The Ancients and the Angels: Celestials

by M.C. O'Neill

  ***

  For many, the day of the arrival was the cause of anything from woe to mere annoyance, but it was a day that would affect all of elfdom, of that, there was no doubt. Coach crashes, unfortunate accidents, destroyed heirlooms and ruined dinners occurred all over the great kingdom that afternoon. From the center of Corosa to the northern coastal metropolis of Caidhul, some form of mayhem or loss consumed the lives of the fine elves of Atlantis. Not a corner of the nation was untouched by this affair and its resulting tremors as not one of its citizens was ignorant of the event. That was, all the elves of Atlantis with the exception of Nod’renn “Noddy” Buchlaa.

  This foolish young elf was unconscious during the whole incident as he attempted to make himself faint on a dare dealt by one of his reckless buddies at his University dorm. Amidst the cheers and prodding of his dorm mates, he squatted against a wall while taking numerous deep breaths before jumping back up as quick as a fox. “Go! Go! Go! Go!” they cheered him on in unison. Upon hopping up, he lost all consciousness in a single instant and fell face-forward onto the hard floor of the austere student housing. Mere moments after his ridiculous stunt, the quakes hit throughout the kingdom and his laughing friends abandoned him with haste to his blackout. He did not regain consciousness until later that night, long after the earth settled and the area’s power was restored. While he explored the desolate halls of his dormitory, he simply thought the whole floor was perpetuating their collegiate prank.

  “All right, everybody. Joke’s over. Come on out now!” He noticed that night had fallen outside as it had become ominous and dim throughout the lonely halls. He had been out for hours. After a bit of unsuccessful searching for another elf, he began to get nervous.

  “Hello? Anyone?”

  It would be a full week before anybody was around those halls to answer him.

  Little Mija

  Morning sunlight burst through the gigantic arched window of the Mitlan’s dining room. Venn’lith sat alone at the head of an enormous table which could seat a party of twenty with ease. She stared off towards the kitchen’s archway while eating a multi-grain cereal, scowling, as she was always grouchy in the mornings. Her father was next to the hearth making boisterous stock deals over the phone to his broker. Venn’lith attempted to put herself into a deep trance so she could block out the din of his barks and the assaulting rays of sunshine.

  “I need to make a solid deal for weapons-grade red mana now!” her father hollered through his crisis. “Buy up all that you can from United Manaworks, and when you are done with that, try Consolidated Power and Light. I need as many shares from these guys as you can get your grubby hands on! Got me? Just look at the rate this power is going for per unit! It’s over nine thousand!”

  The stock market had exploded since the arrival of the strange hulks the night before. This happening was what was known throughout the Circle of Finance as a Black Swan Event; an unexpected fluke. Centeo Mitlan was not about to let this momentous occasion go to waste. He didn’t have three beachside mansions on three different continents by strolling down the paths of the lazy. Today, everything was up for grabs, most of all, weapons. Something big was about to happen with these unidentified structures, he knew well, and he was not going to be left out of possibly the largest financial race of his entire career.

  “Weapons,” he added. “I need to invest in weapons as well as power. Buy anything possible from ComStructure Light Arms and make sure to check out Veren’jee GolemCorp too.” Lord Mitlan was strutting in the kitchen back and forth booming these orders to his broker with a manaphone in one hand and a mug of rich, imported Xochian coffee in the other. He watched the morning sun crawl up the height of the clear sky with a sense of arrogance.

  Venn’lith had two things on her mind right then: a new gown and a certain young male. She couldn’t be bothered with her father’s business prattle that filled the entire first floor of their domain. She, for a moment, covered her pointed ears to stifle the aggravating sensations of that early morning and felt a bit nauseous from it all. Off to her right, Ping, their family’s housewarden, floated down the hall toward the kitchen.

  “Ping!” Venn’lith croaked to the Tel’lemurian servant, hoping to redirect her.

  “Yes, Maiden Venn’lith,” the warden answered with her usual obedience, never making eye contact.

  “Clear this table and try to get Father’s attention. When you are done with that, I need you to prepare my bath,” the Xochian teen ordered her.

  “As you command, Maiden Venn’lith,” she responded as if she were an automaton.

  Venn’lith locked her gaze onto her housewarden’s performance while she cleared the breakfast dishes onto a serving cart. Her ebon eyes never left the movements of the tiny sea elf who was becoming visibly nervous. The elfmaid was tempted to “accidentally” trip her employee because she wanted a good laugh, but decided she would have to forgo such entertainment this morning considering Father’s heated dealings. Judging from his tone, she knew that none of her designs would grab his attention. Venn’lith enjoyed playing such games with the help at a rather common frequency.

  Spared from Venn’lith’s spontaneous whims after finishing her duty, Ping spirited away with a feeling of relief towards the kitchen. The young sun elf got out of her seat and followed the warden. She needed to be sure the Tel’lemurian would summon her father.

  “Wonderful!” Centeo rejoiced to the broker. “I knew you could do it! Keep me posted on any developments. I don’t want to be outfoxed by any of those cursed speculations this time. Get me all the special-stash info, like always. The gods only know what will develop with this situation today. We will be neck-deep in brens by this afternoon; mark my words! Until later.”

  When she knew it was safe to utter a peep, the housewarden called to Father. “Lord Mitlan, Maiden Venn’lith wishes to speak with you.”

  “Certainly, Ping!” he boomed in an exuberated voice, reflecting his beaming mood. “Ah, there you are, Mija!” he said with much pride as he took notice of his daughter who was standing in the kitchen’s far corner. As he was in a good mood that day, Venn’lith knew that good moods meant his attention and compliance; at least for a moment.

  “Good morning, Papi!” Venn’lith smiled the sweetest grin she would use when she wanted something from her father.

  The housewarden slid out of the kitchen without making a noise, grateful to be out of the spoiled Xochian’s spiteful glare. Lord Mitlan diverted his eyes with some haste from his daughter to the mid-sized manascreen which hung down from the kitchen’s ceiling. The screen displayed footage of the pyramid while stock quotes zoomed past on the superimposition at the bottom of the image. Venn’lith was happy to have at least partial attention from her father, but knew she needed to be quick because that was apt to change as suddenly as a flash of lightning with him.

  “So, what does my little ocelot need of me today?” he managed in a doting tone.

  “Well, Papi, there is a party this weekend, and I really, really need a new gown for it,” the elfmaid managed to stress the urgency in as saccharine of a way as possible.

  “But why a new gown? Every one of them you have in your closets are Xochian imports,” he argued with a bored wave.

  “Yes, I know, but the party has an Atlantean theme to it, and I just don’t have anything like that,” she debated. “You know how they say: ‘When in Corosa, do as the Corosans.’”

  “Yes, yes,” Lord Mitlan agreed without pause. “We do need to better acclimate you to this new land. Very well, go out and see to your needs. Which, by the way, you can do immediately. School has been cancelled for the whole week!”

  That day was only getting better and better. Venn’lith felt an actual faint glimpse of charity for refraining from torturing her poor housewarden. Any opportunity to shop was always welcome in her opinion and the fish-scale wraparound she had her eyes on would be hers.

  “Excellent!” she squealed as she engulfed her father’s hug
e frame with a hug.

  On the screen, the usual streaming image of the pyramid was broken by a graphic alerting the viewing public of another special report. Lord Mitlan all but threw his daughter’s embrace off of him and turned to the screen in one deft movement. Venn’lith’s abysmal eyes bore Kumarian daggers in his back as thoughts of silent revenge for the rebuff ran through her mind while her lips puckered into a lush pout. He swiped the manaphone back into his hand like a cobra’s strike so he could be on the ready to make the next call.

  The warning graphic was cut to the familiar face of Quay’liss Dalian. She looked every bit as fresh that morning as she did the night before despite the nation’s chaotic circumstances.

  “Good morning, Atlantis!” she began. “Our communications’ blackout with the other nations from around the world is finally breaking. We are happy to have resumed connection with the kingdoms of Kumari, Kamden and Thuless’in a mere five minutes ago. We bring you now to Bendalay Venway, elder warden for the Circle of Energy from Kumari, just outside the grand city of Band’jee. Thank you for being with us today, Elder Venway.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Lady Dalian,” the high elf greeted back. Lord Mitlan’s sights were transfixed to the news report without any hope of tearing away from it.

  It was all over the world. Behind the power elder, a pyramid identical to the ones dotting the Atlantean countryside poked out like an ominous wedge of rainbow cheese amidst a lush Kumari jungle. Patrolling alongside orange- and gold-tinted power golems, fifteen-foot-tall nathas trudged the pyramid’s perimeter. Nathas were a species of elf endemic to Kumari that were almost double the height of the normal variety and perhaps a third as intelligent. Although they were held with a high regard in their homelands for their ox-like strength, many non-Kumari elves haughtily referred to them as “ogres.” Venn’lith was included amongst those bigoted ranks.

  “As you can plainly see, we too have been visited by these strange objects,” Venway announced in a thick Kumarian accent, which was considered rather musical compared to the dry and blunt tongue of the grey elves of Atlantis. “According to our clocks, they appeared in our nation at exactly the same time as the arrivals in your kingdom. Almost perfectly synchronous.”

  “By the gods! This is multinational,” Lord Mitlan exclaimed to no one in particular as he ordered the phone to contact his broker. He was brimming with excitement and, as he had predicted, this would prove to be a very lucrative event.

  Joining Elder Venway on an opposing half of the screen, the elder warden of the Thuless’in Circle of Defense greeted Lady Dalian. Thuless’in had also been visited by the objects as was seen by another one of the ubiquitous, monumental forms jutting out of a smooth snow bank from behind the burly frost elf. Defense Elder Diggi Tor’digg did not know the Atlantean language, so the manascreen had to translate the Thuless’in’s speech. Venn’lith found the translation quite comical as the screen’s gentle, feminine voice lent a sharp contrast to the stocky, masculine face of the grim warmonger.

  “Welcome to this meeting, Elder Tor’digg,” the newscaster announced with a hint of an annoyed groan under her words.

  Back and forth, the two elders would banter with each other as to what was the nature of the hulks and what their governments should do about them. The Thuless’in wanted to investigate by attempting to infiltrate their interiors while Venway vehemently protested his ungainly idea. Both did agree, however, that the arrival was alien. Tor’digg speculated that they were from another planet or galaxy while Venway argued that they were of an entire separate dimension. Venn’lith, on the other hand, could have cared less.

  As the two elders bickered, a light from atop the Kumarian pyramid begin to pulse without warning in the broadcast’s background. Within seconds, the Thuless’in’s hulk followed in suit. This only triggered her father as he began crying into the phone at his broker a long laundry list of the names of companies and corporations in which he held stock. Venn’lith could not stand the clamor any longer and slipped out of the kitchen and made her way through the cavernous home towards her bath.

  The tub was shaped like a giant seashell and was cast of mother-of-pearl from edge to edge. Ping had drawn it just as her mistress had ordered and this helped save Venn’lith some of the headache of having to punish the Tel’lemurian. The young sun elf no longer felt the lust to play her cruel games with the staff. She wanted to be ready and out of the house as soon as possible.

  As she bathed, she debated with herself about whether to buy the fish-scale wraparound or the sharkskin. Atlantean high fashion had almost always incorporated the hide of some sort of sea life. Pearls, corals, and shells were frequent additions to their couture which differed from the catskins, gold and any variety of parrots’ plumage with which the Xochians would adorn. All of this cultural difference was both exciting and frustrating for her. In class and in social gatherings, her foreign accoutrements made her something of a novelty, but novelty can wear thin, the elfmaid worried. It was time to go shopping.

  In her voluminous bedroom, Venn’lith stood in front of her mirror which made a good effort to occupy the length of one wall and was curved at either end so that she could view herself from multiple angles. Its true, perfect glass was framed inside mana-cured acacia from Gonduanna. Like her fashion, the room was decorated with a Xochian design of leopard furs and macaw feathers. Gold, turquoise and terracotta colors swirled in a symphony of wealth around her.

  At a height of 5’10”, she was considered rather petite for an elfmaid of her age, although years of playing runta had given her a very muscular frame. Her months in Atlantis had already drained some of the color from her usual caramel complexion of which she was so proud. Xochians from the northeastern coasts were blessed with the natural luxury of living in the bright, hot sun for almost three hundred sixty-five days of the year. The last thing she wanted to do was lock herself in a sun casket like all the natives of her new home tended to during the autumn and winter. She thought the phony tans made them look tawdry and fake, not to mention a bit foolish.

  She ordered the mirror to show her what the sharkskin dress would look like on her. “Imago Lodon,” she chanted her desire. Before her very eyes, the mirror’s image dressed her in a bluish squaline gown that flattered her form like a charm, but did not meet with her toasty complexion very well.

  “Can’t win them all,” she muttered with much disappointment under her breath. “Imago Picussin,” she spat to the mirror in manaspeech.

  As with the sharkskin gown, the fish-scale fit her shape well. It was Venn’lith’s opinion that her figure could look amazing even in a burlap bag. The garment was designed from the hides of giant triggerfish. Its bright yellow base was splashed at random with fluorescent-blue and black amoeboid forms which assisted in activating her skin tones and she felt like the sun goddess herself. The decision was made. The fish-scale it would be.

  She went to her dresser, which too had a curved mirror and began to apply smoky plum and gold colors to her face. She marveled at how perfectly her features sloped and how gentle her angles were compared to Atlantis’s grey elfmaidens who were much more abrupt and chiseled in their facial structures. Venn’lith thought they looked too masculine and stony. In her opinion, a female should be softer. That was a quality she possessed which drew the males at school toward her in a trance; that and her heavy Xochian accent. She had decided even before relocating to this new land that she would never lose that flavor and whenever she was the center of the opposite sex’s attention, which was quite often, she played it up.

  In her closet, which was about the size of Ping’s entire living quarters, Venn’lith scanned the racks for a dress that was as close to Atlantean fashion as possible for practice. She decided on a shimmering white dolphinskin gown that wrapped over one shoulder and left the other bare. It was cut a few inches below the knees and would become ever the more translucent as it approached the bottom hem. Although it was of Xochian design, at least it conformed to the
aquatic styles of Atlantis. She found it a bit amusing that she was wearing the skin of an animal which was assumed to be the evolutionary ancestor to the elven race. From rumors she had heard, such a hide was illegal to even own in the kingdoms of Tel’lemuria and Kumari.

  Back at her dresser, she sculpted her thick, jet-black hair into a downward crescent that pointed sharply at either side of her face. It contrasted against the upward curves of her high and pointed ears. After what seemed like an eternity, she piled on pounds of amber and gold jewelry before applying a vanilla scent to her neck, wrists and under her arms. Nearby, her imported pet guinea pig was lapping water from its bottle with as much greed as her father had for brens. As she got up to leave, the tiny rodent turned toward her in a flash with a wide-eyed surprised stare. She found this adorable and giggled.

  “Oh, you sweet little piggy!” she cooed.

  She strutted down the vaulted main hall which was lit up top-to-bottom from one side by the light of a gigantic aquarium. The tank itself was a priceless work of contemporary Atlantean art, crafted by the famous sculptor Ved’gaard Ginn. Instead of water, it was filled with glowing blue mana which suspended an embalmed dolphin with perfect equilibrium. A red rose jutted out of the side of its beak like a delicate hematoma.

  At the far end of the hall, yet another one of the elfmaid’s foreign pets lounged in a curl on the floor. The albino jaguar patted its tail without care on the checkered marble flooring, basking in the blue ambiance of the tank. Not one blemish of color could be found on its body save its pink eyes. Near the great cat, a large puddle collected on the floor.

  Venn’lith sauntered over to the beast in a quick, steady movement and lorded over it; her deep brown eyes hardening to a dead black. With full-forced lightning reflexes, the maiden backhanded the jaguar with her golden-manicured fingernails which were as long as a Xochian raptor’s.

  “Blanca!” she growled at the cat.

  The defeated beast let out a kitten-like mew and waddled low to the ground in shame and humiliation, hoping to get as far away from her mistress and as quickly as possible. Venn’lith’s strike dug two burning gashes on the top of its alabaster head. The elfmaid’s rage was still not sated and she imagined roasting the rare cat on a spit.

  “Ping!” she bellowed though the hall. “Ping! Clean this up now!”

  As if by some mystical force, the little housewarden appeared almost within that instant.

  “Yes, Maiden Venn’lith; as you command,” she responded with a meek bow.

  Although Venn’lith enjoyed Ping’s immediate responses to her whims and wishes, she was also a bit disturbed by her silent quickness. If anyone could dare to assassinate her, the teen suspected, this young lady would be an apt candidate for the job. It was a concept she had been keeping in mind as of late and she tried her best to track the warden’s whereabouts.

  The elfmaid looked down at her diminutive employee with a suspicious squint and hissed, “I should tie a bell around your neck!” while storming into the kitchen to find her purse. She couldn’t be any more bothered as she needed to check her messages.

  Father was nowhere to be seen. He must, the maiden assumed, have rushed off to the Circle of Finance to wheel and deal his way through this supposed momentous economic occasion. She looked out the large kitchen window to find his coach gone from their expansive courtyard.

  She noticed that Father had left the screen awake. She ordered the device to scan through different channels, but each and every one of them displayed the same special report involving the pyramids. She was growing weary of the newscasts, especially how repetitive they were. It was certain, the governments knew much more than they were letting the public in on. Her father probably knew more himself from his elite circle of insider-trading buddies. On the screen, the same two elders were discussing their respective pyramids just as they were when she had last left the kitchen.

  “These flashing lights are consistent with the activity of your pyramids,” the Kumari elder reported. “As far as we know, Atlantis, Thuless’in, and my twin nations of Kumari-Kamden have numerous pyramids that are all pulsating now with this orange light. The odd thing is they are all blinking at exactly the same time no matter where on Earth they rest.”

  “Of course!” the frost elf elder interjected with a bold huff. “This is obviously some form of alien fuse! It is a countdown and it will mean the possible destruction of our entire species when these…these things detonate! They are indeed bombs and we need to intervene with force before it is too late for every one of us! I elect that all the kingdoms of Earth unite to form a plan to investigate, infiltrate and ultimately, defuse this menace before we are wiped out!”

  Although the genteel voice of the translator on the screen sang his Thuless’in words with a beautiful grace, those words were still quite foreboding and even Venn’lith’s icy demeanor was a bit shaken by Tor’digg’s notion. She figured that she had better get that fish-scale dress before the final end of elfdom. Perhaps the boutique would be selling it at fire-sale prices, considering the circumstances.

