Canellian Eye: Rebellion: Canellian Eye, #2

By Caroline Noe

The Canellian Eye saga continues in the wake of unbearable tragedy.

Disaster stalks The Chosen of Canellia, their Great Prophecy crushed beneath brutal slavery on the planet Elyacia.

Left to shoulder the burden of a martyr, Istran grows to manhood, struggling with feelings of inadequacy and failure, unable to prevent his people sinking further and further from escape.

Abandoned by the One God, survivors forsake their faith. Hatred festers below the surface, needing but a single spark to erupt into something unspeakable. Their tormentors must suffer as they have and the innocent fall, sacrificed on the altar of bloody rebellion.

And yet, concealed in the most unlikely place, lies a secret that will change everything.

 

268 pages

 

Praise for Canellian Eye: Rebellion

Noe sucks you right in, endearing you to both sides and making it twice as hard when blood spills.

Rebellion sets this series on fire.

I didn't think that this series could get any better after the first book. Wrong!

Ilvaas, the scum bucket, deserves villain of the year award.

Gritty, heartfelt and engrossing

An unbelievable thrill ride.

 

About the Author

Caroline Noe lives in London, juggling the writing of fantasy and science fiction novels with her other great love: photography. When she's not scratching holes in notebooks, she can be found standing on her head, straining for the best shot.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Caroline Noe
• Release date: Jul 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223014522

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The emerald droplet slid down a runway of turquoise skin and splashed into thirsty dirt, already stained red with the blood of his competitors. They had taken to forming alliances lately, attempting to outmanoeuvre him by stealth and cheating, but he had grown up in the arena and was equal to their schemes. The nerves in his back screamed fire; an ever present reminder of Elyacian hatred, no matter how loud the crowd cheered. That kick in the spine when he was a child, almost twenty years ago, would eventually cripple him, but not today. Today he would win; he needed the money.

He wiped the blood and sweat from his left eye. It was smearing his vision, courtesy of a small cut to the forehead. The huge Elyacian had caught him a glancing blow before he nosedived into the dirt and broke his wrist. The mammoth was busy crawling away to cradle his injury, a look of murder on his face. Looks never bothered Istran. Hidden knives, now they could kill you. The Games Master turned a blind eye to infringement of the rules; he knew the crowd relished the possibility of sudden death amidst the point scoring.

Vision clearing, Istran spun to face his opponents. The blazing sun scorched the sand, bleaching out the centre of the arena and turning it into a cauldron. Squinting against the glare, he spotted the one ball left in his box, painted green for the crowd’s childish amusement. Just one more shot to win his ninth straight Games; a record in the illiterate annals of Elyacian sporting history. Only three rivals remained after the demise of the huge and slow-witted. These were leaner, sharper and, in their own miserable way, just as desperate, but they were Elyacian and to be Canellian was to be stronger.

Istran took off in a sprint, as though reacting to a starting gun, hurtling towards his foes with a fearsome snarl. They froze, hesitating for a split second. It was enough. Grabbing the wrist of one, he planted a foot in the chest of another and pushed up and over their heads, turning in mid air to land next to the remaining ball. Searing pain shot through every nerve in his seizing back, but he ignored it. His mother was enduring worse agony with every passing moment.

Grasping the stone ball, he drew back his arm, tightened every muscle in his body and unleashed a colossal throw. The stone weight whistled through the air as though it were a pebble, shot through the hoop, barely a hair’s breadth of space to spare, and dropped into the dirt with a thud of finality.

The hollering, shrieking crowd rose to their feet as one, the upper stratas hammering on their seats to salute the victor with a visceral cascade of noise. Istran found the adulation sickening - every one of them would plunge a dagger into his back for the fun of it – but for now it was necessary to play the game.

He stood as straight as his back would allow and raised the red banner of victory above his head. As his eyeline rose to the centre of the upper strata, he saw them: his once friends, his fellow Canellians, hiding within the shell of those they had murdered at the behest of a long dead Prophet. Istran didn’t blame Quaylan for abandoning his people to this living nightmare. The dream of New Canellia had faltered long before his idol met an early death. None of that was relevant anymore. They must survive and that had been his responsibility for all his adult life.

Even at this distance, he could sense the unease of the changers, as Ilvaas called them, although that monster had no idea that they stood beside him. The First Minister of Elyacia, the Slave Master, had vacated the ignominy of his birth for a position next to King Brewan and trusted the spot tests of the Chief Physician to keep them safe. Frayn had lurked inside Healer Cal for so long that Istran could barely remember his true face or those of Palaxa and Yix within the Klays.

