Revelations (The Elysium Chronicles) (16 page)

I glance up at Asher. “That’s a car,” I say, astonished.

He chuckles. “Yes, it’s a car. It’s my grandmother’s car, in fact.”

“It works?” I ask, dumbfounded and continuing to stare at the big machine. It looks the same as those other ones—the ones in the abandoned city—but it’s shiny and actually moving. It’s kind of pretty, really.

This time he snorts and his laugh is deep, seeming to come from deep in his chest. “I should hope so, or Grandmother wouldn’t be a very happy woman.”

As if on cue a person rushes around to the back of the car from the opposite side and pulls a lever on the side of it. A door opens and a woman with steel gray hair steps through the opening. She smiles when she sees Asher, then turns the smile to me, but it wobbles and her eyes widen when I smile back.

She shoots a glance at Asher. “This is her?” she asks in this deep, smoky voice.

He nods and slips an arm around my waist, pulling me toward him in a possessive manner I’m not entirely sure I like. “Yes. This is Evie.”

She grabs my chin gently in her surprisingly smooth hands. She stares at me and I firm my lips into a line. I don’t like how closely she’s studying me, as if she recognizes me somehow. Then she startles me when her lip quivers and her eyes become shiny.

“Eli,” she whispers.

I peek at Asher, who knit his brow together.

“Grandma?” he asks.

She steps away with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry, dear. For a minute, you reminded me of someone I used to know.” She hugs Asher and pulls me into the same hug. “Come on. You’ll both be more comfortable after a hot shower and some clean clothes.”

Wary, but grateful, I step forward into the car and slither onto the car’s backseat next to Asher’s grandma and wait for Asher to slide in after me.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

Adolescent female of European descent. Extreme pallor, signs of dehydration, multiple wounds in various stages of healing. Patient cooperative, but semi-conscious, unable to provide any details of how injuries were sustained.

—
E
XCERPT FROM
T
REATMENT
N
OTE OF
R
USHLAKE
C
ITY PHYSICIAN

Evie

Asher’s grandmother hands both Asher and me bottles of water, but warns us to drink slowly. However, both of us are too thirsty to listen and we gulp down three of the bottles before the car even starts moving. My stomach clenches at first, but I will myself to keep the liquid down. I’m not going to waste a drop.

I’m just finishing my third bottle when we zoom away from the curb. Even though I haven’t been in the car that long the heat inside makes me sleepy. It seems all the walking—stumbling—with little to no sleep has taken its toll. Even still, I can’t help but gawk at the city as we pass each building. I’ve never seen anything like it. With the sun rising over the horizon, the sky is an orangish color that’s reflected directly on the glass structures, giving Rushlake City a lost-in-a-rainbow look.

Rainbows are one of my absolute favorite things here. The first time I saw one was right after getting home—Gavin’s house—after being in the hospital. Right before sunset, a double rainbow arced across the sky. It was gorgeous. I had to run to get Gavin and have him tell me what it was. The city reminds me of that moment. Impressive. Simply gorgeous. And it takes my breath away to look at it.

As we travel, Asher leans over and points out different buildings and landmarks. They’re so completely different from the ones in the village. Even though it’s obvious they’re older than the newest buildings in the village—and much, much taller—everything is practically perfect. There are no cracks. The windows glimmer. They’re actually pretty. And clean. Really, really clean. As if they’ve never seen a spot of dirt in their lives. With all the dirt and sand and mud I’ve seen just in the last few days, I don’t even know how that’s possible.

The tall buildings are called skyscrapers and they hold a host of different businesses. From things called banks to restaurants and everything in between. Interspersed between the skyscrapers are smaller single-business buildings. On one corner there is a smallish building made completely out of metal and glass. Asher says it’s his favorite restaurant. He says it serves pizza, and the way he describes it makes my mouth water.

When we get to the city center, he points out a park. It’s still foggy as the sun burns away the cold of night, but I can see the beautiful trees and shrubs. And, in the very center, a tall statue of a man.

I turn to Asher. “Is that a real statue?”