  Quay’liss Dalian was never the one to let a good crisis turn away viewers, but the frost elf defense elder was apt to cause an international panic with his seemingly adamant decision to attack the hulks. This was the last thing the newsie wanted her reports to trigger, especially if the pyramids did turn out to be a benign blemish on the earth.

  “Tor’digg?” the reporter stopped the elder’s rant with a tone of gentle condensation. “Tor’digg, we still don’t know for certain the nature of these structures and we cannot jump to those kinds of conclusions yet. So far, nothing other than some blinking lights have come from the hulks. Other than some slight damage to mostly unpopulated areas, we can assure you; these things are thus far, harmless.”

  “Yes, Lady Dalian, you are most likely correct,” Elder Venway agreed. “If you consider the invariably common placement of these objects as being set away from population centers, almost as if they were trying to be careful, you will know that harm is not likely the intent here, my friend. It is my best assessment that the pulsating lights on the top of these pyramids, or ziggurats, or whatever you wish to call them are not occurring for the purpose of a detonation. No, the lights are meant to beckon, not destroy. There is very little chance if you breach these structures that you will find an explosive of some type. That is why we should not molest these objects without further study of them. These things are not bombs. These lights are beacons.”

  “Ha!” the frost elf belted back with forceful gusto at his high elf contemporary. “And what do you suppose they beckon? Ducks and flying bunnies?” With that, the defense elder boomed defiant laughter at the ecologist.

  “Atlantis’s meddling with Mars is what triggered this, I am certain,” Tor’digg stated with the pride of an icy rooster. “Your nation’s foolish curiosity with a world you do not understand has obviously awoken an unseen force you haven’t accounted for. These sentiments also extend to Kumari and Kamden. I cast shame on your kingdoms for endowing your talents and resources in collusion with this outrageous exploration!”

  Venn’lith had enough of this annoying debate, and she could not be bothered with the stupid political drama which would, without a doubt, last for hours. She had to get out on the roads before they were jammed with refugees or perhaps, looters. The last thing she wanted was to find the object of her desire pilfered by some worthless dreg who was frightened by his very shadow.

  “Telen’vid Duro,” she ordered the screen to power-off with an exasperated hiss. Its ultra-thin layer of liquid mana which formed the images and sounds of the broadcast recoiled and evaporated from its canvas surface with a poof and a puff.

  Spotting her purse which was forged from gold-banded mail; she swiped it off the wall rack and rushed out the door. The sun was still beaming in the sky and she loved the way it kissed her skin now that she was more awake. The weather was beautiful for the late spring season and it almost, almost felt like her hom
eland. She felt powerful in its glow.

  Her gold and bright-yellow coach was enameled with excellence and hewn from the finest cured gingko. Her father bought it for her for her sixteenth birthday the month before. She was already growing weary of it and was devising plans to convince Father to buy her another one. The coach was rather small and could only seat four elves at any one time with difficulty. The door was locked, which was unusual since she lived in a gated home and she left nothing of value inside the cab.

  “Capso abrenn, Venn’lith,” she chanted to the coach as she lost her patience. It was signified to unlock and activate only to her and her father’s voices. Coach theft was all but a virtual impossibility unless the offender was somehow able to signify himself through furtive means with the manaflow of another’s vehicle.

  At her command, the streamlined doors unlocked and the frame of the coach began to lift off from the ground on a two-foot bed of steady and gentle-purring mana. The manaball at the front end of the sleek, teardrop-shaped vehicle began to pulse with an energy which would pull its hull forward. Their family’s coachmaster had just tuned it up that past weekend and the well-polished white-gold trim and bumpers were blinding in the sunshine. Its bow ornament, which was cast into the shape of a winged sabercat, shimmered with a high polish as well. The raw power within the manaball engine hummed with an invisible force, ready to transport the Xochian. “woobwoobwoobwoob…”

  The coach sped along the oceanside highway en route to the Grand Market of Corosa, which was the premiere shopping plaza of the Atlantean capital city. Venn’lith’s gold-enameled fingers lightly touched the trackball which controlled her direction. She looked off to the left of the winding road and scanned the calm waters. A pod of porpoises were playing with a confused orca and this made the elfmaid feel good inside. Over and under the waves, the gallant beasts would crash as the orca would jump up as soon as the porpoises submerged.

  The sun elf decided to make a quick detour on the way to the market. Since the roads were much calmer than the night before, she figured the blueskin’s doomsaying had not riled the general public enough yet, although the market would still be crowded, Venn’lith was certain. Many people probably took the day off of work due to the pyramids. The highway was nonetheless populated with some coaches that were burdened with baggage and furniture strapped to their roofs as their occupants hoped to relocate to wherever they imagined would provide safety.

  “Fools,” Venn’lith thought aloud with a spit. They run like sheep and die like lemmings. Such was the behaviors of the lowest common denominator. They should be out shopping, judged the young elfmaid.

  By instinct, she pulled her phone from her purse and gleaned the glowing screen for her messages. Most of the people on her list she felt were either annoying at worst, expendable at best. To be sure, the elfmaid was quite popular. Her inbox was nearly sixty calls long; all from different people composed just last night. Many of them were females who wanted to be her, while the bulk of the list was from males who wanted to be with her. No matter the gender, all of them feared the maiden in some capacity and she liked it that way.

  Looking at the list, one particular query stood out from a male with whom she had been more than mildly interested. She figured she needed a shopping partner for the day, and she didn’t feel like listening to the boring prattle of her female entourage. Males were better company on the many days she felt annoyed. They didn’t talk as much and bother her with imaginary crises and drama which could prove to give her a headache and make her ears throb. Yes, they would ogle her form and attempt to impress her with trite one-liner jokes, but all she had to do was let out a slight giggle and the beasts would be satisfied. This was much preferable to the impromptu therapy sessions her maiden-friends begged of her. However, those same maidens were quite the wellspring of information and gossip. Venn’lith knew an elfmaid such as her may very well be the target of character assassination one day and they proved to be a valuable asset. Jealously was like that.

  As for females, Venn’lith was a bit curious about one particular classmate, namely, the one called Quen’die Reyliss. She was supposed to be one of the school’s junior league runta champions. Venn’lith would make sure to change that record when the new season began. Back home in her native land, she was all but unbeatable. The Xochian teen had been observing her future rival at school and noted that she was somewhat popular and quite the academic, but figured the grey elf stood very little chance against her when it came to males. First of all, Quen’die dressed like a jock and never much in any other style. She had no style, as a matter-of-fact. Sure, she was tall, but it was a lanky height that reminded Venn’lith of a Gonduannian giraffe. The most unflattering aspect to her appearance was her blanched skin. If this grey elf were ever to wander out on a Xochian beach, she would blind all the bathers with certainty before turning as red as her hair and combusting. The sun elf thought that notion was funny and giggled aloud. As for her attitude, she had none at all. Venn’lith had noted that the naive elfmaid froze like a doe whenever she attempted to converse with the males. It was painful watching her try to win the attentions of that gorgeous runta captain. Quen’die had no hope as far as he was concerned; well, very little hope. Just to be sure, Venn’lith would nip the competition in the bud starting that day.

  Venn’lith ordered the number in question from the manaphone and waited for his answer. He should be grateful that she deigned to call him back, she huffed to herself. After a few short moments, she heard the other side pick-up. “Hello?”

  “I’m coming over. Be ready,” she commanded without making any greeting while hamming up her Xochian accent.

  “Yeah, but I…,” the lad attempted.

  “Whatever. I am not waiting for you,” she sputtered. “I will be at your home in ten minutes.”

  “Uh… yes. Very well then,” he relented. The large elf on the other end was not the one for many words.

  Males were so easy. It was going to be a smooth day after all, the sun elf smiled. Perhaps she could get him to buy her lunch at the new Tel’lemurian bistro which had opened down the promenade of the Grand Market from the boutique. It was rumored to have specialized in many varieties of mushrooms and noodles and she loved eating with chopsticks.

  With a silent halt, she set down the coach off the side of the road from the young elf’s family courtyard a few minutes later. She was a bit worried that she was early, but she could not resist the urge to speed alongside the ocean under that remarkable sky. It mattered not; she knew he would be ready to go, as the lads always were.

  She rang the bell and in less than an instant, the young elf filled the doorway fully dressed in a rather inexpensive, but still fashionable summer tunic with his black topknot groomed to shining perfection. This was exactly what she expected and she always welcomed the promptness of others.

  “Greetings, Lith,” the elf smiled.

  “Greetings, Hyrax,” she flashed the lad a grin with her flawless teeth. “Care to come out and play?”

  Black Hood Bubblegum

  Downtown Corosa City was coping with the monoliths’ appearances in a calm way that surprised almost everyone. Tor’digg’s theory of an alien attack was not left unnoticed by the citizens of the city, but neither was Venway’s. A common consensus of the people was to wait and see what would happen. A total of one hundred forty-eight hulks were counted across the provinces of Atlantis alone and many elves did not feel that they had anywhere to flee; if flight was necessary. No matter where they figured they could turn, they would simply move from the shadow of one juggernaut and into the shade of another. Not a wonder, the sales of casters and red mana cartridges were rampant; just in case that whatever peopled those things was not friendly. When giving the broadcasts a closer view, one could see that the structures did indeed have a door, and it was a big door. To most elves, that meant one of two things: there was either an army of elven-sized beings or a couple of giants huddled in there. Despite the perceived calm, man
y of Corosa’s citizens were off work due to this event just as the schools were closed. And that meant the streets were bustling.

  On’dinn Jak’sin was squeezing his slight frame through the double doors of the Sea and Shell Trading Company that afternoon. The establishment’s name was a bit misleading as it sold no seafood or marine life, but rather coffee, tea and spice imports. It was very popular throughout the city and its café was a stomping ground for all types of elves, even some celebrities. That month, the new craze was the imported Xochian tangerine mocha and the whole place reeked of chocolate and citrus. As so many people had the day off to enjoy at their leisure; the place was jam-packed with elves chattering on about the big news.

  Minn’dre Harvatt was steaming coffees from around the world at a frantic pace to satisfy the orders of the queue which was snaking out the door and halfway around the block. The money would be good today and the tips were already quite generous, but she was earning every bren of it. On’dinn spotted her from over the tops of the milling elves, but the crowd was so condensed that he figured there was no way of jumping to the front of it today, as was a usual attempt for him.

  “Hey Minnie!” the flaxen-haired elf waved his slender hands. “I got your message!” He had to yell over the din of the crowd. Although he was a frequent denizen of the café, he could not recount it ever being so populated.

  Minn’dre could only gesture for him to wait a moment. Although the counter was staffed to its maximum duty, the five baristas could only work with enough speed to accommodate such a throng. Taking her cue, On’dinn found an odd corner of the establishment’s bistro portion that was vacant. How he managed to find the spot was nothing short of divine luck.

  The young elf pulled his tablet out of his shoulder bag and gleaned through the inbox on its screen. Minn’dre wanted to meet him that afternoon for another “mission,” as she called it. Ever since joining the Black Hood Group, On’dinn felt a sense of focus for his beliefs. At last, he could put his head together with the minds, the open minds, of people who were serious about making a change for a good cause. To him, it was preferable to the brainless sports and athletic concerns so many of the other elves at his school would bother. A healthy body, to be sure, was important, but the mind needed flexing as well. So many elves of his age just couldn’t understand this concept as they hopped and jumped on the runta fields and ringball courts without a care in existence. The world, he assumed, needed that care and someone had to step up to such a great plate. It was a sign of bravery no noble could match, in his opinion.

  The message from Minn’dre was sent over the flow in a secret encryption under her Black Hood alias “Nightbloom.” He double-checked the contents to see if he was early or late, but he was quite certain that the appointment was on the mark. Punctuality was not one of On’dinn’s qualities and he had promised himself that he would make a concerted effort to work on that. The message on the tablet’s screen read:

  From: Nightbloom

  To: Basil

  Meet at SSTC for instructions. Afternoon-2 P.M. Big Oak found a new grotto! Bring a can of paint (black, of course).

  MARS IS NOT OURS!

  Cute!

  Ever since reading that last line of the message, On’dinn had been walking with a spring in his already-slight step. He couldn’t believe a maiden in the University would attach such a disclaimer to an adept school student. Those monoliths dominating the city’s skyline could be full of murderous orcs and he would still be elated in the back of his mind. Minn’dre was so remarkable and he loved her platinum-blond hair which was cut short and ended in a sharp bang that would drape over the left side of her face, despite it being somewhat unfashionable. At all times, only one of her eyes could be seen except when she flipped her head. Regardless of his joy, the suspense of the message was killing him and he was waiting with bated breath for her to fill him in on the plan.

  His fugue was broken at last when one of the waitresses chimed in to take his order, “Hey, On’dinn, can I get you something?”

  It was Shae’gin; at least he thought that was her name. He couldn’t rightfully remember and he didn’t really care at that moment.

  “Uh, hello,” he was still collecting his bearings from his daydream of beautiful maidens and political intrigue. “Yeah, I would like the usual. A vanilla juice.”

  “Okay, got’cha,” she chanted his order into her tablet.

  “Hey, do you know when Minnie gets a break?” He couldn’t believe how desperate he felt over a female. At school, many of the maidens seemed quite entranced by his political discourses in class and a few of them even braved asking him to social gatherings. He always thought it was funny how they would approach him as if he was some ancient relic that may or may not curse them if they got too close. Sure, they were pretty, but how someone with half a brain could be satisfied with the company of such prosaic, dare he say, boring people was beyond his grasp. A night out with a cheerleader would be heaven to a less-evolved elf, but dull as a butterknife as far as he was concerned. Minn’dre was much different from that ilk.

  “Oh, she’s on break in a few minutes. I’ll let her know you’re in the bistro,” Shae’gin answered.

  “Capital. Thanks.”

  As expected, a few minutes later, the striking blond maiden arrived to his table as did his order. She was beaming a smile and appeared to hold an honest joy to see him. She was still wearing her denim apron which was stained with many varieties of spices and herbs. Underneath, she wore the uniform sleeveless, green gown which displayed the company’s logo with verdant pride. To On’dinn, she smelled as beautiful as she looked.

  “On’dinn! I’m so glad you made it over!” The mirth in her voice was infectious. No matter how heated Black Hood meetings could get, Minn’dre always seemed to maintain that bright, positive demeanor and he loved it. Once, he wrote a poem about her and described her temperament as “insanely happy.” He never, of course, shared this poem with anyone as it remained filed in secret, away within the dark recesses of his tablet. Maybe, one day he would have the guts to read it to her. “I hope you didn’t have a problem with the crowds on the streets. It’s a madhouse out there!”

  “Tell me about it! I was nearly run over twice by coaches,” he informed her. “So, what’s going on today?”

  “Plenty, elf, plenty,” she said as she handed him the juice. “Travius found the Group a new place and he wants to hold a special meeting in it tonight. That’s where you come in. You did bring a can of spraypaint, yes?”

  “Black, like you said,” he assured as he patted his shoulder bag. “Right here.”

  “Great. I need you to take this stencil and throw a tag up on a building on the corner of Fifth and Wampler. It’s in an alley. Apply the tag on the first door you see on the red clay building. That door, of course, leads to the new HQ.”

  He loved the way she was plotting, like it was as natural as chatting about the weather. He supposed males were more into the daring notion of espionage as depicted on a manascreen show. Then again, she was two years older. Perhaps this was just business as usual for her.

  The elf took the stencil and gave it a thorough perusal. “This one is different than usual.”

  “Of course. We don’t want the authorities getting too used to our branding, so Travius likes to shake the bag a little,” she explained. “Besides, a new HQ equals a new look. What do you think?”

  “It’s a better rendition than the last one. More of a graphic presence this time.” This design was that of a hood which folded downward from a frontal view. Inside the darkness of the hood, revealed a veiled portion of a smiley face. “It’s kind of funny in a morbid way. Did you design it?”

  “Sure did,” Minn’dre quipped. “I was up sketching these things out for hours. I think I made about twenty different versions, but Travius settled on this one.”

  Knowing she was in charge of the group’s branding made her all the more amazing to him. Not only was she beautiful and intellig
ent, she was also quite talented. On’dinn wished he could draw better, but he was more of a thinker and a debater and he felt secure with himself in those areas.

  “Well, I think it’s great,” the lad beamed. “When does he want it thrown up?”

  “As soon as possible,” she told him with a blunt air of authority. “I would wish that you have it on the wall before the sun sets. Now, that’s the second part. After you’re done with the tag, just wait across the street in that little park for me. It might take me some time, but you can’t miss the meeting. It’s tonight at 6 p.m.”

  “Gotta plan B if I’m spotted?” This plot was piquing his interest more and more. Tagging on a wall, even if in an alley, was considered vandalism by the civil wardens and On’dinn knew he could very well end up in the dungeon if caught.

  “You’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Just act natural when you reach the site. Besides, the wardens are too busy trying to control the chaos out there from those pyramids. That’s why Travius figured this would be a great time to upgrade operations.”

  “Any idea what the meeting’s about?” He splashed some of his juice by nervous accident on his t-shirt which pled for the consideration of personhood for a species of cave-dwellers known as troglodytes. “They Use Tools, You Fools!” was proudly displayed in a giant black script across the white fabric.

  “Not a clue, but Travius told me that it’s gonna be big and that all members need to attend tonight. It’s mandatory.” Minn’dre surveyed the floor and saw yet another wave of customers filing through. “I really have to get back, but just make your way over to the site and get that tag up as soon as possible.”

  “What about the rest of the group?” On’dinn asked. He could see that she was anxious to get back to her crowd of ruffling patrons.

  “I’ll mail all of them before I get back to my shift. They’ll see the tag, so they’ll know precisely where to find the headquarters. Just keep calm, act natural and please, don’t get caught.” She was already rising out of her seat to get to her ordering tablet.

  “Okay, will do. Fifth and Wampler. Got it,” the lad relayed the information in a hurry, but Minn’dre was being swallowed by the hubbub of the thirsty clientele. At that moment, On’dinn felt like a rookie, which in a sense he was compared to Minn’dre.

  He surmised he had very little time to waste. Although the site of the new headquarters was nearby, he still needed to navigate through the bustle on the streets and apply the signage to the wall. Never one to be materialistic, he wished at a time like this that he had a coach, or at least a cycle. With the traffic as jammed as it was, he could probably make better time on foot, anyway he guessed.