Strangely, the one face of truth belonged to an Elyacian Princess. Twenty years had barely marred Drel’s beauty, even as she approached her fortieth birthday. A few strands of grey shot through ebony hair and tiny lines surrounding her eyes were all that gave her away. A memory arose: painting a sad young woman, hiding in a dark ship. They had ripped her daughter from her arms and tortured her lover, yet she peered down at him with true pity, remembering the boy he once was. He turned away; those feelings could offer neither of them comfort now.

*  *  *

Escaping the searing heat of the arena for the relative coolness of the contestants’ waiting area, the newly decorated winner of the Primax Games slumped against a stone wall and gulped down a cup of tepid water. He couldn’t afford to rest there much longer. His back was already going into spasm and would soon seize completely. They must not see how crippled he was; his family’s safety depended on it. Istran grasped the edge of a nearby table and hauled himself to his feet. This day’s work was not yet done.

The Games Master lounged on lumpy cushions and kicked a Canellian slave, who immediately fanned the fat despot with more gusto. It was simple enough to turn on the giant fan above his head, but then he wouldn’t have the enjoyment of humiliating the slave.

Istran didn’t meet the eyes of his countryman as he walked through the archway; he was too busy using all his concentration not to limp. A leather pouch was tossed in his direction, which he caught and thrust into his pocket. There was no need to check the payment. The thrower made a hundred times that amount by placing bets on his Canellian pet and had no desire to test his resolve by cheating him of his meagre share. Their contract remained intact until Istran was defeated and then it would be over.

You’re getting slow. That big one nearly had you.

The Games Master shifted onto his side, flesh wobbling under the strain, and filled his mouth with a long rasher of fried meat. Grease ran down his arm and dripped off his elbow. The fanning Canellian cringed with disgust.

Have to give the crowd a show, Istran replied, turning to leave.

You’re only of use to me if you win. Remember that.

Istran didn’t bother to reply. Loyalty was not a concept Elyacia understood.

The sun was lowering in the cloudless sky, casting deep shadows across the now deserted stadium. Hiding inside an archway, out of sight of prying eyes, he leaned against the stone and allowed a moan to escape his lips. The pain grew worse with every Games and weakness was spreading into his limbs. He ached to return home to the soft touch of his wife, but there was another ordeal to be faced before he could sink into her arms and let go of the day’s horror. Strength of will and an image of his mother’s face straightened his bent body and forced heavy legs to move.

*  *  *

The Dealer was as skinny as the Games Master was fat. It wasn’t that he lacked wealth, far from it, he simply sampled a little too much of his own recreational product. Hollow eyes bore witness to entire days spent in the ecstasy of oblivion. None of his drugs were illegal; they made money and Elyacia had no law against commerce. Laws, such as they were, all existed to restrain and limit the Canellian slaves; thus the only fiercely regulated drug was the one Istran had come to buy and it would cost him dearly.

Unfortunately, on this evening, the Dealer was lying on the floor, his body writhing with pleasure, and was in no condition to recognise his own wife, let alone make a sale. Thankfully, that wife was more than capable of striking a hard bargain on her own.

Istran watched her sashay down wooden steps and cringed. She was a little overweight, slightly spongy around the midriff and beginning to sag in her draped gown, yet she still had an aura of voluptuousness that wasn’t unattractive. It was her mind that he found appalling. She wasn’t alone in harbouring wild sexual fantasies about the Slave Victor, but she had no qualms about describing them in lurid detail.

He had managed to steer clear of her, so far, stating the law. Sex acts with a Canellian were prohibited by order of First Minister Ilvaas, who found the concept depraved, and were punishable by loss of strata privileges. Whilst this kept her in line, it didn’t restrict wandering hands or words.

I need more of the neuroserum, he stated, hoping to prevent a torrent of obscenity pouring his way. He wasn’t that lucky.

Look who’s here. I take it you won.

Her probing fingers swiftly found their way inside his clothes and grasped at his body. He endured the assault. He had tried pulling away on previous occasions, only to have her withhold the medicine for a full day; a day spent watching the appalling suffering of a woman he loved.

I’m not worth Ilvaas’s displeasure, he reminded her, flinching as she dug in her nails.

If you told him, he’d kill you. She laughed and gripped him tighter.

Istran! the Dealer shrieked, making them both jump. He sat bold upright, finding a rare moment of lucidity. We want double last time.

His wife whipped her hands back into the vicinity of her own body. I was just telling him.

