Gentle Chains (The Eleyi Saga Book 1) Read online

  Gentle Chains

  Book 1 of The Eleyi Saga

  Nazarea Andrews

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of any wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction including brands or products.

  Copyright © 2015 by Nazarea Andrews.

  GENTLE CHAINS by Nazarea Andrews

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by A&A Literary.

  Summary: Stolen from their home, and sold into slavery, psychic twins Juhan and Chosi cling to the hope of finding each other and returning home.

  ISBN 978-0-9894799-8-1

  1. Space Opera. 2. Psychics. 3. Romance.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  For information, address 3106 Hilton Ave Suite 121 Columbus GA, 31904.

  www.nazareaandrews.com

  Edited by Brianna Shrum

  Cover design by Melissa Stevens of The Illustrated Author

  Cover art copyright©: Nazarea Andrews

  Ebook Formatting by A&A Literary

  For Chantee—

  Who has held my hand and talked me down, and told me to focus.

  And who has loved every single version of this story, almost as much as I do.

  Chapter 1

  Chosi’le

  CREATURES OF THE SKY are not meant to be in water, yet here I am. All because I made a stupid dare with my brother. Again.

  As the warm water closes around me, crushing my wings to my back, I fight the urge to gulp for breath. I have to relax. I’m safe. I don’t need to breathe as long as I have the amphibious gel to filter oxygen for me. I stretch my mind, feeling the eels and fish, the dim awareness of the plant life, the peaceful edge of Eleyi sentries in the treetops. If I try hard enough, I can see them in my mind—pale and humanoid, with the gorgeous, multi-colored wings that set us apart from the humans who settled this planet. Our ancestors.

  I should be there, in the trees. Not held down by water and unable to fly.

  An eel darts past, and I jerk away from its barbed tail, but it’s already gone. I look around—I’m alone. Which can only mean Juhan’tr is about to back out of his end of the dare.

  -Get your skinny ass in here,- I demand on a psychic thread, my mind to his, twisting to look through the water to the shimmering surface.

  I feel his laughter, the edge of his intent before he dives. I jerk backward, almost out of his grasp. Juhan was always faster than me. His long fingers close around my ankle and I thrash, irritation swamping me. I open my mouth to inhale and shout at him.

  It breaks the gel seal that is letting me breathe, and I choke as sticky sweet water floods my mouth.

  -Close your mouth, you idiot,- my brother orders -you’re not a fish.- I glare at him as I obey, the amphibious gel sealing with a soft ‘pop’.

  He smirks. -This was your idea.-

  He mellows the jab by twisting to grasp my hand. It is familiar enough to settle me and I glance around again. Brilliant water lilies bob at us, a quiet thrum of psychic energy running through them, drawing the fish that scatter their seed pods. The water, tinted a soft orange by the Eltei roots, tickles as it disturbs my wet wings.

  I glance at my brother and see the awe in his eyes. All around us, swarms of brilliant purple kenkark fish glide by, silently sucking at the water as their double wings swirls circles, churning the water above and around us, obscuring everything but their jewel bright tones.

  -Deeper?- Juhan nudges and I grin, nodding.

  He dives first, and I watch him, the water streamlining his dark hair, pinning his emerald-toned dragonfly wings to his back. Like this, he can almost pass as human, all long slender limbs and effortless grace. Juhan twists his head, looking at me curiously. I dart after him.

  The roots of the Eltei trees, as thick as my waist and the bright orange of the Eltei leaves, sink past us, disappearing in the deep water. I jackknife, swimming down to the undisturbed depths. Far below me is the silent presence of something ancient and calm, soothing some of my own jangled nerves.

  When our ancestors first came to Eleyiar, they lived on the water and the Eleyi trees never slept. That was lifetimes—dozens of lifetimes—ago. Now, no one is brave enough to venture into the water. No one will risk being found by the slavers without a way to escape.