  On’dinn waded through the crowds of elves that choked the streets. Overhead, the sky was turning pink and he figured a storm would be arriving. That could help out matters because it would drive any curious elves inside while he was tagging. The downside was that his paint would wash away if he didn’t hurry. He had to be quicker about this than what called for in his original plan. If the rain made a few dramatic streaks through the signature that could lend a nice effect, but a full torrent of water would destroy the integrity of the design. There was no way he wanted to blow this one.

  By the time he reached the designated area, he had to survey the alleyway from a bench on the park across the street. This situation wasn’t in his favor as elves walking their hounds populated the grounds and the sky above him was becoming rosier with the storm. One of the park’s patrons was a young female who was walking two domesticated black leopards. Trotting down Wampler, two mounted civil wardens patrolled the area. The armor on their steeds matched their own colors. He was getting a bit nervous and he pretended to read his cured-elm tablet so he might appear more inconspicuous.

  “Gods! Come on!” He was soon becoming nerve-wracked. Protesting was a fine activity for the political footsoldier. One was out in the open, chanting slogans and sometimes one had to wear a bandana or a mask if the cause was particularly controversial. It was legal (usually) and one could get a lot of press and sometimes a little bit of change for the better. A nice philosophical debate in the classroom or cafe was his favorite method of politicking, as he saw it, but this cloak-and-dagger stuff was aggravating. Timing would be of the essence.

  “Let’s see… If I can see the alley, everyone here can see me, but if I throw the tag deeper into it, I should be all right,” he mumbled to himself. Not only was the rose sky turning salmon, but the air was beginning to stink of the ocean. This was going to be one beast of a storm and his tag would be ruined, and hence, the group would not find the location. He had already lollied there for a half hour. They all had to make this meeting come rain, which was for certain, or shine. It was the new HQ, after all.

  The young elf grabbed his bag and shoved his tablet into it. “Okay, I gotta do this now!” he blurted aloud as he looked at the irate clouds above him. The equine units were gone and he looked above once again to make sure there weren’t any buzzing flitcycles patrolling in conjunction with the Mounties. That’s how the wardens nabbed lawbreakers most often - overhead interference. Always look up, the lad remembered.

  Once he reached the alley, On’dinn trekked through the bins of waste and offal to check for any derelicts lounging about. He knew just from the police shows on the screen that bums were a frequent source of information for the wardens; for the right price. All he needed to do was to be spotted through one lazy eye of a drunk hidden amongst the refuse and the next thing he knew, he’d have wanted posters tacked all over the place featuring his description and his crime.

  So far, so good, he judged. The alley was free of elven traffic and only a couple of rats would be made audience to his devices. Unlike the bums, rats didn’t have loose lips. On’dinn gave the alleyway a double-take and found that no elves were in eyeshot of his vantage point. It was time to make some art.

  For a homemade design, it was really brilliant and it made him think of Minn’dre with even more warmth. He was so proud and jealous of her at the same time as his ebon spray unveiled her proof-of-product on the red wall. It was like they were a perfect force working together. She devised the vision and he was putting it out there; realizing it. In some ways, he thought, this meeting of minds was better than a first date with her. Well, maybe a first date would be better, he recanted.

  After the tag was fully applied, he stood back to admire it. It was on pretty straight and it looked really clean. It was on the wall next to a green door which On’dinn supposed led to the new headquarters. On the wall above the tag, but not directly above, a light fixture lay dormant. If it got really dark by six, anybody who was looking for it in earnest would be able to see it. He knew he had to consider these factors since the design functioned as an essential signpost. No streaks or drips were marring the message and he knew that his fellow Black Hoods would be able to tell where they were supposed to meet.

  Low grumbles of thunder were making their way over the rooftops. He hoped that Minn’dre would meet him as soon as she could so he might make it inside. He also just wanted to see her face again. He had hoped, she really liked what he did with her work, but he wondered if she would say anything at all. Sometimes, On’dinn felt that he was too much of a people-pleaser, and if he fancied that person, he was almost subservient to them. Perhaps such an attribute would make him a better politician someday.

  He figured the tag should be dried to a full cure by the time any precipitation hit and because the alley was so narrow, those rains would not touch the walls until the force of the storm became torrential. Either way, he didn’t want to become drenched.

  As On’dinn attempted to make it out of the alleyway, he assumed he would soon get soaked while waiting for her in the park, anyway. Just before he could exit the shadows of the red clay walls, he found his path blocked by three large forms. With any luck, he hoped he wasn’t spotted. The Black Hood would just leave him to his fate if that were the case, and he was fine with that. He knew the scor
e. Getting caught was not on the agenda here, but upon adjusting his eyes from the gloom of the alley, he knew he was in a trouble of a different kind.

  “Hey, freak! Talking to your fellow rats? Maybe trying to score a date?” The harsh male voice boomed down the walls of the alley.

  Another voice joined the trio of anger and scorn. “On’dinn Jak’sin, I see you!”

  This wasn’t going to be good, On’dinn feared, as they were advancing further down the way and into the shadows where they would be free to do what they wanted to him unseen. He remembered learning from a police show that anyone who really wants to do you harm will try anything they can to get you relocated from a point of observation to a point of seclusion. The warden on the show said that if anyone orders you to come with them, running away would be your best option because a perpetrator would know that they can’t act right where they are without getting caught. This was a different matter. These elves were forcing him into seclusion as they occupied the entire alleyway three abreast. They already had him where they wanted him and they somehow knew him.

  He slapped open his manaphone with lightning reflex and noted the time. Minn’dre wouldn’t arrive for another half hour at least and the rest of the group even later. This situation was looking bleak and he cursed the gods in silence to himself.

  “Who’s there? Get out of here!” On’dinn hoped that the command would display a sense of authority to his three would-be attackers and even stall them so he had more time to figure out how to escape this mess. No such luck was working for him as their steps continued on with purpose and confidence.

  His eyes could read through their silhouettes against the sanguine afternoon. It was that foul bully Hyrax Arcovis and his two toadies from the runta team: Ferd’inn’ Kokoff and Tall’iss Garb’ann.

  Garb’ann wasn’t really on the runta team anymore as his grades had slipped too far below the minimum allowance to continue playing. This was due, in part, to his time locked away in the juvenile dungeon for bashing out Jer’lynn Sev’rinn’s coach’s windows with his runta glove in their adept school’s courtyard. She had used her good sense to refuse a date from the brute but, to her misfortune, he didn’t take to the rejection very well. His normal position on the runta field was defensive line and he was gigantic. A gigantic loser, in On’dinn’s opinion, but his lowly station in life no longer mattered after he thrust his foot in the young elf’s tiny stomach.

  As luck would have it for On’dinn, he was a light eater and the vanilla juice from the café was the only content in his stomach that afternoon. He managed to keep it from spewing all over Garb’ann’s shoes but the wind was knocked out of him nevertheless. Oddly, On’dinn was amazed at how professionally deft the ogrish elf’s kick was. He surmised that he just could not do such a thing to a person even if he wanted to no matter how hard he tried. It was like the natural order for the monster.

  “Awww, is the little wiseguy gonna lose the lunch Mama packed for him?” Ferd’inn cackled as On’dinn crumpled to the ground; his lungs devoid of air.

  Ferd’inn was a different story. The guy managed, in all actuality, to receive pretty good grades and lived beachside in one of the wealthier neighborhoods. He often drove the trio around as he was the only one of them with a coach and it was a nice coach; a convertible. On’dinn figured that Hyrax and Tall’iss used him for the ride and his house parties, but he was not a bad runta player either, so it was possible that they carried some respect for him. Ferd’inn was vanity personified and more than likely would not mete out any violence to the young elf. Such an act might blemish his manicured nails of the finest quality.

  On’dinn was wrong on that account. Ferd’inn packed his insult in with a sharp slap across his face that stung like a hornet. “Whatever, scag,” the haughty elf demeaned On’dinn as if he was already weary of him and began to turn away down the alley.

  Last, but not least in line for On’dinn’s beating, was the inimitable Hyrax Arcovis; the wunderkind of the Seabreeze Grand Sabercats runta team. He was the exalted captain of the outfit and the undefeated champion of the Corosa Province who held this record his whole career at the school. Neither was Hyrax a poor student. Sure, he wasn’t much of a free-thinker like On’dinn, but he made the grade as would the school’s administration have it. On’dinn was not too shabby with the maidens, but all the females loved Hyrax. Rumor had it, even some of the professors. The main and most glaring problem with Hyrax, On’dinn decided, was that he had nothing that serviced as a soul, and if he did, it was pitch black. He really covered his transgressive nature well with his superior looks and physique. Always so polite, yet commanding, even with his superiors at the school. He more or less owned that school’s gymnasium coach and seven universities worldwide already had their sights on him to play for their Master’s league runta teams.

  “On’dinn Jak’sin,” he began with a matter-of-fact growl. “You are a no-deodorant Communal and stink of the streets. It’s no surprise to find you lurking in this alley, which will undoubtedly be your home one day soon. “

  “Anarchist, actually,” On’dinn managed with sarcasm as his breath had returned to his lungs. He wasn’t about to let this haughty swine get the best of him. Hyrax was the poster-child for all that he opposed. “But I suppose you aren’t intelligent enough to know what that means.”

  Sometimes, On’dinn’s talent for candor was overreaching, and this was one of those moments. Hyrax was going to kill him as the strapping elf had murder in his blackened eyes.

  “On’dinn Jackass, you’re dead…” With that, the runta champ shoved his claw around the small elf’s neck with a movement so quick On’dinn couldn’t escape it, even if he was rather agile. The brute supported his light frame with another talon to his crotch and lifted him off the ground.

  “Time to take out the trash,” Arcovis said without needing to grunt. He was that strong. On’dinn’s slender body was shoved into one of the garbage bins lining the far side of the alley from the green door. His knees were at his eye’s level as he was almost folded in double to accommodate the small space of the bin. Before On’dinn knew it, his adept school’s runta hero washed his face with a stony fist at full force. The pain was blinding, but he was still conscious.

  “Garbage Day!” the wicked hero boomed, then let out an evil snicker.

  All of his bullies were laughing at Hyrax’s display of power as he crouched down and picked up a carton of half-consumed hippopotamus milk (Imported fresh from Gonduanna!). On’dinn could feel trails of blood track out of his nose and he wondered if it was broken.

  “Look everyone!” Hyrax shouted in mock triumph. “Food for the masses! Freedom for the troglodytes! Love for the losers!”

  Hyrax’s derisive imitation of a Communal’s speech was followed by a large boom of thunder. This coincidental event sent the alley into bales of guffaws and made On’dinn feel like a worthless worm. Even Hyrax was impressed at the timing of Lady Nature. The gods themselves were appearing to favor him that afternoon.

  After his impressive display of rancor, Hyrax poured the curdled contents of the carton onto On’dinn’s bleeding head with a slow sluggishness that was interminable. Globs of rotten hippo milk drooled down the lad’s dishwater-blond braids and locks. The slight elf knew he needed to stand his emotional ground. Everything was going so proper and perfect for these beasts and he could not let them see him cry even though he wanted to in the worst way. Remembering an ancient Tel’lemurian meditation technique, he chanted to himself in silence so that he could be taken away from that moment and into another realm. “Om…Om…”

  On’dinn’s self-imposed trance was working rather well as he felt the wave of humiliation and despair lift from his spirit. He made a mental note to practice this technique more often. When Hyrax packed in his torture session by spitting in the young elf’s face, the fear, anger, shame and pain from his wounded nose returned in that instant right along with the disgusting smell of the spoiled milk.

  “W
ell, wasn’t that fun?” Hyrax asked of his ghoulish audience for approval. On’dinn thought, rather hoped, this would signal the end of Hyrax’s demonstrations of machismo to his stupid friends. Although he had so many intellectual comebacks burning on the tip of his tongue for his attackers, he thought better to hold them back since it was most clear that he had the lower hand in the matter. Besides, they were much too ignorant, and in Garb’ann’s case, infantile, to understand such comebacks for them to have any effect.

  As he remained doubled-over in the municipal garbage bin, On’dinn looked over to the alleyway’s entrance only to see a fourth member. She was a petite maiden, not even six feet tall, and she was nibbling on the end of a slim ladies’ jade pipe. On’dinn could smell no smoke from it; the pipe was just a pretentious tool. He squinted his eyes though the mess on his face of blood, spit and curd only to make out that the female was that new Xochian student from school. Venn’lith Mitlan. That was her name, he recalled. The elfmaid was a total enigma to him as she never spoke unless someone was paying undivided attention to her. As she was never dressed in anything less than haute couture, On’dinn pegged her for an elitist and cared less if he ever acknowledged her likewise. The most unsettling thing about her, he noted, was her demeanor. She walked around with a preening entourage at all times and never took that haughty, yet aloof look off her face. It was no surprise to the young elf that she would collude with the likes of Hyrax and Ferd’inn.

  “Let’s go! I’m getting bored,” she ordered the males with a pouting whine as she lounged against the corner of the alleyway’s entrance. “It’s going to rain and I have to drive you idiots home in it. You should be grateful.”

  Yes! Leaving now would be a wonderful idea, On’dinn thought. You morons should listen to your handler. He wanted nothing more than for this to be over with and he especially wanted them out of there before Minn’dre arrived.

  “We’ll see you soon, scum,” Hyrax hissed to On’dinn on Venn’lith’s cue. With that, the young elf was soon alone in the alley. It took him some time for him to realize that it was safe to hoist his body out of the putrid garbage bin.

  The light from the sky had turned to a blue charcoal. It would not be long before sheets of rain would dump on his head and On’dinn wished for that because the stink of the garbage and rancid hippo milk was turning his stomach. After thinking about the swirling odors on and around him for a mere second, he flashed vanilla juice all over the concrete. Sobs soon followed and they felt so good as the rain began to fall on his head.

  He grabbed his shoulder bag, which he was thankful for it being left unmolested by Hyrax and his goons, and headed out of the alley. There was no mirror or reflective surface to be found, but he knew that he must have looked like he escaped from an asylum.

  Slapping the manaphone, On’dinn saw that it was almost time for the rendezvous with Minn’dre. Thunder boomed from the ocean and the lighting was gaining frequency. The rain was hard enough to sluice the foul mixture of trash and scum off his head, but the stains on his white shirt were going to be permanent. He would have to explain all of this to Minn’dre and he really didn’t feel like returning to that terrible event in his head anytime soon.

  The poplars in the park were soaking in the rain with all the joys of nature from the west and On’dinn was getting a hard case of the chills as the torrent was still cold from the recent winter months. He wished in shivering desperation that he had worn a jacket. At least he would be able to change out of his ruined shirt and into a Black Hood robe once Travius arrived.

  Thinking about the meeting tonight gave his mood an immediate boost and pushed the grim memories of Hyrax and company out of his mind. These were good people organized for a righteous reason and he was a part of it. Despite his beating, his mission was accomplished. The tag was thrown up and the new headquarters would be activated that night. Whatever Travius had to say to the Black Hood Group occupied his thoughts. Minn’dre said it would be big. He wondered for a moment if it had something to do with the pyramids.

  “Hey! Basil!” It was Minn’dre calling from the gate of the park. She donned a tawdry, red overcloak and carried a big and beautiful black umbrella and he wanted nothing more than to be under it. “Come on over here! You’ll get pneumonia!”

  Running with the speed of a wet sabercat, he slid into Minn’dre’s personal bubble and under the dry perimeter of the umbrella. He forgot in his rush for warmth how terrible he must have smelled.

  “Ewww... you stink! What were you getting into?” Minn’dre covered her face against her young friend’s stench. She was disgusted to her core with the foul mixture of odors.

  “Oh, yeah, about that,” On’dinn began.

  “Gods! What happened to your face! Your nose is crusted with blood!” A genuine look of worry swept across her face.

  “That obvious, huh?” the young elf asked her with a half-lit smirk as he lightly touched his nose. The pain was immense and caused him to wince.

  “Were you caught by the wardens?” Minn’dre was becoming more nervous than concerned about him, as he could tell by the tone in her voice. The last thing he wanted was to mess this mission up.

  “No. Nothing like that. Let’s just say I got beat up by elitists.” He wanted nothing more than to forget about the afternoon’s encounter. There would be time to mull over that later, he supposed. Besides, admitting to Minn’dre that he was caught up in petty adept school politics was embarrassing considering she was a university student.

  “Oh. Are you going to be okay, then?” Her concern for him was returning. Regardless, he was a bit disheartened that the integrity of the mission trumped her worry for him. It was all for the reason much bigger than him, he acknowledged and he figured he would have seen it the same way had the tables been turned. Realizing this, he made another mental note to stop being so selfish.

  “Yeah, but I really could use a hot bath.” He couldn’t tell what was more dizzying, the sharp pain in his nose or the rotten stench.

  “Yes, I’ll agree with you on that. Anyway, since I like you enough, I’ll put up with the stink until Travius arrives.” He was feeling much better after hearing this from the object of his affections. Knowing Travius, the guru most likely wouldn’t care about his putrid aroma anyway.

  “Did you get the tag up?” she asked him.

  “Yeah, it looks good, and it dried fully before the rains began. So at least something is working out today. Everything’s five-by-five.” He gave her a weak thumbs-up.

  “Excellent. We really need everyone to make the meeting tonight. I’ve spoken with Travius and I’ll give you a wee hint about tonight’s plans.” She lowered her voice a bit and moved in closer to him despite his rank smell. This was getting interesting, he smiled inside.

  “Oh really? What is it?” On’dinn, under normal circumstances, could contain his enthusiasm as he considered himself a patient person, but this suspense was like a Summersfest carnival when he was younger.

  “Don’t let him know I told you this when he arrives, but all I am going to say is that tomorrow night, the king is giving a royal address at the arena. He said we are all to attend this with him. He’ll detail it more at the meeting.”

  It had to be about the pyramids for sure, On’dinn guessed. Why else would the king address the nation? It was the only thing on anyone’s mind. He looked down the park’s path and peered out the gate, expecting it to be filled with the form of the wise old elf. The rain was driving harder and it would only be a matter of time before his arrival. Getting a good whiff of his stink, On’dinn hoped the new headquarters had some sort of bathing facility.