Istran slammed the coins onto the table. There was no possibility of negotiation and they all knew it. Those snake-like fingers were soon employed in counting, sliding the coins across the wood with a jingle. He wanted to slam her face into the table or beg her to hurry, but he waited in silence, the nerves in his back tightening with every passing minute.

The Dealer had slumped back on the floor by the time his wife handed over the tiny glass bottle, with its murky grey tablets. Raking her nails across the Canellian’s turquoise palm, she spat out, Pity you’re such a foul colour, but her eyes told him otherwise.

By the time he emerged into swarming city streets, his back and legs were trembling so violently that he could barely walk and it was a long way home to the camp.

*  *  *

A little girl with pickle green skin and wavy hair, thrust into unruly bunches, raced through the sea of tents and makeshift half-housing, swinging on every pole or rope as she shot by. She was supposed to be sitting beside Asret, her younger brother, but he hardly ever moved and wasn’t going anywhere, being fascinated by tracing patterns in the sand with his fingers. Granted Canellian children grew more quickly than Elyacian and vastly outstripped them in terms of mental maturity, but she was only three years old and prone to boredom. Well, she could race around the camp, still keeping her eye on Asret, and wait for Papi to come home. It was better than being inside her tent, listening to the groaning. She loved Nana, but didn’t want to hear it anymore. Papi would make it right. She glanced at Asret - still in the same place – and swung around a tent pole, legs flying through the air.

Meria! I told you to stay with your brother.

Her tiny mother was standing at the entrance to the tent, arms folded. She might be small, but she was remarkably fierce. She didn’t look happy, but then, she rarely did these days.

I can see him, Meria pointed out, sidling her way back.

Go inside, her mother ordered, lifting the turquoise toddler into her arms and staring down at his wayward sister. It’s getting dark.

But Papi isn’t home yet... Meria whined.

Do as I tell you! her mother hollered, frightening both her children.

Meria fled inside the tent, leaving her brother wailing his discontent to the camp. She whipped through the rooms, partitioned with wood and canvas, and threw herself onto the pile of makeshift cloth that passed for her bed. She was too stubborn to cry. Papi would come home soon and make everything right.

Jave rocked her son in her arms, already regretting having raised her voice. She was afraid for her family. News had filtered back to the camp that Istran won the Primax Games, but had taken serious knocks in the process. The Games were hours ago. Where was he? What if he couldn’t get the medicine, or was too injured to make his way back to them? A groan of searing agony pierced the folds of the tent and made her eyes fill with tears.

It’s alright, she murmured to the boy sheltering in her arms. It’ll be alright.

*  *  *

The pain was so great that his conscious mind could barely register the glow of camp fires flickering in the darkness. Miles back on the road through hell, he had fixed an image of his mother in his mind’s eye and forced his feet to keeping dragging towards it. He saw her as she used to be, before the disease ravaged her beauty. She was wearing the shiny Magrav suit, sitting at the controls of the shuttle, her seafoam streaked hair flowing over her shoulders in uncontrollable waves. His father was there, smiling at him, calling his name across the years.

Istran! Oh, Jehul have mercy, Istran.

But the voice wasn’t that of Milachay.

He hauled his focus into the present as she swam before his gaze. She was so very lovely, his wife. He could never understand why she had chosen him and all the burdens that must come with him.

Istran, can you hear me?

Of course I can hear you, my love. I always hear you.

Help me. Please, Jave called out, trying to insert her tiny body beneath his arm to take his weight. Two Canellian men lifted him away from her and carried him into his tent.

Papi! Meria screamed, flying through the tent and hurling herself onto her father’s chest.

I’m fine, little one. His arms enfolded his distraught daughter.

Meria, Jave said, pulling at the girl’s vice-like grip. Let him rest.

Leave her, Istran told Jave, planting a kiss on Meria’s cheek. His hand slipped into a pocket and withdrew the glass bottle. Give them to her. I can wait.

Jave pulled the cork from the bottle and tipped two tablets into a cup of water, stirring the mixture with her finger. When they had dissolved into a grey liquid, she hurried to the bedside of her groaning patient. The sight never failed to deepen the crack running through her primary heart. This kind and loving Canellian had been as a second mother to her, ever since the early deaths of her foster parents. That she should come to such an end was more proof, if any was needed, that Jehul had abandoned them.

Lis was not yet fifty, but she looked thirty years older. Her pear skin had faded and fallen away from her bones, such that she resembled a living corpse. Glorious waves of hair had turned brown and dropped out in clumps as the disease ravaged her body. Her once razor sharp mind strained to process conscious thought under the onslaught of constant agony. She had not spoken in days, except to cry out the name of her long dead husband and whimper for mercy.