  The thought makes my wings twitch. I can’t fly until they dry. -I’m going deeper,- I say impulsively, and feel Juhan’tr hesitating behind me. -It won’t take long.-

  -We have to get back before Mother realizes we’re gone,- he reminds me, but he dives, following me deeper.

  One of the trees is waking, slowly. The leaves and submerged branches stretch gradually. Silt bursts upward in plumes as the roots shift, obscuring the planet floor. A sentient presence—vast and gentle—brushes my mind. I glance at my brother. -How long has it been, since we lived in the water?- I ask him.

  -Since the first great Taking—a hundred and fifty years. No one left the treetops after that,- he answers, awe filling his eyes again.

  This is why he came—not because I wanted to swim, something we have never done. He came for the chance to see the roots, to feel their thoughts drifting on the orange waves. I smile at him and go through a curve of root, brushing aside a weave of moss.

  I feel the sharp spike of fear from my brother a heartbeat before the net snaps closed around me.

  Juhan’tr

  We shouldn’t have come.

  I knew better than to listen to her; she’s always too damn impulsive. I glance around as she screams, a wash of bubbles obscuring my sight. They could be anywhere—or nowhere. Slavers are adept at traps.

  -Calm down,- I snap. Her panic is spilling out of her, slamming into me, shattering the mental walls that have never kept her out. She thrashes against the net, but I can see it’s useless—it gleams silver in the water, strangely foreign in the undisturbed nature. I’d bet my wings the metal is an alloy neither of us can break.

  -Can you get me out?- she asks, the forced calm she’s always assumed when she was falling apart settling over her.

  I shake my head and she inhales sharply—behind her mental walls, her mind is a jumble of fear and panic. I force myself to ignore it and grasp the root, frantically looking for the trap’s trigger, anything that can help me free her. I can feel the slavers, their psyches a dark spangle of stars clustering into us like the inevitability of a black hole.

  -Juhan, you could get me out,- she says, and I follow her mental trail to the idea. Me, using my abilities to control the slavers. I recoil, jerking from her mind, shocked. Using my gifts against someone is so anathema to who I am, it’s impossible to entertain.

  Distantly, I feel a surge of triumph, from the approaching minds, and we both go still, her wide eyes finding mine. Slavers—they were closer than I’d thought.

  -Go,- she snarls. -Tell Papa.-

  I hesitate, imagining his reaction—the flicker of terror, the calm acceptance, the bitter disappointment that will never fade. Even if he tried to keep it from me, it would taint every emotion, every telepathic thought.

  And I could never forgive myself if I left her to slavers. I dart forward, yanking a knife from Chosi’s ankle sheath, and saw awkwardly at the net. The slavers’ minds are ordered chaos above me, swirling deeper, and I grit
my teeth—tiny bubbles pop, the amphibious gel giving way.

  -It’s useless, Juhan. Don’t let them take us both—you could buy me back, but only if you go,- Chosi snaps and I shake my head, my hair obscuring my vision for a moment. This is useless—I am useless. What kind of brother am I, if I can’t save her?

  My psyche is bitter, and she flinches as she absorbs it. -The Others never let Eleyi buy each other, even if Father could afford it. If I came to the auction, I’d be in chains at the next sale. I’d rather be with you from the start.- I drop the knife, and watch it spiral down into the darkness.

  Her eyes widen in anger and she hisses, snapping at me. I feel her fury like a palatable wave.

  And then, the slavers are here, swarming around us with brutal efficiency. I have just a moment to taste the surprise on their auras, feel the jitter of excitement, before one yanks on my wings. Pain flares, hot and blinding, along my back. I feel Chosi’s anger exploding outward, a mini-shockwave that does nothing but push me into the waiting blackness.

  Chapter 2

  Chosi’le

  A SLAVER IS GRIPPING Juhan by the wings. I scream again, choking on my anger and the water flooding past my broken gel seal.