  The Lonely Ray of Light on a Cloudy Night

  Around the time On’dinn Jak’sin was getting the tar beaten out of him by one Hyrax Arcovis, a more festive afternoon was being had by Quen’die and Lauryl’la over a heated game of ringball. It was a one-on-one match and the elfmaids were going into overtime.

  A cloudbank fattened with an angry rose lining was co
ming in from the Corosan bay, cutting the day’s clear skies with its impending inclement weather. The two young maidens below its pregnant mass could feel the approaching storm as the air was becoming heavier with moisture and static. Gulls of all breeds were moving inland, screeching for safety. This was going to be a big one.

  Lauryl’la had just made a three-point score over her opponent. The ball went through the ring with perfect precision; not even touching the old brazen hoop. She felt a great sense of pride by besting her notably-athletic friend in this instance. Quen’die was tough to beat even on the ringball circle.

  “Ha!” she spat with vicious triumph. “Try to come back from that one!”

  Quen’die knew she wasn’t playing her best. Last night’s fall on a hard marble surface had stiffened her back and her usual superior flexibility. Since the arrival of the clouds, she could feel her joints protest with a dull throb. Such pain made it difficult to sink a ring with optimal accuracy.

  “You do realize, friend, that I’m off my game because I was eaten by an earthquake last night,” she challenged Lauryl’la back. “I’ll have no problem catching up to the likes of you!”

  “Let’s just see about that!” her friend met that offer.

  Quen’die’s ringball court lay off to the side of her family’s courtyard and overlooked the bay. Her modest circular home was built on an upper ring of the bluffs that surrounded the large body of water which was always bustling with commercial- and consumer-grade sea traffic. She sometimes dreamed of what it would be like to live in one the beachside mansions below, but that was just an impractical fancy of hers when she was feeling a bout of romantic and imaginative impulse. She noted that the older she got, the less often she entertained those daydreams. Who really bathes in a giant pearl bathtub every day, anyway, she contemplated?

  With a red wave of energy, Quen’die carried the ball around the court and back again enjoying the energetic boost Lauryl’la’s challenge provided. Her opponent couldn’t catch her while she was playing at full force. She was always a hand’s length away from the elfmaid’s swaying thick rope of red hair which twisted down her back like the tail of some mythical sanguine beast. Quen’die tapped every ounce of her reserves and matched her opponent’s three-point heroics.

  “We are now tied, maiden,” Quen’die noted the updated score with taunting fervor. “And I will be victorious!” Just to prove her declaration of heroics, a large boom of thunder split the sky on cue.

  The pair laughed so hard at the synchronous event. It was as if Korel’lyn, the skygod himself joined their audience. A bolt of pain shot up from Quen’die’s back from her snickering but she continued to cackle as the hilarity was much more powerful than the ache.

  “Quen’dieee! The Red Barbarian!” Lauryl’la sang to her mate with a humorous, epic bravado which made the two chortle only more.

  “That was so capital!” the elfmaid continued through peals of laughter. “What are the chances of that happening?”

  “Yeah, I know, right? It’s like I have my own adventure show,” she agreed to Lauryl’la’s notice. “It sounds like the kind that my dumb brother and his friends would watch. I’d be a world-famous sensation with all the idiots!”

  “Yeah! And you could even sign all their autographs!” Lauryl’la added. “’Dear Stupid, best wishes and lots of kisses-Love, Quen’die the Red Barbarian.’”

  As the two continued to crack-up over their imaginary manascreen drama, another burst of thunder rolled in the distance from the Western Atlantean Ocean. This burst was much bigger and louder and it halted the maidens’ merriment.

  “Wow, this one’s going to be a whopper, huh?” Lauryl’la estimated while assessing the surly clouds overhead.

  “Hmm, maybe we ought to get inside,” Quen’die suggested. “Besides, we’ve been playing this all day and this storm is really starting to hurt my back.” She looked down at her damp t-shirt which advertised her school’s runta championship in a classic athletic script:

  “Seabreeze Grand Adept School Runta Champions ’88-The Fighting Sabercats”

  Her last name was emblazoned on the back over a large number 23.

  “Old lady,” her friend joked in a voice that imitated an elderly elf.

  “Whatever,” Quen’die shot back as the sky darkened above them. “Let’s at least get under the porch and we can watch the storm from there. We’ll pick this game up later and then I can finally beat you.”

  “So, you wish,” Lauryl’la agreed with a mocking undertone.

  As Lauryl’la rocked on the back porch’s swing and watched the looming storm arrive with an increasing velocity, Quen’die went into her kitchen to get two bottled mango elixirs. The late spring day was warmer than usual for that time of year and the pair had been playing for hours since school was cancelled.

  “Do you know if we’re under a hurricane watch or something?” Quen’die asked her friend as she handed her the cool yellow bottle. “This one looks pretty evil,” she continued with a strong trace of nervousness.

  Corosa Bay was battered by rather frightening storms on occasion that would arrive from the Western Atlantean Ocean, but the city was situated too far from the tropics to be beleaguered by fully-developed hurricanes. Such storms were rarities at best. Quen’die’s family had lived in this home her entire fifteen years and they had only needed to evacuate twice in that time.

  “I don’t remember hearing about anything like that,” Lauryl’la answered as she twisted off the bottle’s cork top. “The screen plays nothing but that stupid pyramid stuff anyway. It’s getting so boring. Last night it was pretty capital, but now there is like nothing else on except Quay’liss Dalian and her pet pyramids. Lame…”

  “Yeah, I know,” Quen’die agreed. “Did you know that some weird lights are blinking on them now? I wonder what that could mean.”

  “It means the newscasts want better ratings, so they made the pyramids blink,” the auburn-haired elfmaid answered with a cynical grunt.

  “Hmmm…you’re probably right. I bet those lights are fake,” Quen’die responded with a chuckle. “I haven’t seen one in person yet, but wouldn’t it be weird if it were all just a media hoax or a conspiracy? Gods, I sound like Kaedish now. My father won’t let me get near enough to one until he’s sure it’s safe, so… I don’t know. He was at work all day because everybody at his Circle is freaking out about these things and Mother has been on the phone with all these insurance wardens. She lost a lot of valuables in the quake last night, so she called the day off from the lab.”

  “No way! Those suckers are the real deal. First off, they’re all over the world, and do you think Avalon or Mu has the brens to pull off that kind of a hoax? They even have a couple jutting out of the Vrillian Wastes! There’s not a chance that a bunch of mammoth herders could manage a hoax like that,” Lauryl’la reasoned. “Not only that, they’re made with a weird metal and if you look closely at the screen, you’ll see that the colors on the surface keep swirling. It’s weird. Anyway, my folks were both at work all day, so I really don’t know anything for certain either.”

  Lauryl’la looked skyward as another burst of thunder cracked. Salty ocean rain began to pour down from the early evening’s seastorm and the very air around the elfmaids switched from an ominous pink to a heavy dark grey with an immediacy that made them both feel a bit sleepy. The two felt like they were in a theater watching the scene of a dreamy blue thunderstorm as they rocked on the Reyliss’s porch-swing.

  Lauryl’la’s parents were both civil wardens and were out patrolling on the same shifts most of the time, leaving the maiden to fend for herself many afternoons after school. Now that there was a big national incident, she expected her folks would be all but invisible from doing overtime shifts and detail work to help contain the chaos. Because of this, the young grey elf was much more streetwise than her friend, but had still managed to keep out of trouble despite being left unattended for long periods. Quen’die admired how she supervised herself
, yet remained responsible in her relative freedom. It also made her a bit jealous of Lauryl’la. She could come and go as she pleased for the most part, but still received somewhat decent grades and had succeeded in staying out of the municipal dungeon, regardless.

  “Speaking of no parental supervision, we need to discuss the party this weekend,” Lauryl’la reminded her friend.

  “Oh, believe me,” Quen’die began with a foreboding note. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Someone sounds a bit nervous!” Lauryl’la jibed. Her street wisdom allowed her to detect such small nuances in other’s voices. “Seriously, maiden, you have nothing to be worried about. Besides, I’m going to be there on your left wing. Maybe the right one as well.”

  “I know. I just have so much to plan for it. Isn’t it at Sig’ryn’s house?” she asked.

  “Yeah!” Lauryl’la exclaimed with wide eyes. “His parent’s house is so capital! It’s so gigantic too! They finally got their pool ready so you should bring your swim gear. Plus, did you know that they have a genuine Thuless’in sauna installed?”

  “That’s cool,” Quen’die agreed with only half of her heart. “Maybe I can just show up in a shopping bag.”

  “Uh-oh,” her friend detected even more worries from her. “You’re trying to tell me you have nothing good to wear for this, right? Worried you won’t look cute enough for a certain tall, dark and handsome elf, hmm?”

  It was true. Quen’die was not much of a fashionista. Although she attained the respect of her peers mainly through sports and scholastics, she had never been much interested in the fashion channels on the manascreen. Gowns and accessories and the like just didn’t concern her to the degree of some of the other maidens her age. She had always been a bit of a tom-elf. She surmised that she would feel more at home attending a Corosa Coronets’ game than a Xochian fashion exhibit. When it came to the daydreams of her future, she had always imagined how wonderful it would be to play Masters’ runta at the university than it would be to walk through the marriage circle in a billowing wedding gown. She was becoming all the more interested in males, it was no secret, but they always seemed to be out of her reach somehow. None of them seemed quite worth sacrificing the schedule she had created for herself. She also considered herself a bit of a late-bloomer.

  “No worries,” Lauryl’la reassured her as she took a swig of the refreshing citrus drink. “You’re almost as tall as I am and you very well know that I’m the tallest maiden in our grade. It’ll be easy. I have some sweet gowns that you can borrow. Look on the bright side; you’re tall and skinny. You can wear pretty much anything you want and get away with it.”

  Lauryl’la was indeed the tallest maiden in their class. She was just about 6’7” and quite thin. Not as willowy and wiry as Quen’die, but the two could trade garments with ease. Lauryl’la was discovering the world of males, it was definite, but that didn’t cause as much of a bother to her as it did for her favorite companion. Even though Quen’die was, by nature, more striking than her, Lauryl’la’s attitude and style was much more conducive to being noticed by the opposite sex. She just had more interest in attracting male attention than did her crimson-maned friend.

  “Very well,” Quen’die relented while taking a drink herself. “I just don’t really think anything in my closet is appropriate for parties and clubs or whatnot. Thanks for helping me out here.”

  “Not a problem, my fine friend, not a problem, “she assured her comrade before letting out a monstrous belch.

  “All right!” Quen’die taunted Lauryl’la. “That’s sure to be a winner with the guys this weekend.”

  “Actually, it won’t, because you aren’t saying a word about that!” Lauryl’la began laughing. Quen’die too joined the session of giggles. The maiden could always make her laugh, even if it was by some disgusting stunt.

  Lightning marred the sky with a blinding flash that was soon accompanied by another roll of thunder. The bolt made Quen’die jump a little and the evening was turning darker with the upcoming night. Pink cherry trees arranged on her property with perfect care were emitting their sweet scent and their pungency was competing with the taste of the mango. She was glad to be under the large eaves of the porch because she didn’t want to get soaked. Either that or get struck with a surge of lightning.

  “On the topic of guys,” Lauryl’la began after the thunder halted their laughter. “I was just wondering what you are going to do when you see one particular Hyrax Arcovis. I suppose I’m going to have to help you with that one as well, yes?”

  “Honestly, yes. You probably will,” she answered her friend with some gravity. “I seriously cannot talk to him with any amount of intelligence. The only time I can seem to interact with him on a level I feel comfortable with is when he’s shouting commands on the runta field. Then I’m just taking orders. I mean, I know he respects my playing and I’m an amazing forward, but above and beyond that, I really don’t know what to do.”

  “Yeah, I see what you mean,” Lauryl’la began. “You know the game, but you have no game.”

  “Exactly!” Quen’die jumped to her friend’s revelation with some gratitude. “I have no flair. Nothing to say! It’s like, how can I find a common ground with this guy if all I consume myself with are manascrolls and runtapucks.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself!” her friend advised. “Look, it could be way worse. What if you were like your brother and the only thing you could talk about was how to slay an orc in less than three seconds?”

  “Yeah!” Quen’die laughed. “Then I’d be up the creek for sure! He’d probably call the health warden on me and that would be entirely another can of worms. Sometimes I wonder how Kaedish will get by in a few years if he doesn’t mature out of his military/bloodthirsty phase.”

  “Kaedish? Going on a date? With a real female?” her friend huffed with a blunt cluck. “No, that will never happen.”

  Quen’die didn’t want to continue with a smear session of her brother. Lauryl’la could really aggravate the young elf whenever she was around him, and sometimes, Quen’die wondered if whether or not her friend really did carry a bit of an unsaid crush for him as well. That would be an odd and rather disturbing notion, but stranger things have happened.

  “Well, anyway,” the elfmaid changed the subject before her friend could take more jabs at Kaedish while he wasn’t about. “Have you noticed that Hyrax has been talking to that new maiden from Xo’chi quite a bit? I wonder what the story is with that.”

  “She kind of gives me the creeps,” Lauryl’la confided. “I mean, she just stares daggers at people all the time and she never puts her eyebrows down. Is she royal or something?”

  “No,” Quen’die answered. “Her father is some kind of business tycoon or something. He works with the Circle of Finance. They’re totally wealthy. She’s only been here since the second half of the school year.”

  “So, how do you know so much about her, anyway,” Lauryl’la asked, looking over with a hint of suspicion. “You two certainly don’t seem to be too chummy.”

  “Oh no, we’re not. Believe me. My parents have to meet with him now and again because he’s one of their research investors. I don’t really know that much about either of them, but I get the creeps from her too. She never takes her eyes off of me in the halls. She must have seen me talking to Hyrax at some point and now she feels threatened. I don’t know for sure,” Quen’die explained. “To make matters worse, Father said we have to visit them for some kind of business dinner on Feastday. It’s at their house, so I’m going to be a captive audience to her evil glare.”

  “That’s awful!” Lauryl’la gasped. “You mean you’ll be in the belly of the beast all Feastday evening with that witch? I don’t envy you, maiden.”

  “Care to trade places?” Quen’die begged her friend with a bit of mirth, although not much more than a bit.

  “Oh no, my dear,” she brushed back a bolt of her thick, chestnut hair. “There are some battles that must be
fought alone and this is one of those very battles.”

  “Yeah, I can’t blame you for wanting to steer clear of that one. Hopefully, Father will eat quickly and round us up and then we can make a fast exit,” the elfmaid reasoned. “However, if everyone gets to drinking too much wine, then they’ll all buddy-up and play darts or something stupid all night and I’ll be at her mercy in her very own house. There is a great strength people get while on their home turf and she looks pretty strong to begin with, you know.”

  “You can say that again!” Lauryl’la formed a bulging muscle as if she were a body builder. “That maiden looks like she could crush a pumpkin with her biceps!”

  “I know, right?” Quen’die agreed as she finished her elixir. “I’ve heard all over school that she was this incredible runta champ back home. I suppose I’ll have to deal with her on the field next year as well. Maybe she’ll knock me out of my standing.”

  “I’d like to see that!” her friend proclaimed while rocking the swing harder. “Nobody is going to dethrone the Red Tempest!”

  “Or the Red Barbarian!” Quen’die added, triggering the two into another momentary fit of laughter.

  “Look, if all else fails, there’s a bright side to this soiree,” Lauryl’la began to console her friend. “Sig’rynn somehow managed, and I don’t know how, to get The Gonduanna Princes to play the party!” She finished with a giggling howl. Quen’die was infected with the excitement and both the maidens almost knocked the porch-swing off the chain in cheer.

  “Gods! I love those guys!” Quen’die managed through the laughter with a happy growl. “You better not be fibbing!”

  “Cross my heart, totally,” her friend assured as she did just that with two fingers.

  Overhead, the storm appeared to be lightening up a bit. The rain was not pounding with as much vigor on the eaves of the porch and the thunder was becoming less frequent and increasingly distant. Perhaps this was just an isolated boomer, they figured. Already, portions of the cloud cover were breaking up, exposing stars through the holes in the squall’s bruise-colored blanket.

  Lauryl’la stopped laughing after a time and hung her head low so that she could peer out from under the oaken overhang of Quen’die’s porch. By judging from her concerted frown, she seemed very preoccupied with something in the sky.

  “What’s the matter?” Quen’die inquired of her friend as she too searched the skies for the object of her attention.

  “Well, I thought I saw something weird up in that hole in the clouds. Take a look with me,” she suggested as she pointed to the pocket of clear night in question.

  Above the bay, more and more holes were cracking through the cloudbank and Quen’die strained her eyes to see what Lauryl’la was going on about. After a bit of scanning, she saw a bright shimmer compete with the gleam of the surrounding stars. It continued to get bigger and more intense until she could see that it was much closer to the earth than its heavenly neighbors. Soon, the light sprouted a tail like a comet and plummeted faster toward the ground. When the streak was about as far away as a typical commercial limmer, the elfmaids could see that it wasn’t a very large object. The tail of the odd glow seemed to disappear for a moment and then relight. It vanished without a sound behind a bluff on the other side of the inlet.

  The maidens were astonished, to say the least. It took a while for the pair to tear their eyes away from the bluff behind which it disappeared. At the very same instant, they looked at each other in a state of wonder, while above, the sky was shooing away the clouds and ushering in the starshine of a beautiful and clear night.

  “What the…,” the maidens said in unison, their eyes once again glued to the stars.

  “Oh my gods!” Lauryl’la exclaimed. ”We have to go and check that out!”

  “Are you insane? That thing could have landed a hundred miles away!” Quen’die attempted reason.

  “No, that was way too close. I’m sure of it,” her friend argued. “It landed just beyond that bluff over there,” she continued as she pointed to the rocks in question. “I can just tell it’s close by.”

  “Okay, I guess,” Quen’die agreed with a bit of reluctance. “We had better drive though.”

  Lauryl’la’s coach was, without a doubt, on the beaten side. It was a much older model than the ones seen on the roads as per usual, but the elfmaid loved it. Her parents had bought it for her for her sixteenth birthday and they had reasoned that it would enable Lauryl’la to get on with a wider array of chores while they were out on patrol in the afternoons. She didn’t care because the coach only provided her more freedoms and she enjoyed the added responsibility of driving. It made her feel more like an adult than ever.

