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

by Eden Wolfe

  Butterfly wings.

  She hadn’t seen butterflies since the time she’d run away.

  She had been thirteen years old.

  It was the day she’d learned that her mother hated her. Butterfly wings and mother’s hatred, forever wrapped together in her aching memory.

  The day had started like any other. She’d risen from bed having not slept the night, just like every other night that she didn’t sleep. She’d sat, turned, let her toes fall off the edge of the bed, grazing the cold tiles below.

  She hated those tiles. The cold was so vibrant through her feet in winter that it made her brain ache. But she wasn’t allowed a rug. She wasn’t allowed footwear. Ever since she’d complained of the tiles, her mother made sure she was given no comforts. That was her mother’s way. Not that Ariane was surprised by her mother’s action to make her life ever more uncomfortable. Ariane had understood from the beginning that comfort was not an element of her life. She was to endure, not enjoy.

  No wonder she was perpetually cold.

  She’d walked to the window. From her room on the fifth floor, she could see into Cork Town. The women mingling, then men laughing. The Guard strolling through the ins and outs of the alleyways and streets. To look at it, their lives were free. People moved as they liked, where they liked. It appeared they even did as they liked. Walking through the park. Meeting along Cork Row. Having a picnic on a bench.

  It was disgraceful.

  And hypnotizing.

  There she was, the sequence of Queens perfected, trapped in a building on the edge of Geb, all but forgotten by her own mother, expected to fend for herself. She had to steal food because who was there to give her credits to buy it? The flat she stayed in was an otherwise abandoned building. No electricity. The water dripped through the faucet, but never more than enough to just barely wet her lips. She was the child to bring the world into the next stage of its evolution - but first, she had to pass this test. She had to raise herself.

  And there they were, those deviants of Cork Town. Free. Roaming through the streets without direction. After all, where did they have to go? Sure, a few deviants worked here and there. Perhaps several of them, but did it even matter? They sauntered as though they had every right to do whatever they pleased.

  It wasn’t fair.

  But her mother had told her that long ago. Life isn’t fair. Life is not about having what others have. Life is about creating what you want it to be.

  It had made sense to her at the time. She’d been four years old and her mother had dismissed her carer. It wasn’t as though Ariane had any particular affection for the woman; the Queen had Ariane’s carers rotated every few weeks to ensure she couldn’t get attached.

  But then at the age of thirteen, Ariane was feeling pangs of emotions she’d never before allowed herself to acknowledge. And the sight of the deviants walking like normal people with every right and with credits to their name brought it up in a flurry.

  Envy.

  It burned in her throat.

  Why should I, the future Queen, have to envy a deviant? She banged the window, cracking its frame. It’s against the natural order. I have been shoved into this place so far from the city’s beating heart for what? My blood is worth more than this. I deserve more than this. The people will love me... but the people don’t know me! How can they adore what they do not know? My mother has been mistaken. I never should have been stuck in here. I should have been among my people. It should have been different.

  She hadn’t realized that her feet were already leading her out of the building, off and moving almost without her will. Though they were taking her exactly where she wanted to go.

  She was in amongst the deviants in no time. Her legs had always moved her faster than anyone else. She could maneuver through the city sight unseen as she wished.

  The moment she arrived on Cork Row, she felt like she could finally breathe. No one was looking for her. No one would even care that she was there. She was unknown but out in the open. Walking like any other girl. Acting like any other girl. She was just any other girl.

  She took in the sights and sounds of the commune with keen curiosity. The way the market set up, the people who laughed in conversation as if they had no cares in the world. Ariane found herself smiling with them.

  She heard from her location, half a mile from the main Cork Town square, the screen buzz to life. It was far and faint, nothing like the screens in the city center. She could make out Mary’s voice, just barely.

  “Oranges! Today you will find oranges across all the Geb commune markets! We salute the virologists of Central Tower for at last overcoming the citrus tristeza virus that has plagued orange trees for the past six seasons. We have such confidence in your abilities; virologists of Central Tower, you have again proven yourselves worthy of our admiration. We thank you!”

  Ariane hadn’t had oranges in years. When the market did have them, they were well watched over. She couldn’t just swipe one the way she did with potatoes and gourds. And a long time had gone by that she hadn’t seen them in the market at all. The last time she remembered being able to pocket one was when she was seven and she’d nearly been caught. She’d vowed then that no orange was worth giving up her future. The Queen had been explicit in her commands for Ariane to stay hidden and silent.

  Or else.

  Or else no throne. Or else banishment to the Forgotten Islands, or worse. Or else disownment. Or else. Or else. Or else.

  Ariane lived her life under a constant blade of ‘or else’.

  She walked towards the market. Just to catch sight of the oranges, perhaps that would be enough to satisfy her. She could still remember how the orange had exploded in her mouth those years before, the tang and sweetness of the juice. The little fibers that coated her tongue and stuck in her teeth.

  A basket was brimming, overflowing with the dimply fruit. Ariane’s eyes grew wide even as she heard Mary’s voice scratching on the screen in the background.

