spurred on by the Queen's words.

  "She is waiting for you."

  He fixed his eyes straight ahead and had no fear. He wasn't far from the next checkpoint. His faith lay in Queen and donkey to see him through another day, each hour growing closer to his mission.

  The animal took one step and another until, at last, the checkpoint came into sight. The smoke from the fire rose high in the dusk sky.

  34

  Aria

  I was born for this.

  Aria moved, soft of foot in snake steps that didn't move the earth as she touched it. She was on top of the ground, almost floating. Brambles and thorny vines caught her arms, but she healed them instantaneously as she moved deeper into the forest. All the years in East Gana had been leading to this.

  Archer had explained it all in whispers in the middle of the night. The infiltrator had been sheltering in the Great Rainforest. The infiltrator would kill. The infiltrator had powers they didn’t yet understand. The infiltrator had to be stopped. Only Aria could do it.

  She had to stop her.

  Archer would be there, behind her, just beyond sight. But she had to commit the act. This is what she had been trained for. They didn't know how the infiltrator would react.

  Aria had felt Archer's fear as he explained it all. His fear was very real.

  A fire crackled ahead, the sound of it so peaceful and natural, in what was to be the least peaceful and natural moment she had ever lived.

  Aria pushed the thought aside. She had to be alert in the moment; she had no idea how the infiltrator would react.

  Focus.

  Aria pulled her awareness inward, trusting the sensations that boiled from within.

  Breath moving eastward. She faces away from my approach. No scent. Upper Earth has found new methods of camouflage. Run scenario. Is there more than one? No. One heartbeat, barely discernible. Condition of heart: unknown. Imperceptibility due to health status or another camouflage tactic. Yet to be determined.

  The fire came into sight, and Aria felt the doubleness of the other’s heartbeat as it fell into perfect rhythm with her own.

  Aria paused. The heartbeat was indeed so perfectly like her own.

  Focus, you do not know what she’s capable of. That is just a beating heart, like any other heart. She is the one who puts it all at risk. Upper Earth cannot take us over. I cannot let it happen. Her life ends and my reign begins tonight. By my hand.

  The figure had no sensation o
f her approach. Draped in cloth, she was huddled by the fire, the smoke rising high into the moonlit sky.

  She is both in hiding and marking her position at the same time.

  The figure appeared to have no fear of being found, though her face was covered by a hooded cape.

  The heartbeat intensified in volume, resounding like bells.

  Or was it her own heart?

  The sound filled her ears, like being in the tower of a church. She could hardly keep her eyes focused, the noise blasted in her brain.

  She approached, at first slow, then faster, and then faster.

  She steadied the knife and planned the trajectory to attack from behind, to drive it deep, no error in the target. The figure would never know she was there.

  She pulled all her will from deep below, all her drive and all she ever had intended to be. She committed herself to the act and leaped forward, knife high.

  But the figure turned.

  She couldn’t have known –

  Aria had no time to finish the thought. Gravity was bringing her down as adrenaline rushed and the hood of the infiltrator shifted only slightly, only a sliver, but behind it, Aria saw her own eye staring back at her. She came down, knife in hand and landed it, deep. Time slowed and she watched the knife pierce the infiltrator, she felt it, almost as though it was in herself, rushing of pain and flying neurons with molecules rushed to the place as she landed strangely on her side, partly suspended above the ground.

  She looked down at her body. A spear stood tall from her chest, just below her ribs and she had to close her eyes.