The Ancients and the Angels: Celestials

by M.C. O'Neill

  ***

  Sammian flew with the two teens in her arms with ease. Their bodies may as well have been a couple of sacks of groceries as far as she was concerned. She managed to fly low that time so that she wouldn’t be bothered with the meddling of the civil wardens due to whatever tracking systems they used to tag unidentified flying objects. Her winged form, however, was quite apparent to the people milling about below.

  Corosa’s streets at that hour of the night were crowded much more than usual. The bulk of the foot traffic consisted of revelers leaving clubs and taverns or even house parties. Sammian reasoned that it must have had something to do with the king’s address and the fact that many of them still had the week off work due to the drama created by the pyramids’ arrival. Whatever the case, the populace underneath her was more likely than not inebriated and few would remember seeing her swoop over their heads except as a foggy memory.

  Elves were beginning to take notice at the winged lady flying overhead as they were pointing and whooping in sloppy joy at the avian wonder. It was too delicious of an opportunity for hijinks and Sammian had to play up her legend during her stay on Earth.

  “I am the evil Moth Lady! Beware! I am going to eat you all!” she packed in her booming statement with a dramatic cackle like some witch from an old faerie tale.

  At that, many of the revelers below dispersed into alleyways or even jumped into dumpsters. One pretty young maiden pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of Sammian with its manamirror.

  “I love you, Moth Lady!” she whooped like a drunken fool. “Whoo-hoo!”

  What an idiot, Sammian thought. She flashed her new-found adoring fan a quick and angry rude gesture in response. Sure, she took her picture, she shrugged, but at her velocity, there was very little chance that her form would be anything more than a dun blur obfuscated by the dewy lights of the city. Even if it were crisp and clean, her appearance would not be quite as newsworthy as the assassination attempt on the king’s life. Her little show of avionics would only merit a back-end blurb on the newsscrolls the next morning. More than likely, she guessed, the little slip of a maiden snapped a picture of the moon with her messy aim and nothing more.

  The time for fun and games with the late-night gentry of Corosa had to end. Sammian needed to make it out to the countryside before sorties of wardens and their foul little flitcycles took notice and began chasing her like they had the other night. With her cargo in her arms, this time avoidance of their casters would not be so easy, but at least she could use the captive elves as living shields or even chaff, if need be.

  Sometime later, she landed in the field of a farm not far outside of the city. The land was sandwiched in between two of the giant vessels about five miles away on either side of the rural property. Sammian wondered what was going on inside of those things. The suspense was nagging at her as to why she had received no contact, yet she had to find out the status of their situation soon.

  Most of those farms had dire wolves or trained sabercats guarding the land. It wasn’t much of a concern, she figured as all earthly beasts were terrified of her. If they could run from her, they would, but most froze, hid and remained silent as they shook with mortal terror. It was four in the morning and not one solitary chirp of even a cricket could be heard. That was much to her misfortune as she needed to find something living because it was imperative that she call up her new boss. If worse came to worst, she would have to use one of the young elves as a vessel.

  Why the young male always smelled like garbage, she could not figure out; perhaps he was a derelict like some of the other dregs that were members of his little group. He was the one who carried a rank odor to him the night before as she could sense it from across the large meeting area. Whatever his reasons, it did not matter; she would soon not need him once she received further instruction.

  The small barn, more of a shack to be honest, was abandoned, or at least appeared to be so. Most of its equipment was cleared out as she could see by the depressions on the ground and the few pieces of machinery still about were falling apart from age and neglect. To her dismay, no animals populated the structure, so she would have to find a suitable subject elsewhere.

  Contrary to scholarly belief amongst some mystic circles, elves did not possess supernatural abilities to see in the dark. Sammian’s kind, however, had no problem, and the longer Sammian had been on Earth, the more she enjoyed the darkness. As the barn was disused and lacked a link to the manaflow, it was pitch black, but she had no difficulty navigating the shadows.

  Searching the small loft, she was lucky to find racks of whitewash stored in a shadowy corner. It was best to prepare the summoning first so she didn’t have to sit for two unconscious elves and a screeching barnyard animal while she installed the necessary devices. The last thing she needed was some nosy ranch hand being alerted by a bleating beast. To begin, she twisted a rusty pole into the ground with her bare hands which slid into the earth with ease. Opening the whitewash, she fashioned a large circle with a triangle inside of it with a crusty old brush she found resting on top of the can. The pole was positioned to perfection in the center of the configuration. She knocked the young elves out pretty hard and they would be sure to remain that way for quite some time. If either did waken, she figured, she could always afflict them with amnesia. Sammian would need to do that anyway at some point, she estimated, but since this plan called for no loose ends, killing them was always an option and not one above her.

  Lambs were expected to be good animals for a summoning. Although somewhat stubborn, the little beasts would prove to be easier to handle than say, a dire wolf. They were also slower and easier to catch, but the little buggers could be rather loud when distressed. Sammian didn’t fancy the idea of running around a barnyard all night when there were more pressing matters at hand.

  As per usual, the fields of the farm were dead silent. It was most certain, all the animals were there, but they were playing possum with her. They could sense her unearthly nature, unlike the psychically-thick elves and this fact caused their bashfulness. Sammian too, had to employ stealth and avoid open spaces, because any elves out and about the property did not share the inherent fear of the lesser beasts and that would open a complete new can of worms. She did know that she had to find a vessel with some haste as the fields would soon be populated by elves setting out to perform their early morning barnyard chores.

  The lamb was hiding stiff against the wall of a chicken coop nearby. It could not move and it let loose a reactive stream of urine as it stared at Sammian with wide-eyed terror. Lucky for her, it was too spooked to let out a warning bleat. Sammian was sure the chickens could sense her too, but kept mum like any of the other animals. Across from the coop, a jackrabbit died in mid-leap from fright with nary a sound.

  Sammian carried the lamb by the hindquarters while clutching its neck so that her hand would muffle any unwanted bleats. If it got too loud and alarming, she would have to break its neck before the elves manning the farm were alerted. This particular lamb was very compromising in its fear as it attempted no resistance and was more apt to faint than run from her.

  She tethered the beast to the pole with ease and some ratty rope that was hanging next to the shack’s door. It was much too weathered to be of any long-term use, but she was only going to need it for the duration of a quick call to her new boss. It should hold well enough, she figured.

  Once placed in the middle of the configuration, Sammian bent her stately frame onto one knee as she grabbed the lamb by its wooly ears and placed her forehead to the front of its skull. Its ovine odor was worse than that malodorous young male she was saddled with for the time being but she would have to cope with it. “What were you getting into, you stinky little monster?” she asked it through a chuckle. With that, she wasted no more time and began chanting the rite of summoning.