He nods, but doesn’t smile like I expected. “That’s Michael Rush, founder of Rushlake City.” He gives me a look. “Well, he’s sort of the founder. This was originally a part of a different, larger city, but during the War the main municipality was destroyed. I’m not exactly sure how the whole story goes, but he owned a lot of the land on this peninsula. When the city was destroyed, the connecting piece of land was severed and this part became an island. After the War, Michael Rush rebuilt the city and built walls around the entire island to protect it. He became the city manager and anyone who wanted to have protection from the dangerous Outlands could come here. If they could afford to pay the Tithe.”

“Tithe?”

“It’s basically a protection tax. You pay him a certain amount every month, or year, or whatever and he keeps you safe and sound.” He looks past me, out the window. “It works, because this place is almost exactly like cities were before the War. Sure, some things are different as technology and everything gets better, but for those who wanted things to be the same—for the ones who wanted to pretend like it never happened—this is perfect for them. And they’re willing to pay for it. Pay for the illusion of safety. For a false peace. Deceptive freedoms.” He looks back at me, his eyes dark, hard, and cold. “Even if sometimes the cost is
more
than just money.”

“Asher…” his grandmother says with a warning in her voice.

He clears his throat and as he does it, his eyes clear, too. “And … it looks like we’re almost home.”

I want to know more about the protection tax, but I’m sure I won’t get any answers when his grandmother is around. So I turn my attention back to the passing landscape. On either side of the car are smaller buildings. They remind me a bit of Gavin’s house, but they’re squished closer together and they’re taller, which makes them look thinner. I stare at them, but I don’t pay them much attention. My mind keeps wandering to Gavin and I fight to keep it focused on what is happening now. If I think about him, I’ll worry, and there’s no reason to worry right now. He’s coming. I know he is. He’s just a little behind.

The driver pulls up in front of one of the larger houses and gets out to open the door as he did before. Asher’s grandmother steps out first, then Asher scoots around me and turns to offer me his hand.

His grandmother’s house is stunning. Easily the most amazing of all the houses on this street. Judging by the windows, it’s three stories tall, which is the same as Gavin’s house but this one seems larger somehow, more imposing. Concrete steps lead up to a set of magnificent wood and glass doors. On either side of that, two large windows jut out from the brick siding at strange angles.

“What do you think?” Asher asks in my ear.

“It’s … it’s amazing.” I can’t keep the awe from my voice.

“Are you going to keep the girl in the cold all day, Asher?” his grandmother asks.

He shakes himself and says, “Uh … no.” He looks a little embarrassed, but offers me his arm to help me up the steps. “This way.”

Just before I pass through the door a blast of freezing wind makes me shiver.

“Let’s get you to your room,” Asher says. “You can take a nice hot shower. By that time, I’m sure Cook will have breakfast ready.”

I nod and let him escort me to my room. Along the way I stare, amazed at how much wood is in the house. Everything is wood. The stairs. The walls. The furniture in the rooms I pass. Even the floors.

The most surprising—in a completely fantastic way—is the bathroom. Two large wooden doors open into a large room at least twice the size of Gavin’s bathroom. The walls have pretty gray tile crawling halfway up the walls. The rest of the wall to the ceiling, which is I don’t know how many meters above my head and has a window in it that I can see through to the beautiful blue sky, is more wood.

Attached to this first room is another, smaller room, which has big black square tiles up the entire wall and along the floor. Upon closer inspection, I realize that the smaller room is actually a really large, luxurious shower. Glass doors section that room in half with one half being the shower, and the other holding white robes on hooks. Underneath the hooks, towels are folded neatly on a wooden bench.

In the main part of the room, there’s a low-to-the-ground, egg-shaped bathtub where the faucet comes straight out of the wood paneling, allowing water to fall into the tub. It looks deliciously inviting, but I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep if I use it, so I figure I’ll shower instead.

Asher shows me where everything is and how it all works. It’s different from the village. For one, we don’t have to ration the water. I can take as long of a shower as I want. And there’s a heater built into the ceiling. I don’t even have to switch on a pump like at Gavin’s house.