The disease had first appeared ten years before, once the Canellians had spent long enough on Elyacia for some to develop an allergy to its climate and deep seated pollution, although the exact cause remained a mystery. It seemed to enter through the lungs and spread throughout the body, shredding nerve tissue and poisoning every cell. There was no cure, only a strong narcotic that would dull the pain. As only Canellians could contract the disease, the medicine was easily traced and became appallingly expensive. Many had chosen to end the lives of their loved ones, rather than let the agony take its course.

Jave slid her hand beneath Lis’s head and pressed the cup to her clenched teeth.

Lis. It’s Jave. Drink for me. Please. Try. That’s it.

Lis’s mouth opened and she gulped down the foul tasting liquid, coughing and bucking against the strain. Once the narcotic entered her body, she began to relax and the groaning ceased. For a brief moment, Lis looked up at Jave and her gaze cleared.

I love you, Jave. I’m so sorry. You have to let me go...

Her eyes closed and she drifted into a deep, painless sleep. Jave laid her head back on her pillow. There would be time for crying later. She had learnt the hard way how to be strong for them all.

Meria was still lying in her father’s arms, gently stroking his forehead as though caressing away his pain. Asret toddled up and grasped Istran’s finger.

Go away, Meria snapped, pushing him, hard.

He lost his balance, landed on his bottom and let loose a piercing howl.

Meria, that wasn’t nice, Jave scolded, scooping Asret into her arms.

You need to take care of your brother, Istran told her, grimacing against the pain.

Jave pushed Asret into Meria’s arms. She must tend to Istran immediately or he might not walk for days, and the Elyacians would punish the whole family if he missed his work shift.

Meria, take Asret to bed, now.

Meria’s face took on the stubborn expression that so infuriated her mother.

Go on, my beauty, Istran told his daughter. Your mother needs to treat my back.

I love you, Papi.

I love you too. Both of you.

Meria plopped Asret on the ground and dragged him by the hand to their beds, glancing back at her mother with a scowl.

That girl’s going to be trouble, Jave told her husband.

She’s got a lot of you in her, he laughed, then gritted his teeth against the spasms racking his body.

Try to turn over, Jave told him, kneeling beside him as a prop. He strained against her and flipped onto his stomach. The resulting wave of pain made him retch. She reached for a cup of water and placed it to his lips. Here.

He took a sip and peered up at her. Is there something in that?

A little.

We need to save...

Just a tiny bit.

The pain didn’t leave, but he felt as though he was floating away from his body on a sea of tranquillity.

Jave turned his sleepy head towards her, removed his shirt and straightened out his limbs. The shape of an Elyacian boot was imprinted into his spine, but he was still the most handsome Canellian she had ever seen: strong, muscular and athletic. She remembered the first time she ran her hands over naked turquoise skin and felt it quiver beneath her fingers. She had been sixteen years old and far too young for the man who had always been at her side. She had waited, month upon month, for him to ask her, but he was adamant that she should set her heart on another. In the end, she literally took matters into her own hands and seduced him. He awoke that night to find her in his bed, her tiny naked body wrapped around his torso. He knew then that she had always been his.

Straddling his body, Jave kneaded her palms into the muscles and nerves of his back. He groaned once and was silent. She hated to hurt him, but it must be done.

*  *  *

Much later, Jave checked on the children and found Asret clasped in Meria’s embrace, as though his sister was planning on defending him against all Elyacia. Jave released a rare smile. Her daughter was nothing, if not a contradiction. Lis was also resting, all pain drugged away, for now.

Jave crept back to bed and snuggled into Istran’s arms. He was awake, but lying comfortably, a soft support tucked beneath the small of his back.

Am I hurting you? she asked, smoothing a stray hair from his eyes.

You’re so little, I can barely feel your weight.

She ran her fingertips over his chest and its matt of turquoise hair.

I can feel that. He bent his head to kiss her lips.

Mother?

She’s asleep.

Jave sighed and tucked her head beneath his chin.

What? he probed.

You can’t keep doing this. One day you’ll get too hurt, or never come back. What would we do then?

You’d take care of them. You’re better at it anyway.

Jave pushed herself up onto her elbows and stared into his eyes. He looked away.

I don’t know what else to do for her, he whispered. His gaze came back to hers. Frayn won’t get the medicine.

She sighed. He can’t. You know that.

It had been a sore point, ever since Lis was diagnosed. The medicine was heavily tracked and any involvement by Frayn, masquerading as Healer Cal, risked exposing himself and, possibly, the entire Underground. Istran knew this and even understood the reasoning, but he had lost faith in the older generation of changer Canellians. Their support of the Underground was painfully weak and progress slow.