  Upon finishing the chant, she scrambled out of the circle with haste and studied the beast’s eyes for any signs of successful conj
uration. The mindless irises of the farm animal were soon filled with godlike intelligence and awareness. Sammian thought she could see the cosmic beauty of his face shining through the ugly visage of the lowly animal.

  With the sound of cracking bones, the lamb stood up on its hind legs with an alarming speed and assumed a posture that was beyond its original skeletal design. It turned its head to either side with two more loud cracks. Its neck was broken, to be sure.

  “Sammian, my love, it is you. What have you to tell me?” Lucifer asked in a gentle voice uttered from the foul maw of the lamb. She loved the way it sounded like a beautiful song; more beautiful than any of her cohorts ever could sing.

  “My lord,” she began with joyful applause. “We did it! We are here on Earth!”

  “Yes, I can smell it, Sammian,” her superior responded with tender authority. “Tell me, what has transpired? Seeing you on Earth bares a good tiding! I am so excited that this glorious plan has taken hold!” Lucifer raised out his lamb-hooves in praise, breaking the tiny beast’s body even more.

  “The vessels are here, my lord! I had successfully taken control of the Ophan and let our forces through its portal. Not one of them failed to recorporate on the surface of the planet. All of them are well and accounted for.”

  “Excellent,” he began. Sammian could tell he was pleased with her performance in all his honesty. “How did you manage to carry this to fruit, my dear?”

  “I crept to the Grand Cornet and let loose a tune of amnesia and confusion. The entirety of the other angelics never knew what was happening after that. It was so easy to get the Ophan to open up. Gagaliel was even standing right next to me when I breached it! Goetic forces rushed right past him and he was never the wiser! Right in front of his very eyes!” She was quite proud of how easily her plan had taken hold for her beloved master. “After that, our forces manned the vessels and discorporated without a single song of alarm! It was so easy!”

  “Heh, they have Gagaliel guarding the Ophanic portal now? How amusing. Send him my regards if ever you meet again,” Lucifer stated with bland disinterest. “Sammian, have you any report of the others? I am a bit concerned that I have not heard from any of them.”

  “No, I’m afraid the vessels remain silent here on Earth.” Sammian feared that he would be displeased and she didn’t want to anger him. “Their capstone lights are blinking, however, although very weakly. It bodes good fortune as it indicates there is some activity inside. I have tried repeatedly through various channels to make contact, but I can’t get through. Please, I apologize.”

  “No apology needed,” the lamb’s undead voice spat out a reactive bleat. “In time I shall find out the source of this silence. Frankly, that is not your concern and I will wait for one of the goetic officers to make contact when most able.” The lamb hopped a bit due to the annoyance of the foreign spirit inhabiting its shell. “However, if time wastes and the vessels remain silent, I will give you instructions regarding when and how to investigate.”

  “Yes, of course.” Sammian was relieved that the love of her life carried no torch of blame for her inability to contact the pyramids. She had done her part by allowing their deliverance to Earth and Lucifer was cognizant of that. He was always so reasonable, but failure was harshly punished. Punishment she could cope with, she just never wanted to lose his favor or his affections. She betrayed the old Boss solely for his love and his love she would make sure to secure. “Oddly, the elven population seems to be taking our arrival rather lightly. Except for a few evacuation attempts and a heightened police presence, their behavior appears rather calm.”

  “These beings are adaptable to many stressors and can be more resilient than you might think. Do not underestimate them. Speaking of which, tell me of Mars,” Lucifer ordered. “How goes it? Are the little elves at least cowering from the notion of further exploration?”

  This was a topic that she was hoping he would gloss over, but she knew that he left no stone unturned. After all, it was one of the primary reasons for her report in this dingy barn. “My lord, the attempt on the child-king’s life has failed. My sincerest regrets.” Sammian winced, half-expecting a tumultuous rage to erupt from the possessed lamb, and she knew Lucifer could sense her nerves.

  “Fear not, my sweetness! This is not a setback at all,” he intoned with much reassurance. ‘That plan was tenuous at best. I am a patient soul and I am fully aware that not all schemes are easily viable. My Great Revolution was not unblemished with problems, as you know, but to this day, we have our wonderful kingdom hidden from the meddling gaze of the Creator.”

  More relief waved over the demonic hopeful at that. “Yes, it is quite wonderful.”

  “We still need to prevent any living elven soul from reaching Mars. I need all of them on Earth as soon as possible. After all, I cannot idly chase these little beasties all around the galaxy, can I?” Lucifer let out a laugh in celebration for himself, to which the lamb blurted another bleat. “As you are the only mobile unit I have right now, I have a new assignment for you.”

  “Yes, my lord, anything,” Sammian pled with utmost relief and gratitude.

  “I wish that you return to Mars. You have already observed it after you fell, yes?”

  “Yes, I have a layout of the little colony there. It’s lightly staffed by a small group of elves on expedition,” she reported. It was such a strange concept to hear Lucifer confirm that she was now no longer an angelic.

  “You will stage a terrible massacre. You will kill all of those who reside there. You will sully yourself with the blood of the fallen and let Earth know that Mars is off limits to elfdom. The gullible fools will believe you with all of their tiny hearts and we will provide them salvation.” Lucifer’s new plot was wonderful as always, Sammian decided. The plan was much simpler, if not more chaotic than that of the assassination when she thought about it.

  “What shall be the reason for the attack? They must not investigate,” Sammian inquired.

  “Always thinking, my poppet,” he praised her with the blessing of love. “Write in their blood epithets of a horrible nature in the ancient orcish language. The simple sheep of Earth will be unanimously convinced that Mars is the orc homeworld and that they are poised to attack! Make this display of dying warning as realistic as you can. Use their manamirrors up there to transmit evidence of this disaster. Send it directly to their leaders. They will finish the duty for us until we open our doors and promise them sanctuary.”

  “Of course, my lord. I shall not fail you,” Sammian bowed with deep reverence to the broken lamb in the circle.

  “And Sammian…,” he continued with his gentle voice. “I see that you have obtained my special request here.” He twisted his woolen head with a sharp crack to Minn’dre’s unconscious form which was nestled in a bed of old hay.

  Sammian met his direction. “Yes. I recaptured her from the civil authorities. I nearly lost this one.”

  “Give her my mark on her lower back,” Lucifer ordered. “Release her, yes, but never lose contact with her.”

  “Of course, my lord. Is there any reason that I have acquired her, if I may be so bold?” Sammian was interested in why she had to waste time in snatching this young female in the first place.

  “It’s nothing really, Sammian. I just need an insurance policy. Things sometimes go wrong,” he explained to his new servant.