  The maidens splashed through the courtyard’s puddles left over from the storm and made their way to the waiting vehicle. Its maroon enamel was blotchy and it revealed gaping holes of chipped petrified oak through the color. Its brass trimming and bumpers were beginning to develop a green patina which really helped others identify its homely age of almost thirty.

  “Capso abrenn, Lauryl’la,” the elfmaid ordered and the coach sputtered to life. Not only was its hull well beyond its years, but the manaflow from its ball was not very steady anymore. The power’s pulse was intermittent and irregular unlike a later model’s firm and balanced throb. This haphazard flow would cause the front end of the coach to dip from time to time.

  They drove along the bluffside roads in the direction where the light had disappeared. The unbalanced hum of the coach was making Quen’die a touch nervous, but Lauryl’la was a pretty good driver and she trusted her. Her edgy thoughts of wrecking turned to her desire for a coach of her own and she wondered if she would ever be fortunate enough to drive one as well. It would be nice to have those freedoms her best friend enjoyed now that she too was getting older and had more responsibilities.

  “Hey, Rylla,” she quipped.

  “Hey what,” Quen’die’s friend answered while eyeing the road and the bluffs with intent.

  “What’s driving like?” the elfmaid asked feeling a bit juvenile and self-conscious.

  “What? Uh, well, it’s kind of weird at first,” Lauryl’la began not detecting her friend’s apprehension. “When you first get the coach, you need to signify yourself to it. That way, you and only you can activate and drive it. Well, you and your folks.”

  “How do I signify my coach?” Quen’die inquired, intrigued and not taking her eyes off the little crystal ball in Lauryl’la’s hand.

  “That’s kind of weird too. When I signified, my father made me read from this scroll the saleswarden uploaded to my tablet while I was touching the trackball,” she explained. “The words in the upload were seriously strange. A lot of them made no sense. Some of the words were ones I had never even heard of before. They must be some obscure words from manaspeech, perhaps. One of them was ‘gorl’ or ‘girl’ or something like that. I can’t rightly remember.”

  “Yeah, I’ve never heard of a ‘girl’ either,” Quen’die confided.

  “Anyway,” she continued as she turned a wide corner. “When you first get into the driver’s seat of a real running coach, it is pretty scary. I won’t lie about that. You can feel all the power of the manaball course through your legs and feet and it almost feels like it’s going up your spine or something.”

  “Weird...,” Quen’die interjected as she continued to study her friend operate the coach’s trackball.

  “Yeah, but you get used to it after a real short time,” her friend assured with an adult pride. “For instance, it felt like second nature to me within an hour or so. When you touch the tracking ball, you can really feel the mana make a link with your nerves and it automatically responds to your thoughts and wishes. Kind of like a trance, except you are awake and alert, just like always. I mean, we’re conversing, after all, right?”

  “Right…,” Quen’die intoned her incomplete understanding. She would just have to experience this on her own to fully comprehend the feeling her frie
nd described. Lauryl’la’s explanation only made her want to drive a coach even more.

  “So, anyway; I’ve been meaning to ask you if you were going to play ringball at school next year,” Lauryl’la asked Quen’die.

  “Uh, no. I’m not,” she answered with a dreamy moan as she peered off into the black waters of the bay, entertaining her fugue of driving one day while taking in the beautiful scenery. “I’m all runta this year. I need to get stronger if I want to compete at varsity level, so I’m going to do weight training instead. I’ll definitely need it if I have to compete with that Xochian maiden. I mean, both my arms put together don’t match the girth of her’s!”

  “She’s a freak, all right,” her friend affirmed as she steered the coach. “It’s sort of disappointing you won’t be on the team with me, but I know you’re the big runta champ and all.”

  Lauryl’la’s interest in sports had been waning ever since last season. Her responsibilities around the house while her parents were working occupied much of her extracurricular time and she was becoming all the more curious about males and clothes and the like. Quen’die sometimes feared that the two would grow apart as friends. Such a possibility would be a terrible shame because they had been the best of comrades since their first year of novice school. Nevertheless, Quen’die’s desire to tear up the runta field was getting hotter, if anything and no male would quell that fire; not even Hyrax Arcovis.

  “It should be this turnoff,” Quen’die navigated to her pilot as she pointed at a rocky path off the main road to their left.

  “Gotcha,” Lauryl’la confirmed as she steered the coach with a sharp lurch to make the tight turn. The invisible pad of energy kicked sludge and pebbles onto the main road.

  The maidens drove their way with more caution up the winding bluff trail. It had never really been developed by the municipality and the vehicle continued to expel stones and wet clay in its wake. Lauryl’la’s old coach was not handling the broken surface very well and the unsure flow of its mana was even more apparent as the ride became much bumpier. Quen’die thought she was going to be ill.

  “Ouch!” she cried as the pain from last night’s fall flared up again in the jostle. She was clutching the seatbelt strap to help mitigate the ache.

  “Sorry about that,” Lauryl’la intoned, seeing her friend wince. “We’re almost there, I think.”

  “Good,” Quen’die blurted while gnashing her teeth. “I’m going to lose that elixir pretty soon!”

  “Not in this coach, you aren’t!” her friend warned with a hint of humor. She knew Quen’die was just being dramatic. “We’ll park it here and then we can get to the top of the bluff on foot.”

  She halted the vehicle at the end of the broken trail after a few moments of ragged driving. A cloud of rock and mud splashed around its hull as it set to the ground and Lauryl’la figured she would have to hose its body down before her folks saw the mess. She knew her father would be livid if he saw it in such a dirty state, despite it being a mere beater. The last thing she wanted was to be grounded on an unexpected week off from school which would end in one of the greatest parties of the year. Not gonna happen.

  “Okay, maiden, let’s get to hiking,” Lauryl’la suggested as they left the cab.

  The sky was almost clear at that point, but the ground was sucking with mud and clay. The two were more or less ankle-deep in the muck and it was seeping into their sandals. Nevertheless, the curiosity of the strange comet, or whatever it was, proved to be too great to let muddy feet deter their search.

  At the top of the bluff, lush foliage covered the ground as giant evergreens sprouted from out of the growth. The storm had made the floor of this small forest almost impossible for the two to navigate with mud that reached even deeper than the trail on the bluff. Both of the elfmaids just wanted nothing but to take a hot waterfall. Usually after such precipitation ended, these forests were brimming with the calls of nature, but the trees were silent and the duo thought that it was odd.

  “I don’t get it,” Quen’die wondered while scanning the trees. “Shouldn’t blackbirds and bats and bugs and stuff be singing?”

  “Yeah!” Lauryl’la noticed it too. “Did everyone leave town or something?” she joked to settle her nerves.

  “I don’t like this,” the elfmaid began with a paranoid whisper. “What if that thing from the sky fell right here and killed everything! I mean, there is not a sound! Not even bugs!”

  “No fireflies either,” Lauryl’la added to Quen’die’s assessment in a voice that she hushed as well. “Normally, the little buggers light-up the forest this time of year.” The maidens looked around hoping to see even one glint of their familiar yellowish glow, but the only light around them came from the stars above and the city below.

  As the maidens trudged deeper into the forest, the pair was halted by a rustling noise. It was the first noise they could discern since reaching the summit of the bluff. Both got low onto their haunches at the sound’s commencement and held their breaths in hopes of maintaining invisibility. Odd wonder turned to mortal fear in an instant as the two surmised this sound was the source of their journey. They both regretted their curiosity after hearing it and cared only to make it off the bluff alive. So many thoughts wandered through their heads about what they were about to face and how to get away if this was not a friendly encounter. If they attempted to bolt out of the brush, the mud would render them much too slow to run at an effective speed. The wet scrub and forest floor would announce their presence to this thing, whatever this was.

  Quen’die pointed to a bulky shadow that was silhouetted against a clearing in the greenery. Her mouth hung open like a cow’s and her eyes grew even wider with terror. Lauryl’la’s gaze followed the length of her slender arm and met the source of her friend’s attention. The black shadow cast by this thing revealed that it was perched at the edge of the bluff’s summit. It was shimmying from side to side with a gentle sway and appeared to be about seven or eight feet tall. Both the maidens felt like fainting, but their adrenaline kept such a shutdown from happening.

  They were detected. The lifeform from wherever it fell ceased its rhythmic swing with abruptness and turned its attention to the two young elves. Although the maidens could not discern in its shadow what the exact nature of this thing was that would soon kill them, as they were certain; its movement denatured its form. Whatever it was, it had wings. Big wings. Those appendages spread almost from tree to tree in the clearing. Lauryl’la estimated at least a fifteen foot wingspan through the swimming horror in her head.

  With a slight hop, the stygian beast fell off the edge of the bluff and into the bowels of the night. Although the elfmaids’ wide eyes were fixed on its spot of departure, neither of them could track where it went. It seemed like they were locked into that sight for hours.

  Without warning, frogs, crickets, bats, and birds and the very forest itself tore through the heavy silence all at once with a chorus of relief. The maidens looked at each other and screamed. Lauryl’la began to bawl with gratefulness that she was still alive and Quen’die soon joined her. They hugged in celebration as they knew they might get to live through this night and sleep in their respective beds.

  By some instinct that was against their common sense, the two rushed the short way to the edge of the bluff from where the winged mystery had alighted. Neither had found a trace of the beast, not even a pair of footprints. That is, considering the thing even had feet.

  “Oh… my… gods! What in the hells was that thing!” Quen’die cried with a disbelief that she could not abate.

  Lauryl’la was still searching the city underneath the steep drop of the bluff for any signs of the strange encounter. Not even a shadow or silhouette could be found.

  “Erm…I don’t know,” her friend tried to answer the unanswerable. “My best guess is a raptor that was gonna kill us?” her voice broke into a quizzical tone.

  “No, raptors can’t fly and they don’t live in Atlantis except in zoos.
” Quen’die lectured as tears began to stream down her face. “Oh, and they don’t fall from outer space encased in a comet either,” she added with a bit of sarcasm.

  “No, that they don’t,” Lauryl’la agreed, diverting her attention at last from the city down below.

  A new noise joined the symphony of this strange night. It was the very familiar wails of civil warden flitcycles. Their sirens were blaring and both the maidens knew that meant the limmerjocks were in a hot pursuit. Over their heads, three of the cycles rushed through the sky as their blue and red gumballs flashed with angry authority. The trio of peacekeepers was thundering away in the direction of the enigmatic winged curiosity’s departure.

  “Looks like we aren’t the only ones to discover this thing,” Lauryl’la said as she began to calm back into reality. “Uh-oh… I wonder if my father is on one of those cycles.”

  The maidens watched from the edge of the bluff as the sirens of the three wardens blended into the distant light pollution of Corosa City below them. Quen’die marveled at how fast the cycles could go and for a minute imagined herself as a warden, precariously swerving and weaving in midair while she was hot on the trail of some fleeing crook.

  “Come on,” Quen’die prodded her friend. “Let’s get out of here before a real animal eats us. I don’t want our luck to run out.”

  “Okay, that’s a good idea,” Lauryl’la agreed while she poured mud out of her sandals. Just as she was finished, she looked back at the mighty expanse of cityscape.

  “Oh no, I think one of the wardens spotted us,” she moaned.

  Quen’die noticed red and blue lights forming closer out of the warm glow of Corosa’s after-dark skyline. She rolled her eyes. She was too exhausted to continue that night with any more dramatic events.

  The flitcycle arrived in a few short moments and hovered not far above the heads of the maidens. Although the wails of its sirens were off, the alternating blasts of its red and blue lights assaulted their eyes. The bright light of its manaball which was installed below the warden’s saddle added to the offensive glare. A cured-bone scimitar hung over his thigh. Waving in the night air with stentorian pride from a pole at the back of the warden’s seat fluttered his callsign banner which read “5015.” Quen’die wondered how much trouble she was going to be in.

  “Halt! Municipal defense,” the warden announced with an authority that was impartial yet stern. After identifying himself, he slapped the lozenge-shaped visor away from his face revealing a slender and very perturbed elf. Ash-blond braids bracketed his angular jawline.

  “Lauryl’la!” the warden pointed down to her with an armored finger. “I don’t know what on Earth you’re doing up on this bluff, but you get home now or I’ll ground you and slap an ankle bracelet to both your legs just to make sure you don’t leave the house until you’re an adult!” He turned his attentions mechanically to Quen’die. “Quen’die, you get home too! There’s some weird stuff going on out here and I don’t want either of you getting killed.”

  Quen’die had always thought Lauryl’la’s father was so dashing. If there were a guy she had a real crush on, it was him. She sometimes had wondered what it would be like to have the life of her best friend’s mother who had the opportunity to work and raise a family with such an amazing elf.

  “Sorry, Father. I’ll get home right away. But I have to drop Dee off first, though,” his daughter apologized to him while flashing a pair of doe eyes.

  “Make that happen now! We’ll talk later,” he ordered while attempting to brush off his daughter’s plaintive gesture. With that, he slammed his visor back down, becoming not Lauryl’la’s father, but an armored watchhound for the city of Corosa. With a speed that made the maidens’ heads spin, the cycle darted off into the night sky; the warden’s red and blue gumballs were swallowed in a few short moments by the white lights of the capital.

  “Guess we better get back now,” Lauryl’la said to her friend while imitating her father’s husky voice in mock defiance. “Don’t want to be eaten by the bloodthirsty raptor of Corosa Bluffs!”

  “Yeah,” Quen’die responded with a slow flutter as she watched her comrade’s father storm away. She couldn’t hide her sense of admiration and awe. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Heaven Must be Missing an Angel

  She found that she could not make contact with her comrades after she had eluded the civil wardens. Something was blocking her communications with them and she was beginning to think this wasn’t as easy of a descent as she had planned. Earth’s satellite system was scant and avoided with ease, much to her surprise, but whatever tracking arrays the locals on the ground were using alerted the authorities to her landing zone on the bluff. Perhaps it would have been easier for her if she had made downfall during the day so her reentry corona was not as evident. As she flew away from the local bulls, she managed to lose her shape as best as she could in order to defy her description, even though it did slow her down a bit and protracted the chase. Nobody on Earth would believe in a winged elf even if the civil wardens confirmed it, but she really didn’t want to take any chances. Considering the recent arrival of the vessels, the entirety of elfdom would be willing to believe anything at that point.

  One of her subjects of fret concerned the two young maidens who did see her in her true form. That should be nothing to worry about, she supposed. After all, who would believe the fancies of two giggling elfmaids with stars in their eyes? It wouldn’t surprise her if the pair was swearing not to tell anybody in fear of being called insane by their peers. She knew she had been concealed for the most part in shadow, so they could have not seen any details to their witness. It was her best guess of the situation.

  Red mana was a bit painful, and even more so since the warden’s shot hit a perfect-square mark between her shoulder blades. He must have been a tremendous marksman since she was flying away while barrel-rolling and never in a straight line. Upon caressing the point of impact, she could feel that the wound had healed all but closed. Her steely nails were dripping with her own black blood and that made her feel rather humiliated. From then on, it would be best not to underestimate the abilities of mortals. At least it didn’t hurt much after the initial strike, but if the ammunition were of a higher volume of energy; it could have paralyzed her ability to work her wings for a vital moment or two. That would have been disastrous if she fell into the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Finding this Black Hood Group, as they called themselves, was simple enough, at least. Not very furtive of a location for a secret headquarters and this made her doubt their function, but they were nothing more than useful idiots for the greater plan anyway, so compact with them should be fleeting, she figured. Who cares what would happen to the lot of them once everything was in place, she thought? From what she had learned, the majority of elves in this kingdom regarded them as dilettantes at best or paranoid fools despite their heavy press-coverage and cult following. After escaping the pursuit of the local authorities, she was able to find their little nest just as she had predicted.

  The two members whom she first accosted were in their middle ages and were bumbling about the narrow alleyway as they studied the signature which denoted the site’s entrance. The male was debating with the female if it was the green door to the left or the unfinished door to the right. She could smell by their odor of familiarity that the pair was mated. She assumed that their offspring must be equally stupid.

  “It’s the green door,” Sammian said as she feigned fatigue and pain in her voice. She limped toward the couple and they recoiled in shock by the light of the way. She had been standing in the far shadows of the alley for minutes and neither of them could detect her. She banked that her piteous portrayal would disarm them.

  “Who are you? Eh, we’ve never seen you before!” The female called out for the both of them. Her eyes popped so wide that they glittered from out of the shadow of her black hood and her body began to stink of fear and guilt. Sammian specialized in the scent
of guilt; it was all a part of her former job, to be honest. She reasoned they must believe her to be one of the authorities, which, until her recent escape from her Home, would have been the truth.

  “S-Sammian. My name is Sammian,” she continued the wounded-dove charade. “Please, you must help me. I have a message for Travius.”

  “Are you all right?” the female asked with sincere concern. This should be easy, Sammian thought. She’s soft and very trusting; a true mother to be sure.

  “I’ll be fine; I just need to speak to Travius. I have important news for him in regards to tomorrow night.” She made sure to attune her voice to an Atlantean accent so it would be easier for her to blend in with the locals. “It’s through the green door. He’s in there,” she told the group member her own business.

  “Take it easy now, lady,” the male said as he approached her with some trepidation. “You can call me ‘Poplar’ and that’s ‘Germander,’” he said while pointing to his mate. Sammian remembered from her intel that the Black Hood members all went by arboreal names. Oh, how gauche, she thought. And my name is ‘Stinkweed,’ she chuckled to herself and hid a tiny smile from her own silent jibe. How this little organization had managed to stay afloat with such gullible stooges amongst its roster boggled her mind. Elves were an inferior lot, though.

  She had never held a high opinion for the race, but ever since cutting ties with the Boss, her usual feelings of indifference or superiority had fast been turning to complete scorn. These beings were downright pathetic! She assumed that she could pummel the life out of them, raise them from the dead, apologize for her actions-and they’d accept it! To prove them all the more pitiful, although she remained half-covered by the alley’s shadows, she still hadn’t even bothered to hide her wings and the two remained unaware.

  “Germander, go on in and get the Big Oak and tell him we have a visitor,” he ordered his wife in one of Atlantis’s agrarian dialects. She obeyed the male as if it were her duty and disappeared through the portal. Sammian couldn’t wait to meet the esteemed leader of this ragtag outfit. He would certainly be a sight to behold, she thought with much sarcasm.

