Slayde, Book 2 (Chaos Time Serial)

Slayde

Copyright November 2013 Marie Hall

Cover Art by Damonza Copyright November 2013

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This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

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Published in 2013 by Marie Hall, Honolulu, Hawaii, United States of America

Dedication

To anyone who’s reading this. I’ll be honest here and say that writers all have that one world they want to write about but that’s sometimes really out there (or maybe that’s just me). This is my super, sekret squirrely project. A series of books I’ve written that I broke the rules quite deliberately and freely with. I’ve combined so many different genres and just wrote a book straight from the heart that I’ve always wanted to read and have never found. I love these characters and hope you do too.

Slayde

Eric Slayde is a redneck. He’s cold, cruel, and always calculating. But dark forces are conspiring to tear apart the very fabric of the universe and in order for his band of misfits to succeed, his past will have to be unraveled, he’ll have to be understood, and there’s only one woman who can do it. If she’s brave enough to try…

This is part two of the continuing Chaos Time Saga

Part 2: From a little spark may burst a flame

Chapter 1: Tenochitlan

1515 A.D.

“It’s hot as hell here,” Slayde snapped, slapping a hand against his sweat slickened bicep, silencing the annoying buzz of the trillionth mosquito to eat on him. The air was redolent with the succulent sweet scent of ripe fruit and shimmered with a wet veil of suspended moisture. The humidity level was so high he could barely breathe around it.

Already they’d been here a three days, with little to no success at figuring out not only where the source was, but what it even was.

Hunter was gone. Out, who knew where. He wouldn’t put it past the bastard to be hiding in the next set of trees over, getting his jollies off watching them fry.

Nobody else seemed to share in his disgust for ancient Mexico. They were sheltered within the high canopy of jungle trees with gnarled vines so thick they looked like green anacondas. Howlers were constantly crying and he was tempted to shoot one for meat he was so freaking hungry. Green coconuts weren’t doing it and they had a very nasty side effect after eating too many anyway.

Arianna had said the trees would be strong enough to hold them within their thick branches, while also high enough off the ground to give them a bird’s eye view of the ancient metropolis sprawled out below.

It did. Yesterday he’d hopped from branch to branch, out of boredom yes, but also for Recon. He didn’t trust anyone but himself to give it to him straight. So he watched and he learned.

Looking down at the beehive of civilization felt a lot like being an extra in a movie set. It was unreal and hard for his brain to process that it wasn’t actors walking around the city dripping with gold and jade and precious stones. It was on the clothes, in the hair, around the necks of both men and women. The latter of which walked around in cotton tops that barely covered the goods and skirts so short they shouldn’t even bother. Brightly hued, and in so many different shades and patterns, he’d be hard pressed to name most of them.

Their feet were bare and they must have soles as thick as bark because they moved and ran along the dirt without wincing. The men were short, the women shorter, all with severe strange haircuts. Some of them were shaved bald except for a black tail dangling long and heavy down their shimmering backs.

And by shimmering he didn’t mean sweat, it was a type of brownish yellow paint that glinted with hints of gold dust when the sun would strike it a certain way. It was swirled around their body in tribal patterns. Some he recognized, like the circle and lines of a sun, but others swirled from the base of their neck down to the tips of their toes.

And they were all pierced up. Nothing new, he’d seen plenty of primitive’s back home. But
they
had nothing on these guys. Men and women seemed to try to outdo one another with their septum piercings of jade and gold, shell and precious stone. Women tended to adorn them more, with feathers dipped in ochre and red clay before attaching them at the tips of the hooked jewelry.

Peacocks, that’s what they all reminded him of. But that was only the rich, the poor were here too. Those who were good for nothing, the lame and blind were strewn along the walls of the gutters like sewage begging for whatever scraps of kindness, their hollow cries more often ignored by the bustling wealth around them.

Then there were those who didn’t fit in. Dark skinned men and woman, with angry, hollow eyes. Chains around their necks, wrists, and ankles were their own adornments. The men were completely nude, the woman only wore a bit of scrap around their thighs, just enough to cover their female parts. The difference between them and the beggars on the street was obvious just beyond the superficial.

The men were strong, reminding him of regal lions in the way they carried themselves. The women were often very young, nubile. None of them screamed or roared to be released, they only gazed on at those around them with eyes like a predator, the hate in their hearts written in harsh lines around their mouths.