  “Yes, that they do.” Sammian remained bowed and rummaged through her mind of any infractions she may have made and wondered if this remark was in regards to her performance.

  “And who is the male you have appropriated?” The lamb twisted its dead head over to On’dinn’s slumped form.

  “Just an elf who was attached to your cargo. I figured he could be used for bargaining, if need be,” she reasoned to her master with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “Very well. Leave him there. Make sure he’s none the wiser of this situation before you take off. Remember your duty and contact me again when you have any new dev
elopments. I now leave you.” The lamb’s body was shaking with little control left in it and could not tolerate the possession for much longer.

  “So be it, my lord,” Sammian nodded.

  “Until we make contact again, my love.” Lucifer left the body of the lamb only to let it slump to the ground, its eyes no longer intelligent, but dead. It let out one last dying bleat as its head hit the earthen floor of the barn. A torrent of blood splashed out of its maw with one last twitch where it lay lifeless and at its final peace.

  Mars. Sammian had great work ahead of her. As an Erelim-class angelic, she wasn’t any stranger to hands-on violent experience. During Lucifer’s revolution, she had played a pivotal and ironic role against his forces as she had investigated any dissent amongst her brethren. Such a position had allowed her great access to her realm, but it also required that grim duties be executed. Infiltration and interrogation were her specialties and many of the others in her order feared her and tread on eggshells in her presence. Lucifer had a powerful ally in one of her position, and staging a gruesome event amongst a skeleton crew of elves millions of miles away was not something she would flinch at.

  Not wanting to touch the smelly male elf’s belongings, Sammian searched Minn’dre’s shoulder bag for her tablet. She had to see if her display from earlier tonight went unnoticed on the newsscrolls.

  As suspected, the majority of the featured news items focused on the young king’s assassination attempt and of course, more drivel about the vessels. She too would have liked to know more about what was happening inside of them, but no earthly news sources would ever find that out. A vicious smear campaign and personality profile of Travius and the Black Hood was splashed across all of the gossip scrolls. Headlines cried statements such as “The Black Hood Group: Officially Crazed Cultists,” or “Who is, what is a ‘Sammian?’” Her favorite tagline that blared across the tablet’s screen read, “Travius did it for the Love of Sammian!”

  Her aerial hijinks were, as suspected, nothing more than a back-end conspiracy theory for the gullible. “Moth Lady Joins the Party!” one read in a bold script. That young maiden who attempted to take her picture was even interviewed, but she was unreliable at best in her recall:

  Main>>News>>Culture>>Weird:

  Holl’inn Lit’lee was one of the many revelers last night to see the now-infamous Moth Lady swoop overhead to cheer up the crowds after the terrible attempt on our king’s life. Her account depicts a daring young lady who braved an uncertain fate to stare the unknown square in the face!

  “Yeah, I saw the Moth Lady. She was like, ‘I’m the Moth Lady and I’m here to party!’ Well, or something like that. She blew me a kiss and everything! We’re almost like sisters now. I took her picture, but it didn’t come out too well. It was mostly of the moon, but she’s really fast, so… People just need to lay off someone who’s different and stop judging and being scared. She’s really capital!”

  “Did you hear that guys?” Sammian announced with mean sarcasm to her unconscious captives and a dead lamb. “I’m famous now and the people love me.”

  Sammian turned Minn’dre’s supine body prone and thrust her tunic up, baring her back. With a wicked fingernail, which was more like a talon, Sammian carved a small circle that surrounded a triangle, much like the summoning sigil into the young maiden’s lower trunk as directed. Sammian licked the blood off her claw and wished that she could taste gallons more of it, but such a transgression would send Lucifer into a rage, for certain. Blood. It was the only way in which iron wasn’t repellant to her senses and she craved it.

  The teen elf made no response to her painful incisions and this caused Sammian some worry as to whether she survived her thrashing. She checked her pulse and felt that it was strong enough for her state. She knocked her out with a hard force and she hoped the maiden hadn’t sustained brain damage. It was time for her to move operations and take Lucifer’s little blond treat with her. The young male on the other hand, would just have to wake up wondering why he was in a barn with the carcass of a lamb. Whichever way he would get back home was going to be his problem.

  Deaf Leopard

  Amber light from the approaching evening filled the cab of the Reyliss’ coach with a warm ambience. Quen’die peered out from a rear passenger window at the gold and purple waves of the ocean. Liner-sized and personal yacht sea traffic was still pretty heavy as some of Corosa’s gentry were heading out to their offshore homes and island cottages in the wake of the pyramids’ arrival. On the other hand, the road traffic was more or less back to normal levels since the majority of elves either felt no need to flee or figured there was really nowhere to run on land. The elfmaid wondered in the back of her mind if the wealthy knew something about this event that the less fortunate did not.

  She still hadn’t told her parents about the strange bird-thing she and Lauryl’la had spotted the other night. Although she had planned to, after the incident at the arena and her father’s resulting behavior, she knew telling him that she was even out on the bluffs after dark would have been enough to jangle his nerves even more, not to mention her run-in with the civil wardens - even if it was just Lauryl’la’s father. Confiding the story to Mother would not have worked either, because such a tale would get back to Father and then he would be an absolute wreck. No harm was done, so maybe some things were best left unmentioned, Quen’die figured. Mother wouldn’t believe the part about the fifteen-foot-wide bird monster anyway.

  Her parents had agreed last night at Mother’s insistence that Kaedish be allowed to stay home alone while they met with the Mitlans. Lord Reyliss, of course, was hesitant about leaving the thirteen-year-old unattended, but his wife figured it would be a fine treatment to his overprotective ways, as well as a good lesson in responsibility for the young lad. Knowing he was in hot water after his display at the King’s Address, Lord Reyliss conceded to his wife’s demands quickly, but with much silent reservation.

  As for reservations, Quen’die had her own to tend in regards to this dinner at the Mitlans’. As far as she was concerned, Lord Mitlan’s daughter, Venn’lith was downright disturbing. Sometimes an elfmaid could just sense the true intentions of another despite the face they wore. It was an ability most females had mastered well over their fellow males who lived more in a concrete reality of “what-you-see-is-how-it-is.” Quen’die felt her intuition was pretty keen when there was a jealousy or betrayal underneath the shining glow of a smile or an anger nestled within a laugh. This female in particular made no bother of such pretenses. Each and every time Quen’die saw Venn’lith at school, an unabashed glare of predatory scorn spread quite blatant across her face to the point that she felt like a gazelle in the sights of a hungry troglodyte on the savannahs of Gonduanna. She counted herself somewhat fortunate that her classmate’s ill-intentions were so forthcoming, but now that she was going to be captured within the bowels of her palatial home for this entire evening, it seemed more like she was about to enter the belly of a bloated beast.