  “Women of Geb!” Mary’s voice buzzed out the screen, “Today we must doubly celebrate! The Queen has just advised me that a boy has been born! A boy! In the Dark Counties! We await more information, but it is a live birth, and therefore one we must all celebrate! Call out with me: To Life!”

  “To Life!” thousands of voices repeated around her in the market.

  She registered Mary’s words, but all her focus was on the oranges.

  Just to touch one, I don’t have to eat it. Just to touch it might be enough.

  Her mouth watered in spite of her, the memory of the taste so powerful. She could see the oranges, only the oranges. Everything else faded into the background. She watched her hand hover over the basket-like it wasn’t even her hand. Everything was a dream, hazy and vague, watching the world through a film until she heard, loud and distinct a voice in her direction.

  “Thief!”

  Her body trembled, back into itself, back into real life. The oranges were still there, but her hand was again her hand, and it was holding an orange.

  Run, I have to run, if I can just turn and run I can get away. I am faster than all of them combined, I can get away.

  But before she had a chance to move, her face was in the ground, dust and stone pushing into her cheek.

  “You think you can just take whatever you want without paying, deviant?” A guard stood over her. The Queen’s Guard. One day to be her Guard. Ariane scrambled to her feet. She wouldn’t have it. “You toss me to the ground like discarded trash? How dare you!”

  She would stand up to this guard, this disobedient, excuse of a guard who didn’t even recognize her own future Queen.

  Ariane healed on the spot, showing her abilities, awaiting the apologies and requests for leniency from the guard.

  “So you can heal yourself, huh? I’ve seen that trick before, but it was on our Queen’s face, and not that of a deviant child.

  “But - ”

  The guard’s fist smashed into her cheek, smashing the
bone.

  It would take Ariane longer to heal that. And it hurt. And she was again on the ground. Her face flushed with embarrassment and fury. But she could not reveal herself now. She had already gone too far. The Queen would be exceptionally displeased to learn of how she had pushed the boundaries and gone to Cork Town. She had no choice but to suffer the humiliation of the guard’s attack.

  “I’ve got better things to do today, kid, than be playing around with the likes of you. So get out of here before the rest of the Guard arrive, or you’ll find yourself trampled under their feet.”

  Ariane touched her cheek, feeling the bone reconnect to itself. She backed away from the guard. No more scene to play out, it was best she go into the shadows. The Guard coming into Cork Town meant nothing good. Not for any of them.

  Just then the sound of boots against gravel reached her.

  They’re coming. Just entered Cork Town. Trajectory on target for the main square.

  She knew she should leave, but she couldn’t. Her feet led her to a hiding place, under an empty vendor’s cart, as the Guard came into sight.

  There were hundreds of them, perhaps two hundred and fifty from where she could see the marching rows of them coming into the market. It was the height of market time, a couple thousand bodies milling between vendors and customers and others just milling about.

  “Step away,” a guard shouted.

  “Give us space to pass!”

  “Back!”

  The Guard was beautiful; Ariane couldn’t help admiring their uniformity, their height and width, the way they towered over the people. The picture of genetic superiority in those who would one day serve her. Sufficient intelligence without surpassing their purpose. Straps pulled across their chests as they marched in their ceremonial uniform.

  “Why is the Guard coming during a market day? There’s no sense in that,” Ariane overheard a seller.

  “They’re here to make a show. Look at their garb. They’re going to make an example of someone.”

  A guard stepped forward, clearly the leader of the contingent.

  “Listen here! Listen, deviants of Cork Town, women of genetic aberration. Times are changing around us, and that’s here in Cork Town, too. You’ve heard of the male birth, well worth celebrating indeed. But even with this news, I must warn you. Men may be few, but among you, right now, here in Cork Town, there are traitors among them. Be wise in your words and movements, and honest with the Guard, as we are as much here to protect you as to maintain peace.” She paused and inhaled deeply. “Today I am here for Frederick of the twelfth line! I am looking for Frederick of the twelfth line!”

  “Freddie?” someone spoke, hushed. “What could he have done?”

  “Frederick of the twelfth line! Make yourself known!”

  “Ma’am, what if he’s not here?”

  “He is here. We know he is here. Frederick, make yourself known or suffer worse consequences.”

  Nothing moved across the market except for the breeze flapping through the awnings of food stalls.

  Every voice held back, the rhythm of every heartbeat accelerated. Ariane could feel the fear running through the crowd. Her brain absorbed the sensation and then dismissed it. There was nothing for Ariane to fear; they weren’t looking for her. If it was necessary, she would reveal her identity. But she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  “Is there no one who will produce this treacherous man?”

  The Lead Guard received no response.

  “Not one of you?”

  She waited a moment as every single body remained frozen in place.

  The Lead Guard took her time turning back to the contingent. She spoke quietly, but not so quiet that Ariane couldn’t hear her. She’d always been able to hear whispering from far off. The forced breath grabbed her attention because it usually meant secrets being shared. Or else it was a mother comforting a child. In both cases, Ariane listened closely.

  “We gave them a chance. You know what to do.”

  Nothing and no one moved.