The hot water sluices away days of dirt and grime, stinging the fresh wounds on my leg and shoulder, while the old bullet wound just stirs with its familiar throb. As refreshing as the water is, I’m achy, and confused, and my heart feels heavy every time I think of Gavin. Which is pretty much always. I don’t bother to look at any of the scrapes and cuts and bruises crisscrossing my body, and I specifically avoid looking at my shoulder.

When I finish, I slip into one of the robes, then limp into the bedroom. Asher’s grandmother is waiting for me. She’s sitting on the bed, holding something red and silky-looking in her weathered hands. She holds out the fabric when she sees me.

“Here, they’re pajamas. They should fit you well enough.”

With a murmured “Thank you,” I take them, and hobble back into the bathroom to pull them on. They’re cool to the touch and so soft I can’t help but coo a little when the fabric rubs against my wind, sand, and sunburned skin.

When I come back, adjusting the top over the bottoms, Asher and his grandmother are sitting at a little table in the corner of the bedroom. There are bowls set out and when I sit at the empty seat, Asher ladles soup into the bowl in front of me.

At first I gobble it down, along with the bread his grandmother places on a plate next to me. Asher does the same and there’s no other sound except the scraping of our spoons against the bowls and the occasional slurp as we drink.

But my mind keeps circling back around to Gavin. How he’s still out there. Somewhere. Probably hungry and hurt. Burning under the heat of the sun as it shoves the chill of night rudely away. All of the things Asher and I were, but now aren’t. I don’t know what else to do about it, though, so I just keep eating. Keep feeling guilty. Keep aching for him.

Finally full, I push the bowl away and rest my chin on my palm as Asher and his grandmother get caught up. I’m trying to come up with a plan to find Gavin, but my eyelids feel so heavy I’m having trouble keeping them open. Eventually I stop fighting it and close them, promising myself that I’m just going to rest my eyes and let myself drift to the ebb and flow of their voices.

After a few minutes, his grandmother says, “Aw, the poor dear. She’s falling asleep in her soup.” There’s a pause before she continues, “You used to do that when you were a babe. It was so cute to see your little head bob and sway as you tried to stay awake, but couldn’t.”

“Grandma,” Asher sighs. Then, even though I don’t hear the chair move, I feel myself being lifted.

Asher grunts a little when he picks me up, then he places me in the bed and pulls the soft blankets over me. I fall instantly to sleep.

*   *   *

I wake in a panic, my mind swirling with images of Gavin and giant birds. Those horrible beast-dogs. I sit straight up, gasping and scanning for danger. It takes me a minute to calm down and remember I’m in Asher’s grandmother’s house and I’m safe. Well. Safe from anything other than myself. My mind immediately goes to Gavin and how we just left him. In the woods. With man-eating birds. To die.

“No! He isn’t dead,” I say aloud. He’s a fighter. He’s probably just slower than we were. We had a horse for most of it, after all. And we found that underground place. That probably cut off kilometers from our trip. Maybe he’s just stuck outside the gates and they won’t let him in.

But all my reasoning fails to silence the nagging voice in my head that tells me he’s dead. And it’s my fault. For being weak. For being soft. For being damaged.

Because, if I’d been none of those, we wouldn’t have been out there in the first place.

There’s a knock on the door and I sit up straighter in the bed. I force a smile to my lips when Asher pokes his head around the door. “Hey, you’re awake! Wonderful. I was getting worried there.”

I give him a confused smile. “Why?”

“You’ve been asleep for almost thirty-six hours. The doctors said your body just needed the sleep, though. I guess they were right. Are you hungry?”

Thirty-six
hours
? An entire day and half of another?
Surely
Gavin’s arrived by now. I peer around Asher to see if anyone else came with him. “Where’s Gavin?”

His mouth draws into a straight, thin line. He picks at something on his shirt; then, when he realizes what he’s doing, he shoves his hands in his pockets before looking down at this feet. “He’s…” He clears his throat, and I want to throw something at him. Part of me already knows what he’s going to say. “… he hasn’t arrived … yet.”

Even though part of me had been expecting that answer, I still have to stop myself from screeching
What?
“I’ve been here almost two days and he’s
still
not here?”