  Up in the front seats, the Reylisses were checking the dashboard map to make sure they were on the right track. After winding down the bluffside roads where they lived, they found themselves heading toward the luxurious homes and mansions of the beachside neighborhoods where the Mitlans resided. Quen’die could tell that the property values of the residences were ever increasing in price as their coach pressed onward. The homes were getting larger and larger and their architectures were becoming more unique. Quen’die was quite fond of her lifelong home and frankly felt there was no place else worth arriving to at the end of the day, but her house looked very much like any of her neighbors’, she had to admit. It didn’t really matter to her after all. Who would want all that space to clean and such giant lawns to mow, she asked herself? That time could be better spent with good friends and even better - matches of runta.

  “Father?” Quen’die called from the back seat.

  “Uh, yes, Quen’die. What is it?” he answered while a bit preoccupied wi
th the onboard map.

  “I was speaking with Rylla the other night and she said that when they signify you to your coach, only you can unlock and drive it, but how is it that I can unlock our coach if I’ve never signified to it?”

  “Well, that’s because I added your name to the signature at the dealer’s when I bought it. I did the same for Kaedish and your mother,” he explained as he locked his destination onto the map. “As a matter-of-fact, you’ll have to do the same honors for us when you get a coach of your very own.”

  At that, Lord Reyliss looked into the rearview mirror and winked a furtive eye at his daughter with the crooked smile of a secret agent. Quen’die’s eyes widened like flawless emeralds and she broke into a beaming grin. She turned back without a word, smiling and gazed again at the rolling ocean which was now becoming a deeper purple as the loveliest of clear nights began to fall over the bay.

  Once the age of sixteen, an elf was allowed by most provincial laws to own and operate a coach within the national borders of Atlantis, and coaches were a customary birthday present for an elf on this particular birthday. In the kingdoms of Atlantis, it was almost like a rite of passage. Quen’die had given it some thought as to what her sixteenth birthday could be like, considering it was coming up early next month, but seeing that hint in the rearview from Father wiped all other thoughts and concerns from her mind. She cared not about the dinner, evil Venn’lith, the uncomfortable formal gown which she was stuffed into; none of that mattered right at that moment. All she could imagine was what it would be like to have the freedom of zooming alongside the ocean that coming summer with all of her friends as they headed for the beach to go surfing with Captain Quen’die at the helm of the coach. The elfmaid didn’t really care what kind of coach it could be. Even if it was a used community special from General Manaworks, like Rylla’s, she would be so grateful to her parents and to herself. Deep down inside, Quen’die had felt a sense of entitlement for her grades, behavior and sportiveness and assumed that she had earned such a gift.

  “I think this is the turnoff,” Lady Reyliss announced while pointing to a wooded driveway that led to a small island in the bay which was connected by a short, gilded causeway. “Yeah, right here.”

  Lord Reyliss cut a bit sharp to the right as he almost all but missed the entrance which was hidden in part by giant larches. He ambled the coach with a sense of near-reverence across the causeway toward the Mitlan’s courtyard gate.

  It seemed their arrival was observed via hidden manamirrors because the moment their coach was within yards of the gates, they parted with a slow elegance to reveal the lavish Mitlan mansion. The entire Reyliss family had difficulty containing their awe at the exorbitant and obscene display of wealth before them.

  “I never thought I would say this,” Lady Reyliss began wide-eyed, “but I feel compelled to say, ‘Whell, would’ja lookit thay-ut!’” she continued in an accent which mocked agrarian Atlantis’ dialect. Everyone laughed at Mother’s theatrics for which she was known from time-to-time.

  “The kicker of it is, Mitlan probably doesn’t owe a dime on it either,” Father surmised as he took in the grand view and parked the coach on the guest’s lot.

  The Mitlan estate was a sight to behold. The courtyard contained coach houses as well as horse stables toward the back. The inner yard housed a grotto which contained many palm trees, as well as a myriad assortment of imported flora from Xo’chi. A small footbridge lit by ornate lanterns cut through the center of the grotto which was flanked on either side by a pond that spurted water at various intervals from a submerged fountain. Xochian parrots, macaws, and cockatoos of all breeds and sub-breeds sang, chirped and spat in the grotto’s belly. Quen’die was a bit startled when a clutch of Kumarian blue dodos plodded as if doped toward the far bank of the pond. Despite their fluorescent hue, they were rather silly looking animals, she thought.

  Quen’die was becoming a bit self-conscious again. She tugged with blushing effort at one of the two long braids that ran down her back and noticed how they were identical to her mother’s style. It made her feel too young and a bit hackneyed to fashion her hair in a like-mother-like-daughter display. Well, at least they weren’t wearing identical gowns, she considered. That would have been stupid.

  Before Lord Reyliss could ring the doorbell to the circular mansion, the entire doorway was filled with the overpowering presence of Lord Mitlan. He towered over Father and appeared twice as wide; all of that bulk being muscle. His long, ebony hair fell at either sides of his chest and was separated with numerous braids banded with gold. His presence was quite the contrast to Father’s shorter and wavy brown hair and slim build. Lord Mitlan’s smile was as large as his stature. The lord might not be so bad after all, Quen’die thought as her resurfacing nerves subsided a bit. Quen’die could see that her mother was stunned at his presence and was in actuality holding her mouth open with joy. Father even seemed to belay his skittishness, which was becoming a rarity anymore. Off to his side, a small Tel’lemurian housewarden backed away into the bowels of the home without a word.

  “Ha-HA! Ferd’inn!” the large sun elf boomed with a sincere friendliness. “I am so glad you could make our meeting tonight! There is so much to discuss, but first, let’s make ourselves comfortable. Tonight, my home is yours!”

  Lord Mitlan’s warmest of welcomes could have provided a remarkable service to anyone who was feeling a case of the blues. How such an inviting person managed to become a senior financial warden was puzzling, considering how brutal and cutthroat that position could be. But as Quen’die very well knew, few smiles were without teeth.

  After taking off their slippers, and making the greetings (Lord Mitlan kissed Mother’s hand; a gesture she seemed quite taken by) the big elf announced, “I will give you the tour of my humble abode eventually, my friends, but for now, I am much too famished. Let’s eat!”

  The dining room was gigantic as far as the Reylisses opined. It was high-vaulted and ran along the curve of the home. Off to the left, floor-to-ceiling windows banked the whole room which displayed Corosa Bay as far as the eye would allow. The table curved with the slope of the room and was big enough to feed a full brigade. Fruits, mushrooms, nuts, and an assortment of vegetables were the night’s offerings at the estate, but the center of the meal consisted of roasted ocelot with a giant orange nestled in its maw. With a strange play on homonyms, an ear of maize jutted out of each ear. The beast was curved with the room and the table and Quen’die noted that this was the second time this week she would eat meat. That settled with her just fine, but much to her fright, dinner was snarling at her. Regardless, this was quite the feast and that meant very big plans for Father tonight.