Twenty years, Jave. Twenty years since we lost Quaylan and we’re still a long way from the stars.

Jave flopped on her back beside him. You knew it would be decades to restore the ship. When we started building the new command centre inside the old walls, we knew...

I just want you away from here...

And?

I want New Canellia.

You still believe it, then? That Prophecy?

No... Maybe... Quaylan believed...

He’s gone, Istran. He died and dumped his burden on you. You were just a boy.

He couldn’t have known what they’d do to us, to the children...

We do what we can. We survive until change comes.

The ship...

However it comes. Jave turned towards him and kissed him, long and hard. Whatever happens, I’m with you. We all are, including Frayn and my parents... Just don’t die in that arena.

He smiled and traced the line of her delicate cheek bone with his finger. A vague memory of her true mother swam into his mind: the elfin Palaxa working alongside Axil on board the ship. It had been a long time since he thought of the fat engineer. He missed him.

You’re too good for me, Istran told his wife.

I know. If it’d been left up to you, you’d still be shuffling in your tent, trying to get up the courage to touch me.

She gently slid her bare leg up his body and hooked it over his thigh. He grinned.

Mind my back, he breathed and surrendered to ecstasy.

CHAPTER TWO

The brilliant edge of sunlight peeped over the horizon, casting deep shadows across the Canellian village and its eclectic array of tents, shored up with odd shaped pieces of wood and metal. Scarlet and orange rays illuminated the tired, hollow-eyed, green faces of the early risers, doomed to toil another day in the eternal grind of work details.

Jave pulled back the fraying canvas opening to her tent and yawned. Istran still slept, but she would have to wake him soon. She hated to break his rest; hated watching him struggle to rise every morning and bend his seized back into a semblance of flexibility, but there was no choice. He must complete his assigned task or the family’s food ration would be cut. There were no exceptions. When Lis became too ill to work, her family had paid the price. Perpetual hunger was the lot of a slave nation.

Staring out across the enormous camp always triggered feelings of guilt for Jave. Most of her countrymen suffered far more than she did. They toiled in horrifying conditions whilst she served in the household of General Klay, his wife and daughter. She had seen the work details and doubted whether she would have survived as long as Lis. Jave was tiny and delicate, much like her true mother, Palaxa. She was lucky to have the relatively easy job and it brought her closer to her hidden parents, who gave what help they could through the Underground. Slaves were often stopped and searched when leaving rich houses, so supplying extra food to take back to the camp would only place their daughter in danger.

As golden rays brightened to a white glare, the number of Canellians increased, swarming over the camp like ants. They had learned the hard way not to incite the wrath of slave overseers by being late. The slave camp was filled to overflowing. Even the horrendous nature of their work details and the increasing number struck down by disease had not yet managed to significantly reduce their numbers.

Fearing rebellion, Elyacia’s king and Council approved Ilvaas’s most despicably evil law in an attempt to maintain slave numbers at a fixed rate. The order had gone forth that Canellian women may only bear a maximum of two children. Discovery of a third resulted in unspeakable consequences that fuelled many a nightmare. Voluntary sterilisation was readily available for those who wished to make certain that they would comply, either for the male or female.

When Jave seduced Istran on that fateful night, their union resulted in partnership and the arrival of their first child, Meria. Despite countless discussions that verged on hot-headed arguments and fruitless attempts to avoid a further conception, Asret was born less than a year later. Two years of barely contained terror followed, in which Jave and Istran went back and forth over the possibility of accepting sterilisation. Unfortunately, they knew of cases where even that drastic step had failed.

Papi.

Meria’s voice told Jave that her daughter had beaten her to Istran’s wake up call. She pulled back inside the tent to see him struggle to lift Meria as he rose.

Istran. Don’t do that... Jave began.

She’s fine, he interrupted, gently biting the child’s nose and making her chuckle. Need to be stretching anyway.

Asret toddled up and wrapped his arms around his father’s leg, pressing his forehead to the shin. Istran peered down and laughed, pain forgotten for a brief moment.

Help, he laughed. I’m a prisoner.

Come on you two, Jave said, pulling Asret away. You need to eat and your father and I have to go.

Meria and Asret were busy devouring their meagre morning ration of bread and cereal paste when Istran checked on his mother. Lis was still fast asleep, the potent medicine keeping her from regaining consciousness. He hated to resort to drugs, but watching her suffer the agony was almost as bad as listening to her beg to be put out of her misery and cease being a burden on the son she loved.

Istran stared at her once beautiful face. The time was approaching