  “W-Wait! What’s that!” Sammian pointed behind the back of Poplar and he turned around like the clumsy oaf he was to see what held her attention. As the elf fell for the oldest trick in the proverbial book, Sammian discorporated her wings from mortal view and entered the light of the alleyway. Yes, she noted, the Black Hood was indeed paranoid if this elf was any indication. Her normally-iridescent wings had been mutating over time into a dull brown, almost like a moth’s ever since she fled from the Boss, which struck her as odd.

  “I see nothing; what is it?” The Poplar was frantic.

  “I’m sorry,” Sammian adjusted her muscular shoulders. “I think it was just a dog. I apologize for sounding so paranoid, but it’s really important that I meet with Travius tonight.”

  “That’s all right. Germander is fetching him right now. You’re in good hands here.” Poplar was not quite correct about that. They were all in Sammian’s hands as far as she was concerned.

  “I think we should wait for him back in the shadows just in case a patrol walks by. Don’t you agree?” She asked of the frumpy elf.

  “Eh… Yes, yes. That is a good idea,” he said while making his way with her into the recesses of the alley. Sammian could smell how nervous he was as they skulked.

  “You arrived just in time. Big Oak hasn’t begun the meeting yet as far as I can tell.” Poplar slapped his phone to check the time. Although he was late for the tour of the new facility, Travius’ actual speech and planning session wasn’t set to begin until 10 p.m.

  Within minutes, the green door opened for a very tall and thin grey elf who entered the alley as if he were royal. Germander was no longer with him. Although Sammian was not familiar with much of elfdom first hand, she could tell by the unruly look in his eyes that he was not the typical denizen of an elven community. With a shepherd like this one, she winced; she continued to have her doubts about this plan. Foresight was not one of her special attributes, so she could not tell how this plan would transpire.

  “Poplar! Please! Get inside. You are already late. I shall take care of our new interest here, if you will. Now scoot!” This one was an authoritarian; always took the lead. His little congregation was obedient to him to the extreme she could tell as Poplar fled thought the door posthaste; almost with fear and reverence. Once he was compromised, Sammian surmised, the others should easily fall in suit with his new orders.

  “I am the Big Oak. What will you have with me?” The wild-eyed elf announced as he stood much too deep into her personal space. He was as tall as she and that was quite tall for an elf. She didn’t discount his command; he held plenty of it and he smelled of very little fear or apprehension. As a matter-of-fact, she was confounded to read that he had only a slight capability of experiencing that emotion. So strange for an elf, she observed.

  “Good evening, Lord. I am Sammian…”

  “Sammian what?” he cut her off with a curt huff. Such boldness she didn’t expect from his kind.

  Remembering her environment as she tumbled over the streets of Corosa while the local authorities were firing bolts of mana at her, she recalled a name on a delivery coach. It would have to do.

  “Drinn. My name is Sammian Drinn.”

  “Drinn? Like the soap company? Ha!” This, Travius found horribly amusing, but she smelled no skepticism, just mirth.

  “Eh, yes, I am kin to that family,” Sammian lied.

  “Well, Sammian Drinn of the Drinn Cleansing Products Family, come along with me into my sanctum. We must discuss your news as you say you have . But let’s be quick about it because I have a meeting to manage and a speech to deliver with my group.” The old elf was haughty and pleased with himself. Sammian made a note to smell if he believed anything he told his congregation during his speech.

  Plush was not a word to describe the headquarters. The place was a disused cannery and it still stank of tin. The halls toward his sanctum were very narrow and she felt as if she almost needed to walk sideways just to fit though them. Walking single file was the only option, she learned as they rounded a tight corner.

  “There is something about you, lady, Sammian Drinn,” Travius began using her full name. “Normally I wouldn’t idly let anyone into these headquarters, much less my inner space, but you are somehow different. I can just feel it in my bones.”

  That’s because I just implanted a suggestion in you, you dolt, Sammian thought to herself. This guy’s ego was really too much. Her empathic abilities were integral to her old job but this fellow was much too easy. Without conscience, she rolled her eyes at his bravado.

  Travius’ “inner sanctum” was a laughable display of spirituality. Incense burners from all over the world banked one of his walls and symbols and sigils to his gods were in every direction she looked. Posters of protest covered other walls which shouted slogans for various earthly campaigns (Mammoths are my Friends!) for which she could have cared less. His desk housed Tel’lemurian bonsai bushes with pride at each corner as if in some pretentious display of worldliness. After settling into his high-backed chair with a perfect posture, he ordered her to have a seat across him.

  “So, my dearest Sammian.” She could see he was looking at her with a less-than-noble eye and she could smell his desires increasing now that they were alone. “What news do you have for the Black Hood as the lovely Germander informs me?”

  “Well, I…,” she tried her best to feign naiveté and confusion. It would make the elf lord feel as if he held the upper hand. “I work, or I suppose I should say, worked in operations at the Circle of Climate and Environment and…”

  “You work with the Mars exploration project? What are you doing here!” Travius was all but stunned by this as his wild eyes were ready to bust out of their sockets.

  “Not anymore! Not since I learned of the horrible things that have been going on up there. I have attempted
to inform my superiors to cancel this expedition, but they just refuse to listen.” Sammian tried her best to sound as desperate as possible to accentuate an air of urgency. The old elf was, without a doubt, intrigued.

  “Of course, why would the conceited intelligentsia ever listen to a mere janitor?” Travius said.

  “Well, actually, I oversee the janitors there, but that isn’t important. In my position, you become privy to certain bits of information, and when you can’t help overhear terrible news, it’s all but impossible to just keep mum. All of elfdom may be in grave danger and the politicos just won’t heed any warnings!” Travius’s eyes were alight with wonder. It was apparent that he was entranced by her tale and she had his undivided attention.

  “Tell me more!” Travius was drooling it seemed with anticipation for some drama.

  “The bottom line is that there is something we have awoken up there. Believe me; I had tried to inform the proper channels to get them to listen to reason; to stop the expedition, but now they view me as a troublemaker. The Thuless’in defense elder on the screen is right. Those things out there are Mars’s response to our meddling!”

  “I agree,” Travius began with a touch of calm in his voice. He was trying to control Sammian’s emotions as best he was able, she could sense. “But you must maintain focus. Now tell me, what did you precisely hear and from whom?”

  “All right,” Sammian pretended to gain composure from her phony distress. “When I was working in operations, I overheard though an open intercom two of the elder wardens in charge of the expedition, and these are top dogs here, arguing over lost transmissions from Cydonia Base. We lost contact with them two days before those pyramid-things just appeared from out of nowhere. We awoke something. Any fool can see that, but the elders are still planning another sortie to build yet another structure up there by order of the regent herself! What buffoonery! Buffoonery that will be the end of us all!” Sammian broke into crocodile tears. “I can’t believe it! Now I fear for my life! Those idiots will maintain their horrid expedition no matter the risk and they know that I am blowing the whistle! I had no choice but to come here. The Black Hood Group foresaw this type of scenario. You people are my last resort, if I may be so bold…”

  “My child!” Travius was closing in for an unwanted embrace. “Your bravery is commendable and no insult is taken. You were indeed correct to come to us. It’s only natural from someone on the inside to assume that their superiors are on their side; that they would listen. But you must be aware that elitist greed and scientific arrogance will always, always, rule over good sense, even if it means the very end of elfdom.”

  He had his strong hands wrapped around her powerful shoulders and Sammian was quite surprised by that strength. He too was a bit taken by how hard her arms were, and she became worried that they would give away her true nature. Judging from the look in his bulging eyes, Travius had more than politics on his mind. One did not need to possess supernatural empathic abilities to see this intent. This guru was good at manipulation and she could read with little difficulty that he had done this on many occasions with several of the females of the Black Hood. It was time for her to act with an amount of haste before the situation got out of hand.

  Sammian wrapped both her wiry hands around his wrists and pulled the lanky old elf even closer to her body. Her amber eyes became blood red; her pupils were stygian pinpoints.

  “You will listen to me, old fool.” She used her Voice of the Glorious Mind which resounded with an unearthly timbre and supernatural song. Travius’ mouth was hung agape as his eyes lost any kind of natural comprehension. Sammian was the only living being in existence at that moment. He could hear no other sounds but her voice and that sound was mesmerizing.

  “The Mars expedition will be halted permanently. You and your people will stop this tomorrow night when your king delivers his speech and you will stop it at all costs. All channels of political influence will be severed from this endeavor and only the Black Hood Group can do this. You will then lead your nation as a truly free and safe democracy.” Sammian had no problem compromising Travius’ mind. He was entranced through and through as he was mouthing each and every one of her words in silent tandem. His big blue eyes were oozing tears as he had never cried before.

  Sammian chose this fringe element to carry out her plan instead of more reputable avenues. The Black Hood group was an independent operation and really had no system of checks and balances unlike the much-too-redundant and fragmented bureaucratic government of Atlantis. Were she to attempt a military coup; it would be stopped from the inside with ease. She could not very well mesmerize an entire army of these people in time to prevent travel to Mars en masse. The elven mind was more resilient than her kind’s in some ways. Their free will given to them by the Creator was so strong, yet they so often failed to use this gift. This outfit was respected by a portion of the people of the nation for their pranks and theatrics. Their actions could go straight to the heart of the public and waken them to the dangers of interplanetary travel if conditions were right.

  Travius felt as if he had been asleep for days when Sammian at last let go of his mind and emotions. He was confused as to why she was across the room, but he was filled with conviction for his cause. All of his suspicions regarding the insidious and absurd notion of molesting Mars were confirmed. This strange and vagrant lady was the answer to all of his hesitations as she would be the pinnacle of the Black Hood’s mission. Thoughts of a safe and happy world of good sense and prosperity for the people of the earth were more concrete in his mind than ever and he could taste that success. Tonight would mark the beginnings of a power unlike he had ever known.

  Travius looked into his hands at the slim case. In a utilitarian script, the lid read, “Property of the Atlantis Civil Defense. Unlawful Possession Prohibited.” Underneath the warning, the number “5012” was embossed. This master manipulator knew what to do and he wasn’t afraid. His cause was just and he knew that justice would be his shield. It felt so heavy, but not with burden - with force; he couldn’t fail.

  Sammian beamed a beatific smile at the Black Hood’s leader. “Travius, do you understand what you are to do? Do you understand what we have discussed?”

  “Yes, I understand this more than anything. The clarity is unlike never before.” She could still see tears streaming down his cheeks although he was unaware of them.

  “Go to them, Travius. Gather your people and deliver the message to the world.” She no longer needed the empathic hold upon her subject. He was in a state of bliss and it could not be broken. Travius believed in full that he was now enlightened and the master of not only his own destiny, but the entirety of elfdom.

  Sammian was thankful that the sleeveless tunic that she had appropriated from an unwitting young lady downtown was of a dark-brown color. It helped to hide the bloodstains from the wound inflicted by the meddling civil warden. At that very moment, a bewildered and amnesiac female was detained in a municipal processing cell on the charges of indecent exposure in a public place. Sammian reasoned that she would have had a much more difficult time infiltrating the Black Hoods in the nude. Now, that civil warden’s handcaster had been a bit more difficult to acquire.

  Travius and the mysterious lady walked through the tiny and winding halls of the Black Hood’s back office headquarters. They needed to begin the meeting as she had taken too much of the elder’s time already and this would only prove to disrupt the attention of the rest of the group.

  The main hall of their base of operations was very spacious, if not dusty, as it had been the remains of the cannery’s production floor at one time. Travius gestured to Sammian to sit aside as he took to his improvised stage of old wooden crates. She complied. It was now time for Travius to shine and do what he did best.

  Ahead of the old elf, the members were awaiting their dearest leader with restless rustle. Upon his taking of the stage, their rumbling and murmurs halted without a skip of a beat. Sammian could tell ho
w much of a respectful hold the orator had on his flock as none of them noticed her even though she was a novelty to them. Their attention was not only undivided, but enrapt. However he chose to persuade the group now was in his hands as Sammian knew she needed no further involvement. This was going to be an ace in the hole, she supposed. These people needed a leader for so many different reasons. As she scanned their eyes from her side of the stage, she could read the various histories of the congregation. Drug addicts, debtors, prostitutes, runaway spouses and even a couple of cases of pure insanity populated this throng. One member of the crowd, a young male, carried a horrible smell of garbage for some reason; probably a derelict. All of their minds and hearts were hungry to fill their voids of anger, despair or regret. A lord such as Travius held that key for them. Their minds were happy and empty of any other concern when the tall, slim demagogue raised his hand to order their concentration to attention.

  “Lords and Ladies of the Black Hood,” the guru’s voice needed no amplification. It was a natural gift of projection and meter that one could not learn to master. This was an inborn ability much like her empathic manipulations and, for a fleeting moment, Sammian was impressed with the elder fool.

  “It has come to my attention through the divine grace of the gods themselves that we meet here tonight. In our times of uncertainty, we now have the fortune of an answer. This evening, I was going to surely bore you with the details of this fine, new headquarters. I was going to implore to my faithful devotees of a plea you are very familiar with. With the information I have just acquired by a very brave and remarkable young lady, we, the agents of the Black Hood are now called to take our efforts a step further. A step many of us have been fearful to tread. It was a step that many of us felt the inability to even begin. As of tonight, we fear no more. The answer has come to me, my friends and confidants. Armed with this information that I am about to share with you, you will know that what we must do is righteous for not only all of elfdom, but for the very fabric of the planet earth itself.”

  He was good. With each word dripping with pure charisma, the elf widened the audience’s eyes. His voice would begin in a calm and slow fashion, only to build louder and quicker with each parcel of thought. This speech was not planned or practiced. Sammian could have planted the words in his mouth with ease, but such a trick wasn’t needed with this one. She was again impressed by his oratory skills for a moment or two. Thoughts of a puppeteer controlling a puppet who was controlling tinier puppets came over her and she smiled at that. This was a much better solution than compromising an official channel of milquetoast scroll-shufflers. After tomorrow night, this elf would control the decisions of the whole world and on this world the people would remain; every single one of them.

  As Travius postured, Sammian could sense he was trying to impress her more than any of the others in the throng. His large eyes, though impassioned, would dart over to her with fleeting flashes. Was it for her approval, she wondered? There was no trace of fear or mistrust in his scent, so it wasn’t a look of suspicion. He not only felt the lust for her as he attempted to display back in his sanctum, but a true feeling of love. She might be able to use this in the future, although she had a love of her own to tend to. Once the plan came to fruit, this could prove to be a wonderful bonus.

  “To be blunt,” he continued with a well-timed dramatic pause. “Mars is a time bomb and we must stop all interests in it tomorrow night and no later. Please, if you’ve never paid more attention to me, then this is the time, as each and every one of your lives depends on it. Allow me to explain…”

  Excelsior

  Lord Reyliss’ children had no clue that they would be going to the Palace Arena the next evening until he arrived home from the lab. Tonight, the High King of Atlantis was to address the nation, and since the Reylisses lived in the kingdom’s capital, they were fortunate enough to attend the address live. Both of his children were so excited because the trip was unexpected and everybody knew it would be a grand event. This would be Quen’die’s fifth time attending a royal address and Kaedish’s second; the first of which he was too young to remember.

  As with any of these spectacular galas, the arena was packed to capacity. Elves from all over the world were in attendance and the two young ones considered themselves lucky to soak in all the different sights and flavors from around the globe. The whole place was a cavalcade of so many different colors that Quen’die thought her head would spin. In every direction she turned, she would see a genuine representative from one of the many kingdoms throughout all of elfdom. The reds, golds and greens of Gonduanna were present in their fragrant kiosks which sold spicy foods that could burn her palate for hours. The oranges, purples, and blacks of legitimate Kumari fashion whisked past her in a blur as their people spoke in their musical tongue. The frosty blues and silvers of the frost elves hosted all manner of foreign games and activities within their tents, many of which were a bit brutal and required a waiver of responsibility out of their potential contestants. Even the blues, greens and reds of the sea elves made an appearance despite some of Atlantis’s resentment from their conflict resolved not long before. Not to forget, the underdeveloped nation of Avalon was present with its humble offerings in a pavilion of its own, although it was significantly tinier than the others.

  Lauryl’la was nowhere to be found, even though Quen’die searched the grounds and pavilions in earnest for her thick auburn hair. Her folks had been more or less living on patrol ever since the pyramids appeared out of thin air and the poor maiden was probably stuck at home watching this extraordinary festival on the screen while doing the laundry or some other such housework. She felt so sorry that her best friend could not share this grand experience with her.

  Kaedish was talking with his friend Noopy near the entrance of a Thuless’in rodeo ring nestled within the frost elf pavilion. Beyond their small forms, a petite Tel’lemurian lady was trying in desperation to hang onto a bucking sabercat and was quite successful in her attempt. The crowd around her was cheering in disbelief as the demure, little elf belied her fragile appearance with such a brutal sport.

  Noopy wasn’t Kaedish’s friend’s real name. No elf in their right mind would entitle their child with such a horrible moniker. His real name was No’pini Galinin, but since his already-large ears drooped to near perpendicularity out of the sides of his head, his classmates added his first name plus the nature of his poor ears and thus, ‘Noopy’ was born and the name stuck. Much like Kaedish, Noopy was obnoxious and most likely the mastermind of any of the duo’s schemes. Quen’die was rather disturbed that her younger brother was such a follower, especially since she viewed herself, as did her friends, as something of a leader at school. Well, in the areas of sports and academics; males on the other hand, were more of Lauryl’la’s domain.

  To avert an international disaster on account of her brother’s and his stupid friend’s antics, Quen’die sauntered through the tight crowd over to the two young lads in order to see what they were up to. The gods only knew what deviant machinations Noopy had devised and would attempt to drag her brother into. It was a small wonder the two were each other’s only friends, Quen’die sulked.

  “Okay, what are you doing behind the tent?” Quen’die ordered of her brother with all the authority of the school’s academic warden.

  “Well, well...,” Noopy began in a tone that dripped with spite. “If it isn’t Quen’die the Red Pest, er, I mean Tempest,” he continued as he failed to make a decent witticism of her runta nickname.

  “Hush! I wasn’t talking to you, Noopy,” Quen’die commanded with barely an acknowledgement toward him. He was wearing a blue and white t-shirt which announced with racist pride that “Lems Suck!” over the graphic of a white lemon.

  “Don’t call me that! Only my friends are allowed to call me Noopy!” the odd, young elf shot back through gritted and rather protruding teeth. “You don’t have that privilege!”