  Ping, the housewarden whom they saw for the briefest instant in the shadows of the foyer was milling about the table and was at the ready to service the meeting. She smiled with a forced elegance and offered all of those present their seats. Quen’die didn’t really know how to react, so she smiled with a politeness of equal contrivance and remained quiet in the opulence.

  “Ah! There she is!” Lord Mitlan beamed. “My lovely daughter, Venn’lith. Fashionably late as always.”

  Quen’die just remembered what was making her nervous tonight and she was now in the room. Venn’lith entered with only the hissing sound of her gown and her father’s intonations seemed to sound in slow-motion. She could feel the temperature of the warm home drop to mid-winter levels. The chill of this elfmaid’s presence could be felt through the floor as it oozed into Quen’die’s feet and rode up her spine. Although she loved her parents with all of her heart, she wished more than anything that Lauryl’la or Tam’laa had come along just so she could have the moral, peer-appropriate support. She no longer felt hungry.

  Venn’lith’s presence was just as commandeering as her father’s. She was quite spectacular in the halls at school, but now that she was ensconced like a sapphire within her own element, she exuded a power and authority that Quen’die had never thought capab
le of a sixteen-year-old. The elfmaid wasn’t very tall. Compared to Quen’die she was rather diminutive, but her muscular stature made up in spades for her literal shortcoming.

  “Hello Papi!” the sun elf chirped while flashing her perfect teeth in a professionally-trained grin across the room at her audience until it stopped to a squeaking halt at Quen’die and died at a snail’s pace. “I’m so sorry I’m late, but I was having trouble with this tiara.”

  Even at school, she would dress with impeccable flair, but tonight, she was wearing a gown that rivaled the Princess’s in glamour and value. She was covered from head-to-toe in golds and ambers with hints of turquoise that were expert in helping to break up the warm hues. Her tiara fanned out from her scalp like the burst of the rising sun.

  “Not a problem, Lith. Let’s all take a seat, and just relax. Our chef made a wonderful feast and I cannot wait to devour it!” Lord Mitlan set the mood for the dinner while continuing with his jovial demeanor.

  Quen’die smiled with a polite silence as she took her seat within eyeshot of the ocelot’s head. She would much rather look at the angry carcass than the angry Venn’lith. For just a moment she closed her eyes hoping this would all go away and she would find herself back in her courtyard’s ringball circle with Lauryl’la when she opened them. No such luck. The elfmaid found herself back at the feast with her unsaid rival seated directly across from her at the table. Venn’lith formed a crooked smile at her from her plump lips.

  “Forgive me,” the elder Mitlan announced. “Before we dig into this bounty, let’s give thanks to our harvest god Ille’brann for this wonderful…heh, bounty!”

  All present at the table bowed their heads as Lord Mitlan recited a prayer to the god of plenty but Quen’die could not hear it. Instead of listening to the Xochian’s praise, she was praying her own plea in silence to any god available for other reasons:

  “To any god who can hear me: Please, I implore you to make this visit short and sweet. Protect me in any and all ways from that freakish demon sitting across the table. I also pray for the best of fortunes for my father. Let it be so.”

  Throughout the meal, Quen’die could only take small jabs at her food and jumped at any opportunity to divert her gaze from Venn’lith whom she could feel staring at her without any shame. It didn’t matter to her; she didn’t really like meat anyway. Animal flesh made her tiny stomach too full too fast and she often found it greasy to the palate. With a flurry of nervous gestures, she pushed around some roasted maize, but had difficulty to even manage that.

  All the adult elves began talking business now and again between courses. Quen’die could follow what they were speaking of, but she didn’t want to draw Venn’lith’s attention in any way, especially when engaging adults via intellectual discourse. In all honesty, Quen’die never pegged the sun elf as one to be intellectual. Then again, perhaps she was just as smart as she was athletic.

  “Your efforts with the Martian expedition are going wonderfully, my friend,” Mitlan complimented Father. “How you have managed this is no mystery to me because it takes mana to make it happen and that is what I work with - mana. I have just made a big acquisition with United Manaworks as well as from Fountain Universal out of eh… yes, Thuless’in. I do intend to corner the market for this project.”

  “That’s amazing!” Father intoned. “Seriously fantastic! We at the Circle really do appreciate your voracious support. As you could see last night, the colonization of Mars is not exactly popular with everyone. Not only do you have loonies like the Black Hood Group trying to, well, kill the king, but there are even valid political opponents throughout the provinces right here in Atlantis that want the project quashed. I can’t figure out why anyone in their right mind would want to stunt scientific progress. This is a whole new world and we are finally able to grasp it!”

  “It too boggles my mind from your perspective as well as from a financial one,” Father’s Xochian contemporary agreed. “Literally thousands of years ago, during the Second Orc War, Mars was discovered accidentally by the great general Mars Bonn’fyr while he was peering at the heavens through his spyglass. We could not contain nor control mana back then, but ever since astronomers realized how close this planet was to our own, we have been fantasizing how to take it and hold it. Four short years ago we first landed on its soil. It would be idiocy to deny elfdom this chance at grasping a completely unpopulated world. Well, unpopulated as far as we know. You don’t seriously believe any of that rubbish about the pyramids being of Martian origin, do you Ferd’inn?”

  “No, of course not,” Father answered with conviction as he chased a tomato slice on his plate with his fork. “I agree with our king and I think that the Thuless’in general is paranoid. He probably just wants to mobilize materiel for another invisible war against a barren planet! Sadly, if the right amounts of elves are stupid enough to believe that, he could get many supporters!”

  “Even so, that could prove to be lucrative as well,” Mother cut in with her expert sarcasm.

  “That is true, Doctor Reyliss,” the Xochian agreed with a wink. “War is always profitable, but the exploration and building of this world is much more bountiful than another brushfire rumble with one of our neighbors. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance and it can’t go to waste. We can always have another war. We could even fight Mars once it gets established! Wouldn’t that be fun!” he supposed with a joyous chuckle. “But first, we must establish it.”

  “Well, aren’t you dipping your funds into military right now?” Mother challenged him with her own bravado.

  “Ha! I love your guts, Glynna,” Mitlan confided. “I would have nothing less at my table. Of course I invest in military and at a time such as this, I must admit that it has been enriching me. Nobody knows what the nature of our visitors is, or the conflict it may spark between all the nations of the earth. I do indeed consider this. Very good point.”