  Then, with a battle cry that was out of place in the city, the Guard lifted their batons high and spread amongst the few thousand people gathered at the market. Gravel kicked up from under their boots as they ran, dust rising high as women across the market sought cover. Ariane didn’t move. She stayed in her spot, waiting, watching.

  The guards grabbed collars, arms, and necks.

  “You know where he is.”

  “Speak now or regret it!”

  They slashed down, skulls cracked and women screamed.

  A guard stepped in front of the cart where Ariane remained crouched.

  The uniformed body lowered and Ariane’s mind went blank.

  “How about you, child? Are you a traitor, too? Where is your loyalty?”

  “I am loyal to the Queen.”

  “Then tell me, where is this man?”

  “I’m not from here.”

  “Deviant child,” the guard’s hand swooped under the cart and grabbed Ariane’s shirt, dragging her out into the sunlight. “Do not make me do something you’ll regret. Where is the man?”

  “I have only just come here today.”

  A broad hand slapped her across the face. “Where is he?”

  Ariane’s breath grew shallow, “I’m telling you, I’m not from here.”

  “I’ve got him!” a voice called from across the square.

  The guard dropped her. Ariane landed on her knees, skinning them, though they were quickly healed. When she looked up she felt a wave of something electrical. Her eyes scanned across the vendors hiding in their stalls, women fallen in the square, bleeding. One woman’s head was so bad that Ariane couldn’t see which side had her face.

  And then she saw it.

  Red hair.

  She saw it and she felt it.

  Something so familiar though she’d never seen it before, neither the hair nor the swatch of deformed face behind it.

  Right there and then was the first time the voices came so clearly to her. Their voices rang high pitched, nails scraping metal inside her head. And they spoke of the red hair.

  “Her!”

  “Unworthy imposter.”

  “Mistake of heritage!”

  “She feigns to be you.”

  “She predates you, but don’t be fooled!”

  “She is a genetic fraud!”

  “Just look at her, she cannot possibly be Queen.”

  Ariane pushed the voices away. She didn’t know how she did it, but with a wisp of her consciousness, they were back in a box, buried somewhere within her.

  The girl with the red hair, from what Ariane could see, didn’t seem much older than her. She pulled a cape over her head as Ariane watched her retreat further under the vendor stall. What possible danger was there from her? What genetic fraud could she be?

  But Ariane couldn’t deny there was some magic in the girl’s way, just in her breath, her movement so smooth and effortless even in the face of the Guard. Ariane recognized it.

  The girl moved in the same way she did. She couldn’t tell what it was, couldn’t identify the exact thing that pulled her to the conclusion, but nonetheless, Ariane knew.

  She had to ask her mother.

  Ariane waited until night fell before again moving through the city. She covered the six miles from her lodgings to the fortress in steps unseen. She ran at a speed most eyes would miss unless they were looking for her.

  She scaled the fortress walls without a thought. Errant stones in its walls made easy footholds. She arrived on the roof and strode to the Queen’s bedroom, all the while avoiding the patrolling Guard. The Guard didn’t monitor the roof.

  No one ever came through the roof.

  Ariane hopped down onto the Queen’s balcony, her feet landing like feathers drifting.

  Only the click of the window gave her away. The Queen, her mother, seated at her bureau, shot up and across the room. She grabbed Ariane by the arm.

  “What do you think you�
��re doing here?” The Queen’s voice was mute, but her lips and air screamed in Ariane’s ears.

  “I have a right to know,” Ariane silently snarled.

  “To what do you think you have any right?” Maeva’s hand released and she crossed her arms. “You do not seem to understand your station.”

  “I get it. I was born for one reason only and the rest is up to me to make happen. But you hold back from me,” Ariane felt her lip curling. “Who is she with the red hair?”

  Maeva’s arms dropped to her sides and her olive complexion turned white. “What do you know of anyone with red hair?”

  Ariane could tell she was putting on a facade. Her mother knew. And she wasn’t telling her.

  “Quit the theatrics, Mother! The voices have already told me much. All I need to know is how much of an enemy she is.”

  “Enemy? Her?” The Queen laughed. “Is this your great intuition? A deviant who bears some genetic resemblance to you suddenly appears from the woodwork and you cry insurgency? Your instinct is raw, untrained.”

  But Ariane was unconvinced.

  “Then why are you so defensive, Mother?”

  Maeva stepped closer to Ariane, looking down her nose as hot air from her nostrils stung Ariane’s cheek. “Incubating you was a mistake. My hand was forced. And now you show up in the middle of the night expecting me to give you all the answers? Ariane, you have much to learn of the circumstances in which we live. Some deviant with red hair is the least of your concerns.”

  Her Queen Mother took a couple of steps back.

  “You feel the surges through your blood? You hear the Queens of Before? You think they have all the answers?”

  Ariane felt a trap. “They live inside me.”

  “They don’t live inside you. They are parasites.” Maeva strolled to her bureau, fanning her velvet skirt wide as she sat. “You want to understand those voices? Get out of Geb. Go find their origin. No doubt they’ll lead you to the answers you seek.”

  Ariane blinked. This was the longest conversation she’d had with her mother in years. And the first she’d heard of any origin.