  “But you must understand, Noopy, you don�
�t have any friends!” Quen’die tried to reason with Kaedish’s cohort with much sarcasm. Beyond them in the rodeo circle, the Tel’lemurian maiden at last fell from the cat as the crowd cheered. The PA system announced with a thick Thuless’in echo that she had broken last year’s record by thirty seconds. The crowd answered with a deafening chorus while lights from the manamirrors illuminated her new-found shining fame.

  “Uh,” Kaedish began as he feigned interest in the rodeo and looked away from his elder sister. “We were just gonna …”

  The maiden spotted the big blue and white lozenges clutched in her brother’s hand. He was holding a pair of manabangers.

  “What were you expecting to do with those!” she cried.

  “We were going to freak out all the sabercats in their pens when we cracked them, that’s what!” Noopy answered for her brother in defiance toward the maiden.

  “Kaedish!” she shouted in total anger. “Stay with me and give me those bangers or I’ll find Rylla’s father and you’ll be in the dungeon for months!”

  Kaedish was mischievous, but not much of a criminal. As he and Noopy got older, some of their escapades were becoming ever the more nefarious and his sister many times worried that he would soon be influenced into doing something really stupid and would have to spend a few months locked-up. Her parents had even noted that Noopy’s poor behavior was becoming more malevolent and advanced in nature. Glynna and Ferd’inn hoped they would one day see to it that Kaedish be banned from associating with him.

  “Uh-Okay…,” he relinquished the miniature explosives with full culpability to his sister. He looked up at her as if she were a civil warden herself and he had been caught holding the bag.

  “Hey, Kaedish, you don’t have to…,” Noopy attempted to protest.

  “Go away, Noopy,” Quen’die cut him off without bothering to look at him again. She was disgusted that he would try to hurt those cats and perhaps even cause a stampede in the Royal Arena.

  “We’re going to find Mother and Father right now. I don’t want you out of my sight this entire night,” she scolded the elf as she dragged him toward their parents’ whereabouts by the hand. Kaedish said nothing other than blurting out a little whine that made him sound like an infantile elfling. Little did either sibling notice that the odd, skinny elf was glaring at their backs with pure menace.

  The pair of young elves was navigating away from the Thuless’in Pavilion and Noopy’s schemes. Nearby, the Kumari Pavilion was hosting a bazaar of their national goods and foods. The aromas of the spices were making Quen’die hungrier than she could remember and she hoped that her parents would have dinner waiting when they met them in the dining tent. Next to a large utility coach, a natha was unloading crates of precious metals from its trailer. Kaedish was shocked at how big the giant Kumarian was. He had never seen one in person, although he knew from the manascreen about their colossal stature. Fifteen feet tall never had seemed so large when one had read or heard about it, but to be next to something that big in real life was quite intimidating.

  “Oh wow! A real natha!” Kaedish pointed a rude finger at the orange-toned titan.

  The large Kumarian looked down at the elf and uttered a response in a low and deep, yet quick language that defied its depth which he could not begin to understand. “Veddithanna nur gommi yar!” To that, Kaedish squeaked like a field mouse and retreated to the grasp of his sister’s hand.

  “See? It isn’t polite to point at those you don’t know,” she chided the young lad.

  As the elfmaid and her brother rushed through the crowds toward the Gonduanna Pavilion where their parents were buying all of them dinner, Quen’die spotted one of her friends by the structure’s entrance. It was nice to see a familiar face through this multi-national hubbub.

  “Quen’die!” Tam’laa Na’rundi shouted over the din of the crowd. She was jumping up and down in order to be seen above the heads of the milling elves.

  “Hey, Tam’laa!” Quen’die waved back as soon as she met her friend’s bouncing sight. Kaedish was still in her tight grip as she made her way over to the pavilion’s threshold.

  Tam’laa was a transplant from Gonduanna who had met and befriended Quen’die when the two had entered adept’s school. More and more gold elves were moving to Corosa ever since the end of the Tel’lemurian Conflicts as Atlantis and her native kingdom had been staunch allies. Her father even served with the 431st. Gonduanna Royal Casters regiment during those times, which pretty much made him a five-star hero in Kaedish’s opinion. Unlike Lauryl’la, Tam’laa was more or less patient with Kaedish and the two got along rather well.

  “It’s so great to see you here!” the gold elf greeted the siblings. Tam’laa’s infectious smile made Quen’die forget her anger with her brother and likewise, Kaedish’s fear of getting punished for his foiled stunt. He too split a grin.

  “Hey there, Tam,” Kaedish was still smiling.

  “What’s going on?” Quen’die asked her friend, although she expected no true answer. “We were about to meet my folks in the pavilion for dinner. You should come with.”

  “Of course I will,” Tam’laa began. “Especially since my folks already found yours and got us all a giant table reserved!” After only two short years in Atlantis, her Gonduannian accent was already fading.

  At the table, Quen’die’s family ate with Tam’laa’s as Kaedish was attempting to spark up old war stories with Colonel Na’rundi. He was more than happy to give honest accounts of his adventures, unlike the propaganda-loaded tales of blood and horror to which his uncle would treat him. Quen’die was not accustomed to eating meat very often, but the warthog kebabs were a tasty exception. Gonduannian cuisine was much spicier than the bland offerings on her native menus, which usually consisted of vegetables, mushrooms and, now and again, seafood.

  The two families headed for the central ring of the arena after finishing an enjoyable meal with each other and situated themselves as close as they could squeeze to the High King’s stage. They felt rather fortunate to find seating about fifty yards from the throne itself. On a semicircular pedestal not too far above their heads, a Defense Forces golem master was booting her operations terminals. Her control halo was burning alive with mana. Kaedish was happier than ever for this privilege and watched her commence control of the bulky wooden extramatons.

  “Oh wow! You’re a golem master! I wanna join the ADF and do that too!” The young elf bounced up and down while trying to catch a peek at the officer’s array of consoles.

  The white-robed officer’s fluid movements were like an elegant dance as she puppeteered the large elflike-machines which marched many yards away from her orchestrations. Without breaking from her graceful motions, she looked down at Kaedish with mechanical precision. “Beat it, kid! You’re going to break my link!” she growled.

  Although disappointed by the rebuff, Kaedish shrank back into his seat in awe of the lady and her responsibility. She was a grand battle angel, as far as he was concerned and he was happy that she even bothered to notice him at all.

  Tam’laa pointed to Quen’die’s left flank at a group of young elves that were chanting and waving signs aloft which protested Atlantis’s Martian expeditions. All of the protesters were donning black robes. Over the collective voices of the crowd, the two could make out the repetitious chant - “Mars is Not Ours!” The group was led by a very tall elf, much older than the rest of the throng, who was standing on a crate of some kind.

  “Oh wow! The Black Hood Group!” Kaedish beamed. “Those guys are terrorists! I just know it! I’ll bet they’re responsible for all of the sabotage of the ships we’ve been having in the bay lately!”

  Quen’die’s friend smiled and shook her head at Kaedish’s enthusiastic paranoia while his sister rolled her eyes. “I don’t think they have quite that kind of funding, Kaedish,” she reasoned.

  “Hey! Isn’t that On’dinn Jak’sin over there with those freaks?” Quen’die asked the gold elf while trying not to point at the s
evere-looking group. “He’s in my History and Cultures class. He always has some political discourse to argue with Professor Miryon. I can’t believe all the maidens in class secretly think he’s cute.” The pale young elf in question was indeed amongst the entourage waving a placard of dissent with fervor.

  “Quen’die, I understand your father works on the expeditions, but we can’t be so sure that their concerns aren’t valid,” Tam’laa began. “Only time will tell if they are freaks, as you say, or are just asking the world to be a little more careful. We don’t really know all that much about Mars yet, you know.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Most people don’t question progress very often,” she agreed with her point. “It’s just that now that we have the means to get there, I suppose we should take advantage of it; at least more than just a little peek.” Although she never considered herself much of one to follow the herd, sometimes Quen’die wondered if she was not influenced with some ease by her classmates’ peer pressure. Amongst her set of friends, On’dinn was not all that well liked, but she had to admit, he made some amazing points in her classes. She was never blunt or rude or even disparaging to the lad; he was just kind of different.

  The lights over the audience in the inner circles were beginning to dim with a quickness that made it difficult for their eyes to adjust. Over the PA, the Royal Orchestra could be heard revving up the Atlantean National Anthem. Harps and lutes were amplified among the introduction of heavy drumbeats, which were building up the music. The entire throng of elves in attendance rose up and covered their hearts with their right hands in honor of their kingdom. Overhead, armored flitcycles of the Royal Guards shot out over the perimeter of the arena to pace a sortie of their larger cousins, the armored limmers. Unlike the colors of the regular army, the Royal Guard was bedecked in blue with small traces of white adorning their hulls. The mana-powered machines performed a circular ballet that rose higher and higher in ever-tightening loops. On the ground, a procession of Royal Guards led a contingent of golems around the outer and inner rings of the arena. All the guards were encased in the head-to-toe blue armor gripping shields of the Atlantean elite while they held their battalion banners aloft. On the face of each of their tower shields, the head of a bull was engraved in a mighty white graphic; the Atlantean standard symbol. They all donned the nautiloid comb-morion helmets of the Atlantis Army Elite.

  Kaedish was in a trance. His mouth hung open like an elfling’s first Harvestfest feast. Quen’die herself was quite taken aback by the national procession and, for once, shared her little brother’s enthusiasm about such things.

  “Wow! Look at the flitcycles! Those are real ADF scouts! I wanna ride one of those!” Kaedish bawled in amazement as he pointed to the small, circular pacercraft.

  Without warning, two flights of disc-shaped battlelimmers swooped down above the crowd’s heads in frightening and dangerous low arcs, treating all those present to a wonderful light show consisting of the trails of red, white and blue mana which coursed through their innards. Kaedish ducked without taking his eyes off the vehicles and could see members of the Royal Guard adorned in their ceremonial battle gear. They dove so close that he could all but touch the ship’s heavy manacasters. Military equipment and weapons were not the first of Quen’die’s concerns in life, but she found that this mechanical dance above her head was nothing short of beautiful. Instruments of death were transformed into abstract shapes of graceful light and color.

  “No! I take that back! I definitely want to be in the Royal Guard!” Kaedish changed his mind as fast as the flying saucers sped above him upon his close encounter with military stardom. “You know, I just love the smell of red mana in the…”

  “Oh would you just knock it off!” Quen’die and Tam’laa admonished the young elf in unison and laughed at their synchronous outburst.

  “I don’t know, maybe Kaedish has a point. That belly-caster was kind of cute!” Tam’laa added under the whining din of the battle materiel’s’ screaming engines. This only made Quen’die laugh even harder.

  As the national anthem continued, a large group of the guardsmen rounded the king’s stage with metered ceremony. Following this, emissaries and dignitaries from all over the world filed to their seats as well. Representatives from all of the major circles of government seated themselves in the lavish old oaken rotunda which housed the king’s stage.

  After the national anthem wound to a close, the king’s regal anthem blared through the PA and all elves in the arena knelt. With the same slow, measured steps as the guard, the Royal Procession emerged from out of the darkness toward the throne. Even Kaedish knew to keep his mouth shut during such a solemn moment. The king’s personal guardsmen, assistants, viziers, advisors and nannies surrounded the four-year-old elfling who was draped in long blue and white sabercat furs which were carried by his assistants from behind him. The Speaker of the Throne was his mother, the Princess Regent Cai’lee Du’gonn. She held the elfling’s finned crown upon a blue velvet cushion as it was much too big for his tiny head. The Lord Baron of Corosa, Vill’dren Hasten held the king’s scepter at his side, as it was almost the size of the king himself.

  The entire arena took their seats after the king was placed upon the high throne by the Lord Baron. One member of the royal contingency took to a large, ornate dais at the center of the rotunda which was brimming with microphones and surrounded by an array of small manamirrors which were, most expectedly, used for the purpose of recording a good close-up for the media.

  “To the Lords and Ladies of Atlantis and all of its citizenry, I present unto thee a Royal Address and Proclamation as uttered from the throne of our Majesty, High King Rigel’liss IV from the mouth of Her Majesty, the Princess Regent Cai’lee Du’gonn of the Kingdom of Atlantis. Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” the announcer declared before bowing away from the rampart of microphones.

  With the same solemn steps as the procession, Princess Du’gonn took to the dais with pure elegance to commence the king’s address. She was a very young lady, not much older than Quen’die and delivered the speeches for the child-ruler as the king was so young that he could not even speak for himself. Her late husband, who was the little elfling’s father and royal predecessor, died from an illness about two years before. Her tiny son was, by lineage, the next in line for the throne, and thus, was crowned the High King of Atlantis, although the Princess would manage the kingdom’s affairs in his stead until he was of a reasonable age.

  “Maiden, will you look at the Princess!” Tam’laa whispered over to her companion. “She is dripping with royalty!”

  Quen’die had to admit, the Princess was sparing no expense on couture. She was dressed in an almost translucent gown woven together with small jewels and polished sea shells of finest workmanship. Her headdress was a slim coif that draped over her shoulders, and fashioned out of the same materials. Out of its crest, sprouted a platinum-blond topknot streaked with blue dyes which rained down the sides of her face. Her regalia was shimmering a blue and white within the lights of the stage and the beams of the innumerable manamirrors. She looked like a living fountain of blue silver. With her royal grace, the Princess entered the nest of recording devices and began to speak.

  “His Majesty, the High King wishes to address the fine people of Atlantis and her provinces on this momentous day. Two nights ago, our nation, as with all the nations of the earth, had been the subject of visitation from agents of unknown origin. By Royal Decree, His Majesty in all of his wisdom does hereby declare these edicts:

  “It is in His Majesty’s wisdom that the people of his kingdom and all of its holdings maintain their behaviors as is usual and continue with their pursuits of fruitfulness and happiness in honor of king and country. Atlantis need not and shall not evacuate. Agencies and bureaus of utmost qualification from this kingdom and elsewhere are currently investigating these foreign structures with due diligence. It is in His Majesty’s wisdom that these tasks be meted to those qualified entities and to none
other.

  “It is in His Majesty’s wisdom that order be maintained in the behaviors of all Atlantean elfdom in regards to this event and otherwise. It is in His Majesty’s wisdom that evidence of molestation or injury to these structures is to be dealt with swiftly and with due process in accordance to the laws of this land.

  “It is in His Majesty’s wisdom that the exploration and the eventual habitation of the planet of Mars be maintained with scheduled gods’speed as we continue this mighty race to colonize that world with the assistance and competition of agents foreign and domestic.

  “It is in His Majesty’s wisdom that these intrusive structures are decisively not Martian in origin, nor do our efforts on that world relate to their appearance on the soil of this land. His Majesty, the High King Rigel’liss IV of Atlantis has spoken. So be it!”

  “And so it shall be!” the entirety of elves present in the arena resounded with the hum of thunder.

  After the united response of the audience, the Princess remained amongst the array of the media as they filmed her in frantic desperation with their manamirrors to record the event for their respective communications’ corporations. Reporters from all over the world were jumping up and down in order to catch her royal visage and to cull any hot gossip from her. To be certain, Quay’liss Dalian was among the horde of newsies and she made it an imperative to be up front and center.

  Quen’die thought the Princess looked like the sea goddess herself arising from the foam of the Eastern Atlantean Ocean; such a sight to behold in her youthful beauty. She was a native Tel’lemurian and her marriage to King Rigel’liss III was something of an unsaid peace offering between his kingdom and that of the sea elves.

  From behind her, Tam’laa could hear the sounds of laughing compete with the reporters’ barking questions. Although the arena was murmuring and its collective din was rolling, the young maiden could sense something was amiss. She looked behind to see the black-robed protesters beating on their signs and sandwichboards.

  “Hey, Quen’die!” she jostled her friend’s knobby elbow. “Check out the protesters. They’re really getting riled up again.”

  To that, Quen’die looked over her friend’s shoulder and saw that the black robes were now jumping up and down. Within seconds, they were resuming their chant which protested the Martian expedition. “Mars is not ours! Mars is not ours!”

  “Mars is not ours, Your Majesty!” one of the black robes shouted with a maniacal taunt much louder than the rest of the dusky collection. It was the tall elf on the crate. He was what seemed to be the ringleader of the group. His long chestnut braids were interspersed with the grey of age and he had the wild look in his bulging eyes of youth. The gangly old elf reached into his robe and produced a small handcaster that was brimming with angry red mana. With a cackle that could only be described as insane, he pointed it toward the rotunda and let two bolts loose in the direction of the tiny king.

  A swarm of black robes ducked behind their leader and some attempted to flee, perhaps in the hopes of severing association with the aged lunatic. The two crimson bolts of deadly mana flew from the point of the caster, screaming their livid howls of murder. “Skeee-YOP! Skeee-YOP!”

  With divine luck, neither of the shots hit their marks. The red energy only managed to take out a microphone and one of the many reporters’ manamirrors; each disintegrated into embers. On stage, with the immediacy of a flash of lightning, the High King and his mother were both encapsulated by the blue shields of the Royal Guard. Those valiant agents created a cobalt phalanx in every direction from their royal bodies like a giant tortoise shell made of elves and armor. It was an absolute fact that nothing could damage them at this point. Underneath the makeshift bunker of guardsmen, the little king cried. “Mama!”

  The announcer who introduced the decree took to the assembly of microphones without a care, despite the immediate danger of a psychotic gunman at large and wailed the mighty taunt - “Gods save the king!” Self-preservation was not an option in his position and he pointed toward the direction of the offending shots.

  From what seemed to be out of nowhere, spotlights illuminated the clutch of black robes as ADF scouts rappelled from their flitcycles overhead. Within seconds, the old freak who tried to kill the toddler king was engulfed by a barrage of armored bodies. Some of those bodies were frank and brutal in their hammering of their ivory truncheons. As members of the Black Hood tried to escape, many were entrapped by the professional combat methods of the ADF, and were to be taken into justice. Amidst the fracas, however, a couple did manage to slip by as the crouched pair of elfmaids saw.

  “Holy hells!” Kaedish exclaimed. “The ADF is beating the tar out of that fool! This is so awesome! We could have been killed!”

  ”Kids! Get down!” Lord Reyliss yelped as he took cue from the ADF’s actions and jumped on top of his children into a huddle for safety.

  “Ouch! Father! They got him already! What gives!” Kaedish protested to his father’s unneeded gesture of overprotection.