  “One problem I fret about with this new world is its lack of mana,” Father said with a grim tone. “There just isn’t any to be found that we have as-of-yet surveyed. How would we contain and maintain power up there? Mars has no manasprings, so there can be no manafountains and so on. I sincerely hope this doesn’t turn out like the Moon, which was a total waste of time and money. There isn’t either air or water up there. Mars at least has both of these resources, in weaker amounts, but we still will need mana or else life would be like ancient times up there and no one in their right mind would want to go. It would be yet another interplanetary failure and we could lose funding for any sort of extraterrestrial endeavors. That’s what I worry about the most.”

  “As you well know,” Mitlan began. “Mana is a difficult resource to gauge. We don’t even know how much mana our own planet has because of its elusive nature. Why, we could nearly be out of it entirely by tomorrow! That is what makes it such a lucrative resource because it is completely speculative. We can really only guess how much is there arbitrarily. But with Mars, we not only regulate the flow of mana, but transport it as well. It would be a completely new industry!”

  Quen’die wasn’t too sure how this elf’s ideas settled with her. She had never considered herself very political, not like say, On’dinn Jak’sin at school, but there seemed to be a nefarious side to this elder’s thoughts, and that made her frown a bit. She hoped this venture wouldn’t compromise Mother and Father’s ideals. They were always such peaceful people who also were concerned about Kaedish’s obsession with violence. Build-up Mars just to blow it up? Yes, he was correct, that could make someone rich, but such machinations could kill millions without need or purpose. Perhaps his little apple didn’t fall far from the tree, the maiden supposed.

  Speaking of which, the said apple continued to stare at her from across the table while she was chewing cat meat with slow, measured bites. Quen’die could only guess that the sun elf was imagining the ocelot was her flesh. Chilling.

  After the main course was cleared, the housewarden set golden bowls of chocolate
sauce in front of the party. A bright red cherry floated in the middle of the brown dessert. Only Mother had tasted the confection before. Quen’die too was quite surprised to have this experience tonight.

  “Oh wow! Real Xochian chocolate!” Father cheered like a little elf on his birthday. “Finally!”

  “I see you have never indulged, yes?” Lord Mitlan probed. “Be careful, it has a sting and is very rich to the uninitiated palate.”

  The elder Xochian was right about that. Quen’die felt a sharp bite hit the tip of her tongue, yet it felt deep and rich as it went down her throat. If chocolate was music, it would be a smooth bass line. The dessert’s kiss to her brain was interrupted as she looked across the table at Venn’lith again. She was peering at Quen’die with menace while licking the chocolate off her top lip like it was blood. Quen’die’s blood.

  The adult elves decided to journey to the luxurious main hall where Lord Mitlan proposed a tour of the grand house now that the meal was over. Quen’die was praying in her mind again to the gods that the tour would be short, but it was a big house and, hence, such brevity would not be in the cards.

  “Ah, Lith,” Lord Mitlan called. “While we go about exploring this place, why don’t you and Quen’die do some delving of your own?”

  No. This was getting much worse than imagined. The elfmaid was hoping that she would be able to walk with her folks on the far side of Venn’lith, or perhaps not at all if her rival decided to retire from them for the evening, but to be stuck with her all alone? That was a terrible notion, she cringed. At that moment, she would much rather invade Mars.

  “Oh! That’s a wonderful idea!” Venn’lith beamed with a hint of vitriol in her voice. Quen’die knew that either the sun elf was displeased with the suggestion or she had some evil idea of her own. Neither could be good.

  “Excellent,” the Xochian elder said with a blunt stomp. “You two be off while I give our guests the tour.” With that, the party of adults disappeared into the depths of the estate. Quen’die had never felt so alone in her life.

  “Come along, Quen’die!” Venn’lith intoned with dripping sarcasm. Perhaps that was just a voice she had developed over the years and Quen’die would have nothing to worry about.

  The pair headed off in the opposite direction as the adults. Quen’die held back a little bit, but Venn’lith chimed in her thick Xochian accent, “Please, don’t be shy. Let’s make our way to the games’ room.”

  All of the entertainment and games Quen’die had in her house were in the living room save for the runta table in her basement. Right then, the grey elf wanted nothing more than to be there instead. She would have even settled being locked in their cramped utility room sweating out the heat of the manafountain.

  “Well, here we are!” Venn’lith announced after a short, but silent journey through the winding halls. Quen’die really didn’t know how to even begin a nervous conversation with the maiden. Venn’lith’s silence hadn’t broken before entering the room either.

  The games’ room was quite a sight. Being nestled within the middle of the house, it was designed in a perfect circle instead of semi-curved. Manascreens banked the walls and hugged to their slopes as miniature runta and adult gambling tables of very high quality woods were interspersed among the lounge seating. In the center of the room, lying in the sunken floor was a giant orbital manascreen. The crystal ball which was cast to perfection had to be over fifteen feet high and was ensconced in a thick mahogany ring that was glowing from its activation runes. Kaedish would have loved to have this model in their home. He could play Martian Patriot IV in three dimensions with opponents of life size.

  “Wow!” Quen’die said, genuinely impressed. She even forgot her nervousness for that moment in the blue ambience of the room. “This is really some setup! Do you ever hold parties here?”

  “Mostly Father does, however, I really would like to throw some of my own. It would go great with the pool we have out back,” she answered. “I would love to have you at one if I do.”

  This shocked the young grey elf. Perhaps she formed the wrong impression of her. Perhaps her icy looks were nothing more than a cultural difference that Quen’die wasn’t quite used to. Atlanteans had always been considered a very reserved people and Quen’die admonished herself in that instant for being insensitive to foreign culture. After all, it was a big world and with time and experience, she hoped to satisfy the goal of getting to know it better.

  “Speaking of parties,” Quen’die began as her nerves were warming into a friendlier mode. “Will you be coming to the pool party at Sig’ryn’s tomorrow night?”

  “Absolutely,” Venn’lith answered. “So many people have invited me already that it is difficult to keep track of. That can be such an annoyance”

  “Yeah, definitely. I know how that is,” Quen’die agreed with a half-truth. Sure, only Lauryl’la had invited her, but Tam’laa was happy to learn that she would be coming as well when she had mailed her the news. But most of all, Hyrax Arcovis’s ears blushed. That was equal to one hundred invites on her manaphone.

  “Right…,”Venn’lith responded to that with some disbelief. “So, you know it has an ‘ancient Atlantis’ theme to it, yes?”

  “Oh, yeah, I do. All ready for it!” she answered. “I even have the bikini too.”

  This was a complete lie. She didn’t want to tell this clothes-horse that she would have to borrow her attire from Lauryl’la. She had already felt like a street urchin from the depths of Corosa with her modest braids while her hostess was bedecked in the highest of Xochian fashion.