  A slaver darts toward me, antennae probing the orange water. Large black eyes swivel, assessing me. Its emotions are a mix of anticipation and pleased surprise—even without understanding the gibbering nonsense of its thoughts, I know it’s happy with our capture.

  And below the slaver’s mind, below my anger and the void where Juhan should be—are the sentient trees, the damn trees that I used to lure my brother from the branches. -Another one,- I hear the thoughts of the tree echoing in my mind, and I gasp. No one hears the trees anymore.-Come to us, only to be lost. You’ll leave now. We won’t touch your thoughts again.- The voice is thick with sorrow, and it pulls at my psyche until I want to weep, and rage.

  The net jerks upward and I shriek, a silent protest as I am slammed into a large root. The tree cries with me, and I close my eyes against its thoughts. What will Papa think when we don’t return? How long will they search for us? Will they bother?

  The slavers holding Juhan clamp a metal cuff to his wrist before they start toward the surface, trailing bubbles behind them.

  I strain against the net, pushing at it with my limp wings. Once Juhan is gone, the remaining slavers converge on me. I shudder at the sight of their shiny, insectile faces, the probing antennae, the pincers on their second set of arms, the blank intensity they exhibit as they scuttle through the water like overgrown earwigs.

  Yalten. Of all the Others, it had to be them.

  The assent is painful—they jerk my net along with no regard to what I hit. A school of fish scatters when I burst through it. When I bob to the surface, a slaver yanks me from the orange water and dumps me, dripping and limp, onto the bottom of their skiff. They gibber again, and one leans down to slap a cuff on me.

  A sharp spear of pain stabs through me and I shudder, my wings seizing tight against my back. I fight the scream that’s choking my breath, and my vision blurs as an electron current arcs through me from the cuff. I try to breathe and choke on the amphib gel. With no water to filter oxygen from, the amphib gel is useless, filling my mouth and choking me. I cough, gagging as I spit it out. I struggle toward Juhan, ignoring the pain in my body as I clear the gel from his mouth and he takes a shuddering breath.

  “Prisoners are not allowed to touch,” one of the slavers snaps, a nasal series of clacking snicks that makes my skin crawl.

  I blink past the pain and stare in confusion around me.

  “Can you understand me?” the Yalten demands, and I realize I do. He reaches out and backhands, hard exoskeleton slamming into me, pain criss crossing across my vision, like a fedlin spider spinning a web, a thousand electric strands spun a thousand directions. Coppery blood floods my mouth and I fall back against the skiff. He leans over, grabbing a handful of my pale blonde hair and yanking my head up. “I asked you a question.”

  Without thinking, I spit the blood at him, satisfaction flaring in me when it smacks his shiny face with a wet slap. Rage darkens his psyche and he slams the back of my head against the skiff. I scream, high and shrill. Distantly, I feel the spike of alarm in our sentries. But they are in the treetops. They’ll never get here in time to stop the skiff. And they are Eleyi sentries—they watch, they don’t fight. Even if we were not pacifists, they would not risk capture.

  The Yalten drops me, and I huddle on the bottom of the boat, blood leaking from my lip, dripping onto the metal cuff.

  “Learn to watch that temper, leech, or you’ll never make it to the auction house,” the Yalten says. He wipes my blood from his face and smears it into my wet suit.

  I can barely sense the sentries now--they are too far, even soaring through the treetops.

  -Chosi’le. Juhan’tr. Tell our father. Tell our mother,- I scream across the telepathic thread, and I feel their hesitation. -You can’t save us. They’re Yalten. Tell our family.-

  Again, there is a moment of hesitation, and then the sentries fall back. There is nothing they can do--not against the sheer numbers and savagery of the Yalten.

  I hate the sentries for it—for abandoning us.

  -Farewell and starry skies, sister,- one whispers across the thread, a wash of empathy coming from the others.

  And then they are gone.

  Juhan’tr

  Space sickness wakes me.