There was a separate area behind the main market place reserved for the selling of slaves. But though they all appeared healthy, their skin was stained with dirt and sweat. The mens heads had all been shaved, but not the women’s. Their hair was matted and snarled with who knew what. The peacocks walked up to them with a superior air, grabbing a chin and turning it here and there, lifting an arm to inspect muscle tone. If they wanted them they gave a slight nod and the slave was thrust at them like they were little more than dogs. If they didn’t want them, they’d be shoved to the back of a line where another would quickly take its place.

The city was the main hub, but there were many roads veering off like winding snakes deep into the jungle leading to smaller settlements of adobe structures with large straw roofs.

Further back, far behind the settlement and movement of the city, was a shadowy outline of a very large and impressive pyramid type structure. Taking a guess, he’d have to say that was probably where all the ritual sacrificing took place. There were easily over a hundred steps that led up to a large and raised rusty brown slab of stone. He couldn’t help the slight shudder that went through him and he rubbed his chest with a grimace. He’d seen Apocolypto, uncanny how accurate Mel had gotten the setting right.

It was a thriving people, that much was obvious; but also a superstitious one. More than once he’d seen them bow down to an obelisk made of stone, anointing it with oily fingers before walking through the gates of the city. That superstition would be an easy weakness to exploit.

After the great rift, when lands had shifted and people had turned into creatures from hell, a panic to try and figure out what was happening had infiltrated every dead zone. Those places, that to the few humans who hadn’t altered and become a freak, could no longer see. To the ‘blind’ places like New Skid Row where Slayde now called home, didn’t actually exist. It’d simply ceased to be.

In an attempt to understand the utter chaos around them, humans had reverted back to some sort of faith, believing that what was happening was divine punishment for a life lived wrong. Superstition in gods and goddesses had abounded in the early days, that’s when Slayde had gotten to see firsthand the exploitation of superstition.

And from that thought an idea formed in his head.

But now he was bored. It’d only taken a day to figure this all out, so he couldn’t understand what the hold up was with Hunter.

He wiped at the puddle of sweat pouring from his brow and growled. Arianna had said being so high would make it cooler. Lie. It felt like death up here, yeah so maybe wind was blowing, but who cared if all it did was blow hot? And the sun was blistering. The glare so bright he found himself lamenting the smog filled skies of home. He should have asked for more money.

Every night the jungle came alive with chants and flames as the peacocks walked around chattering in a language that didn’t sound like any Spanish he’d heard on the New L.A. streets.

Nascent as this all was, it didn’t seem like human nature had changed much from then to now. Or was it now to then? Damn, this time jump stuff confused him.

“It’s too damn hot,” he growled for the third, fourth, fifth time. He’d lost count already.

“Oh, stop whining. Maybe if you took that shirt off,
estupido
.” The prickly, little healer turned and glared at him. She was wearing her grass skirt again, with the tinniest bit of red cotton stretched across her breasts. She looked like one of the natives with her dark hair and honey brown skin.

He smirked when he thought of Hunter’s reaction seeing her in the skimpy clothes. She’d said it was to blend in better with the locals should one of them spot her. Hunter looked ready to kill someone, then he’d grumbled something about
searching
for the source and they hadn’t seen hide or hair of him since. He wondered what the deal was there, but really... he didn’t care. Other than he eventually wanted to get out this particular pit of hell.

“Name’s Arianna, right?” he asked, holding out his hand.

She curled her nose, practically snarling when she said, “I know who you are.”

He gave her a lazy grin and dropped his hand. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

“
Asqueroso
,” she spat and turned back around, shimmying from his branch onto another.

“I guess that’s Spanish for get lost loser,” Sable snorted.

“You think?” He grabbed his chin, studying her.

Until now she’d been cold and distant. He knew why, and could almost understand it. Except he really didn’t have a clue what had made him kiss her. There were other ways to wake someone up. A good punch to the nose did it every time. Except when he’d seen her like that, all terrified and frantic, all he’d had time to do was react.

She’d been so lost and fragile looking, her eyes wide and full of panic and that stupid thing he called his heart made him walk up, grab her, and devour her mouth. She was younger than him, just a kid really.

He’d seen her face the first time they’d met, the panic of the world he lived in. She was soft, he’d known that the second she stepped in to stop that damn freak in the bar. Something about her had drawn him though, something he couldn’t understand, and wasn’t altogether happy about either.

Sable didn’t come from his world. He still wasn’t sure how this time travel thing worked, but none of them actually came from the same time.

But as stupid as she’d been to jump into that fight, the power inside her slight body had mesmermized him. So much so, that he found himself wondering who she was really. Which was stupid, because they’d only just met.