  “Well, that’s excellent, Dee. I may call you ‘Dee,’ yes?” Venn’lith asked in a congenial manner.

  “Oh…yeah, you can call me ‘Dee.’” Quen’die was rather surprised that Venn’lith wanted to address her in the informal already. This made the maiden feel even better in such a way that her appetite was returning and she regretted not having more at the dinner, even if it was greasy cat meat.

  “Fine,” Venn’lith answered to that. “By the way, I personally know the MC of The Gonduanna Princes. I can always introduce you to him, if you want.”

  “Uh, yeah! That would be great!” she said. Even though her apprehensions about the Xochian were settling, she still felt so small. After all, this elfmaid claimed to personally know the MC of a pop group that was renowned world-wide. Some of it could have been self-aggrandizement, she supposed.

  “See, I have one of his messages in my inbox,” Venn’lith lifted her phone’s luminous screen to Quen’die’s face. The grey elf couldn’t believe it, but her classmate’s rumor rang true.

  The two walked through more of the home’s winding halls. Quen’die’s eyes were treated to opulent furs and rugs skinned from various species of great cats from all over Xo’chi draping at various intervals on the walls. Billowing feathers from exotic birds of which Quen’die had only seen in zoos or on the manascreen, burst from what seemed like every corner of sun elf’s house. Even the servants’ quarters were very chic, if not a little small. The elfmaid most enjoyed the strange hall which housed the mana-embalmed dolphin. Its blue glow appeared to create another world for her, yet its carcass was a bit unnerving, but that was what art was supposed to do, she reflected. Make you feel something, and not always warm and cozy.

  “You have a really amazing home, Lith,” Quen’die complimented her young hostess with sincerity. “Would it be cool if we saw your room?”

  “Oh, no… I’m sorry, scum,” Venn’lith began. “You see, that room is reserved only for Hyrax Arcovis.”

  Before Quen’die could process the fact that someone had just called her a “scum,” her back was rammed with a powerful force against the hallway’s wall. In one swift movement, Venn’lith had covered her victim’s mouth and thrust a rock-hard knee into her gut. Tears of shock and pain flew out of the grey elfmaid’s green eyes and dribbled over her attacker’s hand. Quen’die could not breathe but a trickle of air, yet still smelled the sun elf as her ang
ry exertions made her stink of burning vanilla. Venn’lith’s trademark aloof gaze had transformed in an instant into a squaline rictus of muscle and hate.

  “You will never speak to Hyrax Arcovis,” the Xochian teen made a low growl through gnashed teeth. “You will only answer to him when he commands you on the runta field. Since I will be on the team next year, it would behoove you to not rejoin. No matter how hard you play, I will still knock you from your championship status. You are nothing but a stupid little elfling. If you ever say one word of this to anyone, my father will see to it that your whole family is living in a slum by Wintersfest. Do you understand me, Little Elfling?”

  This made Quen’die cry even harder, but she could not utter even a slight sound over the sun elf’s iron grip covering her lips. She felt sick as she had little air in her lungs from the strike to her stomach. So much fear for herself, her family and her entire adept’s school career raced through her head upon hearing Venn’lith’s bestial demands.

  “You had an unfortunate scrape with one of the palm trees,” the evil maiden continued as she sliced a razor-sharp golden fingernail down Quen’die’s left cheek. The elfmaid squealed in pain at her attacker’s foul gesture. Venn’lith put the finger in her mouth and devoured Quen’die’s blood without breaking her terrible glare.

  From down the hall, the two heard a gasp. Quen’die thought she was saved and that this horrible nightmare would end. It was the little Tel’lemurian housewarden.

  “Fetch a manapatch, Ping!” Venn’lith barked with rage to her servant. “Our guest was scratched by a palm tree. Isn’t that right, Ping?”

  “As you command, Mistress Venn’lith,” the sea elf bowed with her usual obedience as she disappeared to do her duty.

  Twelve gods in the heavens, and not one of them heard me, was a famous elven saying when lamenting bad luck. Every word of it rang true, Quen’die gritted. She so terribly wanted Lauryl’la and Tam’laa or any one of her runta teammates there at that moment to get this horrible she-beast off of her so she could not only expose her evil plans, but give her a taste of her own painful medicine. To Quen’die’s dismay, only Ping bore witness and the warden needed that job, so it seemed, too much to rectify the situation. Quen’die wished she had stayed in bed.

  “Follow Ping into the bathroom and meet us in the main hall, then I can be rid of your stink after your foolish parents take you home,” Venn’lith commanded Quen’die.

  Quen’die ran as fast as she could toward Ping’s direction. The pretty young Tel’lemurian applied the soothing patch on her scratch. It worked fast and she could feel it healing within seconds. Despite the cool of the manasalve, Quen’die was bawling from so many sensations that she wanted to vomit into the bathroom’s gold-rimmed toilet. She felt so relieved to be out of that monster’s presence, but she knew her control would remain long after she left. “This is where my whole life will change and probably for the worse,” she thought aloud as Ping tried to quiet her by making cooing noises.

  “I hate her…” Quen’die managed though sobs.

  “Yes, my dear. I do too,” the servant confided in a hushed voice.

  Once back into the main hall, Quen’die was more grateful to see her parents than ever, but due to Venn’lith’s disgusting ultimatum, they had never seemed so far away. They had never seemed so weak and powerless. For the first time in her life, her parents looked so small, like children themselves. This made her burst out into a fit of sobs. Quen’die was thankful; the vile elfmaid was nowhere to be seen.

  “Oh, my dear maiden!” Lord Mitlan boomed with an honest concern. “Lith just told us all about your run-in with the palm tree. I am so sorry about that. I really should have the housewardens replace those horrible things. But don’t worry; the patch should heal you well by tomorrow morning.”

  “Darling! It’s only a scratch!” Mother admonished with a one-note laugh. Quen’die felt even worse as though she had not one ally on the face of the earth. Her mother should have known that she wasn’t one for needless dramatics. Why could she not see that something was terribly wrong?

  “Eh, yes, Doctor Reyliss,” the Xochian elder began in apology. “Some of these specimens of palm trees can create strange effects on the mind if they break the skin, I must admit. Xochians have been extracting their juices for various purposes for centuries. She will be fine after a good night’s sleep, you have my guarantee.”

  Quen’die stood in the middle of her parents in wide-eyed shock. She had never felt so alone. Everything was going according to Venn’lith’s plans. No one would believe her and even if they did, the wicked maiden could destroy her family, as well as elfdom’s shot at colonizing Mars. What horrible power.