  I retch, my stomach heaving as I throw up, a splash of orange water that splatters on the iron grating. I heave again and again, until my muscles ache and my throat feels raw and nothing but a thin string of spit hangs from my mouth.

  Space. We’re off-planet. I can feel it in the anxious cramping of my belly, the lightness of my wings, the pressure of the ship’s grav field pushing against me. Panic threatens, and I shiver.

  -Juhan.-

  I twist and see Chosi’le a few feet away. Her face is bloody, and she sags against the bulkhead. My stomach drops, nausea and guilt flooding me. I shift, scrambling toward her. Electricity crackles through me as I reach for her, and I yelp, falling back.

  -Prisoners are allowed no contact,- she says the words mocking. I can taste the anger in her, barely restrained. -Sit back.-

  I hardly realize I have obeyed until I’m sitting. She refuses to look at me, so I take a quick glance around. The hold is spacious—under other circumstances, it might be comfortable. But it’s crowded with Eleyi, almost all of them very young—chubby with baby fat, still in that gawky stage before their bodies catch up to the size of their wings. I catch sight of a tan little redhead girl with crimson butterfly wings. She looks familiar—like the little girl I’ve seen skipping around the trees with my tutor. His missing niece. For the first time, panic seeps in—all of these children were Taken.

  I’ve been Taken.

  My hands shake and I clench them into fists, aware of Chosi’s careful attention on me.

  I force my mental voice to stay steady when I ask, -Is that Kendle’ka?-

  Chosi glances in the girl’s direction. -Yes. Poor thing hasn’t stopped crying since we arrived.-

  How long has it been? I see her twitch, a miniscule response to my confusion. Being psychic telepaths doesn’t offer much room for hiding things—being twins leaves less.

  -I told the sentries. They’ll tell Mother and Papa,- she says across the thread to me, and I can feel the curious nudges of other Eleyi touching my mind. Chosi’s psychic touch is heavy, guilty, and that worries me. –They didn’t fight for us,- she adds, angrily. -They should have fought for us.-

  I feel the minds around us recoiling—it makes our people uneasy, talk of fighting. It makes me uneasy—nervous and sick to my stomach. I’m used to it, though—Chosi has never been as peaceful as I am.

  She finally looks at me, and something in her gaze is raw and bleak. I shudder. -The slavers are Yalten.-

  I look away—there was hope, before. Hope that we could escape, hope that we co
uld get home. Now, the only hope is that we’re bound for the auction houses and not the Scarlet Stain.

  Chosi is quiet after that, closing in on herself in a way that she has rarely done. I’m so accustomed to her constant presence in my mind it’s almost more terrifying than the slavers. Almost.

  Of all the Others who have come to Eleyiar for slaves, the Yalten are the worst. They have no pity, no remorse—and they never stop. An insectile race broken into tribes fanatically loyal to their queens, they travel in hordes—if you see four, there are sure to be twenty. They aren’t psychic, but they work with a hive mind, taking orders directly from the queen they live and die for.

  More Eleyi are stolen by Yalten slavers than all Others together. And no one has been rescued from the Yalten. Ever.

  I watch as a horde descends into the hold, watch the young Eleyi around me backing away from them. A Yalten male steps on an Eleyi female’s wing, ripping it, and I flinch at her scream. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t react to the pain in her voice. He doesn’t do anything at all to acknowledge her.

  I wait for him to walk away, then inch toward her. A shield of electricity springs up and I yelp.

  -Stop it,- Chosi hisses at me. She’s glaring at the slaver walking toward us, but there is something desperate in her. -Don’t bother, Juhan--it’s not worth it.-

  -They’re children, Chos. We have to care for them,- I protest, stunned.

  -We have to survive. We can’t protect them if we’re dead.-

  A Yalten is walking toward us, his antennae pricked and waving. His thoughts are a foreign mess—I can’t understand the language in which he thinks. But I can feel his emotions, his gloating triumph. “Are you feeling a bit more cooperative, leech?” he asks.