  “Come on, bunny,” her father said while taking her by her slim shoulders. “Let’s go home and you can rest this off. You just need some sleep.” His touch still felt warming despite feeling a million miles away.

  Father’s attempt to console her, upon thinking about it made her feel like an elfling, just as Venn’lith had accused. As a matter-of-fact, she had wished she were an elfling again so she would not have to be locked into such a revolting situation. Infants never had to deal with these kinds of events. They could roll around in their cribs all day and play with mobiles or something silly like that. Quen’die wanted out of that den of malice and she wanted out of there as fast as possible. The walls of the grand hall seemed to spin.

  After some quick thank-you’s and goodbyes to their host, Quen’die got her wish and was back within the safe and familiar confines of her family’s coach. All of the joys she had felt earlier of the possibility of receiving her own coach for her birthday the next month meant nothing to her. What good was freedom when you were really nothing but a remote-controlled slave to a spoiled brat? The grey elfmaid lay down in the back seat and cried to herself in the darkness as her parents made their way home.

  “Quen’die, are you feeling any better?” Mother asked her from the front of the cab.

  “I’ll be fine, Mother. I just need to sleep. It’s like Lord Mitlan said about the palm juice and stuff,” Quen’die tried to brush her concerns off. Mother could not help anymore. She needed to deal with this problem on her own. There had to be someone she could confide in. Under normal circumstances, she could handle all of her own problems without much of a challenge. To be honest, before that terrible night, Quen’die had considered many of her trials easy to the point of being a bit boring. That night, one Venn’lith Mitlan changed all of that and she knew that she would have to figure out a way from her clutches beginning tomorrow. Somehow.

  “You know something?” Father announced to his wife after some time driving along the bluffside roads in silence. “I don’t really think I like chocolate all that much.” Quen’die knew he was trying to make light of the situation with her sliced face. After all, he must have been feeling the good spirits about the deal he had cut with the financial warden and she shouldn’t be so selfish as to think her little scratch would be a top priority.

  “Yeah, the notion rarely matches the reality,” Mother responded in an absentminded tone as she gazed out the window at the lights of the beautiful mansions off the roads below them.

  When the Reyliss family arrived home, it was rather late and Quen’die wanted nothing more than to pass out in her comfortable bed. Kaedish had fallen asleep much to her relief as the last thing she wanted him to know was the fact that her face was red with tears and half-covered in a manapatch. All that would succeed in doing was rousting him about all night with more of the gory questions he loved to ask so much. Despondency was a strong enough emotion for one day, and she didn’t need to have annoyance added to it.

  Her bedroom seemed more like a hotel room. She could not recognize it as her own. It felt like she hadn’t been in it for years and her usual sanctuary had, at that point, seemed downright alien. She couldn’t bear to turn on the lights and experience that dissonant feeling even more. Either way, a plush bed was in front of her and she felt compe
lled to sink into it. She jumped out of the dressy gown and let it remain rumpled on the floor as she flung her lithe body onto the covers. The duvet was like a surrogate parent for her and she wrapped herself into it for some sort of security like a vise. The bulk of her covers and blankets were a poor substitute for the warmth and solace that she sought from her parents, but was not allowed to do so at the risk of endangering her family.

  As exhausted as she was, sleep was not as quick as she had expected. So many thoughts and worries rushed through her mind, but they made no sense as she realized she was in a panic. Her family, their financial situation, tomorrow’s party, Hyrax Arcovis, the runta team, her friends, school returning to session the next week, that foul elfmaid who may from now on control her life, those stupid pyramids, and the planet Mars. She needed to get back into a better perspective.

  Quen’die pulled the heaviest of the covers over her crimson hair and began sobbing again as she prayed to the same pantheon of gods who had cared not to hear her earlier that night. Maybe this time at least one of them was listening because if there was one thing she needed right then, it was help.

  At some point, she dozed off during her prayer to She’vashh, the god of fire and vengeance. If any one of them could show her some assistance, it would be him. As she slept, she was treated to a dream about a beautiful day as she walked alongside a stream. The weather was remarkable.

  When I Stepped Out Into the Bright Sunlight from the Darkness

  Why On’dinn Jak’sin awoke in a barn with a dead lamb boggled his mind. He knew for certain he was either in grave danger or trouble, but he couldn’t remember why beyond vague flashes of imagery in his head. Minn’dre was no longer with him but he knew that she was by his side before he fell unconscious. Whoever had done this to him left his satchel and tablet nearby and none of his belongings appeared to be molested, although it seemed that something was missing. Upon reading the glow of his tablet’s newsscrolls, he recalled in an instant the nature of his perils and why he was one of the bad guys.

  Oddly enough, he could find neither hide nor hair of his name in any of the scrolling feeds of information. Travius and even Sammian were the subjects of debate, interview and ridicule, but neither he nor even Minn’dre was mentioned. He remembered with total clarity being arrested and being released by that mysterious Sammian person. The entire operation was illegal.

  It was her. She was the one who brought him to the barn, or rather dumped him there. He hoped beyond hope that Minn’dre didn’t share the same fate as that lamb. The little beast died from violent means as far as On’dinn could tell, as its body looked as if it had been thrown in all directions by a natha and broken. It happened some time ago, he figured, since all the blood around its mouth had been dried black.

  Death was a topic that On’dinn sometimes had felt an affinity with ever since his mother died when he was much younger. He even went through a period of wearing all black from head to toe and devoured whatever type of moribund media he could find. One thing the manascreen could never get right was how fake something looked once it passed on. Perhaps the production companies didn’t want death to look too fake to their audiences, even though real death looked genuinely phony. Before his mother’s pyre was lit, he remembered how wooden she had appeared and his young mind prayed that what he saw in the fire was just a dummy and that she was alive and well in the tropics somewhere and would come back for him one day. This lamb looked just as wooden; like a grotesque toy. The spirit is what makes one truly alive, On’dinn decided. Once that is taken out of any living thing, it reverts to nothing more than a dull wooden husk.

  According to the newsscroll, it was early Feastday evening when he awoke and he figured that he must have been knocked unconscious for the bulk of a full day. It was becoming dark outside as the dusk was approaching not long after he came to. Sammian had taken them quite some ways from the Royal Arena as the compass on his tablet reported. He did not remember her driving a coach of any sort, but the distance from his last memory would have required some type of vehicular travel. He was miles away from anywhere he knew and couldn’t guess as to how he would get back to the city.

  He had to find Minn’dre. She was without a doubt in trouble, but since she was removed from her place of abduction, On’dinn surmised that Sammian wanted her alive. It was no surprise to him, his manaphone was missing from his satchel nor could he find it in any of his pockets. This was Sammian’s sick tactic to keep him from contacting her, he deduced, but he could still write to his friend from his tablet.