  Once the would-be assassin was contained, a scout retreated from the fray and barked an all-clear into his phone to an unseen commander. “Alpha down. Peanut and Lilly secure,” the scout’s metallic voice hissed.

  Quen’die was very annoyed at her father as well. “Father, I think we’re pretty much safe now. I mean, the ADF took care of everything, so do you think you could get off of us?” This was just more proof that her father would sometimes go too far with his worries. How he would ever manage to travel to Mars, much less explore it, boggled her mind.

  “Hey! Easy! Take it easy!” Lord Na’rundi yelled out as he tried to deescalate their father down from his outburst. “Everything is all right!”

  Banda Na’rundi helped the Reyliss children’s father back up on his feet. He was still trying to settle his nerves while Lady Reyliss stood off to the side in a state of concerted fret. She was biting her lush bottom lip as her brow furrowed with concern, not so much for her children or the king of Atlantis, but more for her husband. She was not taking her eyes off of him and Quen’die knew she was bothered with an honest gravity about something whenever she did this.

  “Darling,” Glynna addressed her husband with a touch of rancor after everything had calmed down a bit. She was trying to hold back her exasperation, it was clear. “I think we need to talk about some things when we get home,” she continued as her eyes were fixed upon him with an authoritarian wariness that neither of her children much cared for. Quen’die supposed that the two of them would be up for a long time arguing once again and this made her stomach drop. Sometimes the maiden felt that it was her duty to jump in the middle of their fears and make everything stable again. Nominal. That was the term she had learned in Astrophysical Navigation. It meant that all navigation systems were within a normal range even though there may be slight, undetectable fluctuations. Regardless, everything was A-OK. That is all Quen’die wanted for her family. “A-OK.”

  “Hey! The ADF’s codename for the king is ‘Peanut!’” Kaedish announced as he recovered from Father’s huddle as if it had never occurred. Sometimes that elf could be stuck on a notion for what seemed like hours, no matter what else happened. “That’s so goofy!” For some reason, this information struck him as funny and he couldn’t resist laughing about it. Everyone present ignored the young elf’s new-found factoid as they were much more concerned about Father’s impulsive behavior.

  Down in the rotunda, the overhead lighting shut off and rendered the stage pitch black so that the royal court could be whisked away without detection. After such an attempt on any royal’s life, emergency measures were taken to ensure their safety. This would be, of course, all over the news in a jet flash. Kaedish wished that school was in session so he could tell his friends that they were almost fried by a bolt of red mana, but after checking some personal inventory, he realized in all honesty that only Noopy would bother listening to his tale.

  Kaedish’s thoughts were halted when he heard the
golem master call down to him from up in her console array. He could not believe she would bother to initiate another conversation with him.

  “Hey kid,” the officer said with a trace of harried bite. “So, you still want to be in the ADF?” The light from the control halo strapped on her forehead was blinding him and her voice was pure music to his pointed ears.

  The Devil Had a Little Lamb

  “No way!” On’dinn shouted in a panic. “How in the hells was I supposed to know the old coot was going to try to shoot the king!” He was grabbing at the top of his hair, and was close to pulling out the long blond locks in frustration. “We’re way in over our heads, Minnie!”

  “Shhh! Will you knock it off?” his friend hissed. “You must keep quiet or they’re going to find us here! We’ll worry about Travius when we get to safer ground. If we can get there, that is.”

  The smell under the kebab kiosk where the pair hid was about as foul as the garbage bin On’dinn was thrown into the other afternoon. Rotting food and trash and the gods only knew what else lined the ground and as On’dinn shifted his weight, he felt his hand plant square into something squishy. He really wanted to wretch again as thoughts from the dumpster resurfaced.

  “Ugh!” The young elf flicked the muck off his hand. “You bring up a good point, but how exactly are we going to get to safer ground? Eh, ‘Nightbloom?’” His voice was soaked with sarcastic resentment. “You know, this kiosk isn’t exactly a permanent fixture. Sooner or later the vendor’s going to pack-up shop and find two terrorists along with…with whatever I just set my hand into.”

  “Okay! Just let me think.” Minn’dre knew that she was the superior in their secretive outfit and was by default expected to take responsibility for damage control when needed. This situation was much direr than a rally or protest that got a little too heated. This was an assassination attempt of a royal and no single solitary soul aligned with the Black Hood Group would sustain a brief stay in a holding cell, of that she was sure. She was wishing that On’dinn wasn’t acting like a helpless old lady right then and contributed a little more, but she too was in a panic.

  “Do you think we should go back to HQ?” On’dinn blurted out of pure confusion and impulse.

  “No! Are you kidding me? That place is probably crawling, no, roiling with wardens. Maybe even the Royal guard as we speak!” That was the worst idea to ever be uttered from his mouth, as intelligent as she sometimes thought he was. “You need to focus and use your brain, Basil, if you expect to help here.”

  “All right, then. Our homes are out of the question,” the young lad reasoned. “Gods, my father is probably being interrogated right now!” Visions of the old elf strapped to a manaspike in the royal dungeons ran through his imagination. He never much cared for him as he was a drunk and rather heavy handed but, nonetheless, he felt like he was going to faint thinking about such a horrible fate for the old lord.

  “Stop speculating!” Minn’dre snapped. “You need to focus on the now! Right now, we’re wanted by every law enforcement agency in the kingdom, maybe the whole world and we are hiding under a Kumari kebab kiosk. Oh, yeah, and it smells terrible.”

  “Okay, right now, you say. Right now it’s still crowded. That’s good,” On’dinn observed. “We can try to lose ourselves in the crowd and then figure a way out of the Royal Pavilions. Then maybe we can make it to our safe-houses. The authorities can’t possibly know about them. We aren’t going to get a clear picture of the situation from underneath a tablecloth.”

  “Great! Now you’re thinking. Let’s just work together and take this in little chunks.” Minn’dre could see that her comrade was gaining some semblance of composure. Perhaps he wanted to impress her and knew that he was acting like a little elfling. “First, we’ll lose the robes and keep them under the kiosk. I know it’s a dirty move because the kebab vendor is more than likely going to take some heat for it, but he’ll be cleared. Eh… you are wearing clothes under that, yes?”

  “Yeah, I am,” he confirmed. “Just a t-shirt and linens.”

  “Good. Nice and inconspicuous. Me too.” The bout of reason was not all that reassuring to Minn’dre, but at least they were both lucid by that point and could think of how to get to the next step. Both discarded the dark robes under the grease catch of the kiosk’s guts and On’dinn threw out his dirty hands.

  “What next?” he asked his superior. The sounds of the crowd milling about were still thunderous and the two needed to whisper with loud tones to the point where it sounded more like hissing. Among the multilingual din of the people, some cries and sobs could be heard.

  “Now, one at a time, we’re going to carefully peek out from under the cloth and see if it’s clear to make a break for it. If so, we’ll merge into the crowd seamlessly by pretending we’re buckling our shoes.” On’dinn was feeling much more secure hearing his friend’s directions. She was such a professional, almost as if she had done this kind of nonsense a few times before. Her composure inspired On’dinn to act.

  “I’ll go first; real slow, Okay?” he assured.

  “Go for it!” she encouraged with a slap to his posterior.

  On’dinn drew back the ornate orange cloth with as much care as he could manage only to see a stampede of feet adorned in boots, sandals and shoes from all over the world. There wasn’t much of a pattern as to how they were walking. Most of their gaits suggested confusion. This was good in his opinion because they could slip into the crowd with less of a chance of being noticed. “Coast is clear. Just a bunch of people going to and fro.”

  “Very well,” Minn’dre began. “Now it’s my turn.” With that, she drew back her portion of the cloth with an equal ginger. Like On’dinn, she was met with a rumble of feet. The pedal display before her was broken all of the sudden by a pair of white boots hewn from cured ivory. The backs of the boots bore the number “9915.” It was the ADF and they were but inches away from the kiosk.

  Minn’dre recoiled from the cloth in terror and put a finger up to her mouth in one movement. Her already-large eyes were huge with fear. “Be quiet,” she mouthed to her partner without a sound.

  On’dinn slapped a hand to his own mouth out of reaction to stifle a shriek just in case he couldn’t control himself. He was grateful that he hushed himself with his clean hand. Without her telling him, he knew that the authorities were nearby.

  “9-9-1-5 comcheck. Ten-pee-em,” the filtered voice intoned beyond the cloth with an even meter. “All clear. Tango sign negative.”

  On’dinn wanted to faint again. That voice possessed so much power that he felt like a tiny cockroach in comparison. He looked at Minn’dre for support; for something to help him regain his own standard of power. The maiden’s eyes were closed and her head was down; her platinum bang hid one half of her face. Perhaps she was meditating, On’dinn wondered. Not a bad idea, he thought; if he could muster the nerves for it.

  “How many does command say we rounded-up?” It was a female voice that joined her partner. There were two wardens right beside their hiding spot. This made On’dinn’s head swim with fear. Minn’dre managed to remain in her position like a stone.

  “Eh, last report claims twelve. HQ is gonna run a check for any known members of those freaks and then we’ll get a full roster and corral them for questioning,” her partner rabbled through his helmet.

  “The scouters got the gunman, at least. I hear that guy’s a lunatic. He’d show up from time to time on the screen, but he isn’t making any sense in this incident. Keeps repeating the same word over and over again, ‘Sammian, Sammian,’ or something like that,” the female warden reported with a lazy drawl as if she were becoming bored now that the action had settled down.

  On’dinn vaguely remembered that name from the last night’s meeting. That was the name of that new lady who attended. She wasn’t sitting with the rest of the group and she was quite the striking one. He wondered if she was from Xo’chi or Kumari or Kamden or somewhere like that because of her dusky complex
ion, but he remembered that she spoke perfect Atlantean. Maybe she was a second generation import or something. Strange person, On’dinn recalled, and Travius seemed to really be taken by her. Perhaps she was the source of that intelligence he kept going on and on about?

  ”Any idea what a ‘Sammian’ is?” the female warden inquired.

  “Who knows?” the male shrugged back. “That guy was always a nut in his goofy public service announcements. It’s probably some stupid code word that he and his fellow freaks think means something. Probably made it up when he was meditating or some such nonsense. He’s a bit of a wine-o, too, isn’t he? Who cares? We got him good and the king and his mother are safe.”

  In some ways, On’dinn liked the warden’s philosophy: “We got the gunman. All is well. Case closed.” But the young elf knew how the government worked. The Black Hood Group would now and forever be international villains just because Travius had a longing for a mysterious female. It was so disheartening, he lamented. The group had always been conscientious and demonstrated for the rights of various underdogs, but now that Mars was possibly staging an attack on Earth, as Travius had claimed, it was imperative to voice their opinion. The only problem was, Travius went way too far with this mission and now he and Minn’dre would have to live with the horrible consequences.

  Over their comms, the wardens’ dispatcher quipped, “All units, all units: Unrest in the Tel’lemurian pavilion. Possible stampede at their golem demolition arena. All units respond to that location.”

  “That’s us. Come on, let’s babysit the Lems,” the male groaned. “Maybe we’ll get to neutralize a maniac golem wrangler or something”

  With that, the teens heard the bulky boots trudge away from them. On’dinn let out a sigh of relief and Minn’dre double-checked beyond the tablecloth with utmost care.

  “Coast is clear again. I can’t find them,” she announced. “We better act now while that ruckus is going on over in the Lem’s pavilion. That’ll help take some of the heat off us. “

  “Are you sure they’re gone?” On’dinn asked as he was approaching a full state of frazzle.

  “Yep,” she assured her comrade. “We’d better go before our luck runs out and the kiosk manager tears this operation down. Remember to pretend that you are buckling your shoe, all right?”

  “Got it,” On’dinn flashed Minn’dre a strong thumbs-up.

  When the two snuck out from under the kiosk, they were close to being bowled over by the tight crowd. It was still chaotic throughout the pavilions and they didn’t want to get caught up in something unrelated with the wardens by coincidence such as starting a fight with the random drunken lout.

  “What now? What’s the next step?” On’dinn felt helpless again, even though they made it through the first phase of their escape plan.

  “We need to scout the area to see what the exits are like. I expect there’s high security there and nobody gets in or out without being checked,” Minn’dre explained.

  “How are we going to get past that? If the wardens scan my I.D., I might be profiled!” The young elf’s general fear was turning to panic once again. He had to remain calm, he told himself.

  “Remember, in small phases. We aren’t at that point yet. We just need to check out the area and then we can plan from there. Little steps,” she instructed him. This made him feel a bit better, as it appeared to him that they were succeeding.

  “Here, hold my hand and we can pose as a couple,” she suggested with a beckon. On’dinn made sure not to hold her hand with his soiled one. This made him warm up inside, but he wished that they were holding hands under better circumstances, however.

  They chose to avoid the Tel’lemurian pavilion, as they had heard from the warden’s comm that it was in the throes of a mini-riot. The main entrance of the grand complex would be out of the question, but since they were in the Kumari pavilion, they assumed that exit would be less congested.

  The exit of the Kumari pavilion had an ADF cordon set with a full complement of bulls. Elves stood in line from all over the world, although the majority of these were Kumari. They were filed in a messy queue as they were being processed by the wardens to be granted permission to leave the grounds. The couple saw two hulking nathas in line with their handlers nearby.

  “Heh, maybe we can hitch a ride on a natha’s shoulders and the wardens won’t see us,” On’dinn joked to quell his nerves. This was not a viable exit and his hope was turning to a dull shade of grim.

  “We could always try the Thuless’in exit, but it’s going to be the same everywhere. The ADF and the Royal Guard are all coordinated in this effort. We simply wasted too much time hiding before we could slip away and we really shouldn’t waste any more.” A wave of hopelessness assaulted Minn’dre. She was supposed to be a senior member of the group and she couldn’t figure out a way to leave an arena in a simple fashion. This was a situation that was much more desperate than the garden variety demonstration that got out of hand.

  “You know, On’dinn, I think we should just try the official route and maybe we’ll luck out and easily walk away like anyone else.” What a terrible idea, Minn’dre skulked, but sometimes the best way to slip past an elephant is to be the mouse.

  “Whatever you say, but I don’t like this,” On’dinn had relied on luck many times in the past to get out of a tight situation, but as last evening in the alley had demonstrated, his luck wasn’t always in top form and he wondered if the gods were betting against him again at that very moment.

  As the queue inched closer to the pavilion’s portcullis, On’dinn could see that there was a portable stockade installed for the purpose of detaining any troublemakers. Its gates were closed, but the young elf could make out the forms of people sitting in its gloomy light. He wondered to himself if any of them were known comrades or just detainees from some unrelated, ancillary unrest. Perhaps both. Either way, that was the last place he wanted this queue to end. All he wanted was to fall asleep in his bed located in his dysfunctional home and wake up the next day like everyone else. No matter what the end of this line held for him, that lovely mundane scenario seemed out of the question.

  “I still can’t see what’s going on up there,” Minn’dre was craning her long neck to discern the situation at the gate, but it was impossible to peer over the enormous frames of the nathas.

  “Sure, it’s going slow, but everyone seems to be getting through,” On’dinn reasoned. Of course, none of these revelers were in cahoots with a guru who was insane, without a doubt, and who had just tried to kill the High King and his mother.

  After what seemed a nervous eternity, the elves could see the rest of the arena gates as the queue before them melted. Installed not far beyond the stockade was another portable trailer. Emblazoned across the white vehicle in a shocking blue, corporate script, read the name “BioMana Inc.” On’dinn and Minn’dre both froze upon seeing this. The bulls were not only in the business of checking I.D.’s.

  “Oh my gods!” On’dinn gasped. “They’re using biomana scanners! They can read our thoughts and feelings and even the time five years ago when I snuck a piece of blueberry pie from Grandmother and blamed it on the dog! We’re totally dead!”

  “Yeah,” Minn’dre was dejected down to the bottom of her heart. “I don’t know about this either. Maybe we should just go up there, be honest and turn ourselves in? Perhaps they’ll be lighter on us if we take the upfront approach.”

  “Sure, and perhaps I have a grappling hook that can launch us to freedom from out of here.” On’dinn’s sarcasm was returning as he was frustrated and could not very well hide that feeling. “That’s a foul idea as well. Anybody in association with this is going down deep. You heard the warden; they caught twelve of us already!”

  “You know, I think that means we are about the only ones they haven’t!” Minn’dre considered the headcount. “Other than that Sammi-person or whatever her name is, I think we’re all that remains free of the Black Hood!” She was disappointed that he
r ability to get out of the situation was so amateur. Considering the severity of Travius’s crime (Oh, they’ll all get blamed, even though Travius was the only member to know of the stunt he pulled) the government’s coordinated counteractions were well above any of the Black Hood’s coping abilities. At that moment, Minn’dre hated Travius with all of her nerve. He betrayed all of them and went into a direction that none of the Black Hood would deign to sign up for. She hoped he was getting his and getting it good right as she thought about it. The only problem with that kind of reasoning was that she too would soon suffer the same fate. None of the group would be spared the manaspike, she was sure of it.

  After more interminable shuffling foreword, a large Thuless’in was protesting against being subjected to the bioscanner. He was bellowing out with a thick accent that he had no problem relinquishing his I.D., but he didn’t trust that thing. The wardens were serious; within seconds, five armored guards held him steady and lifted his burly face up so that the attending labcloak could flash the device in his eyes. As big and imposing as he was, he was crying like an elfling. The labcloak gave his handlers the thumbs-up, but he was ushered into the stockade nonetheless. On’dinn figured it was for resisting or something he considered trivial.

  Still holding her hand, but tighter than ever, On’dinn felt like being sick again for what seemed the millionth time in two days. It was the young elves’ turn for analysis and he didn’t want to let go of Minn’dre’s grip. At that moment, she was his boss, his big sister, the mother he had not seen in years, and his wife, as he had hoped one day, and he had to sever that contact with her. With pleading eyes, he looked at her without a word for her to take the lead on this one. He set to it in his mind that he would corroborate with whatever she did.

  They were going to go down together at the same time. On either side of them, an array of ADF armors and a labcloak were waiting for them with stern expectation. On’dinn walked up to his respective analyst with as much bravery as he could muster. Minn’dre no longer existed. The only other person on the earth was the scientist who wore a severe blond bun and had a mana-halo strapped around her forehead. In her hand was the biomana scanner’s control tablet.

  “Place your head in the brace, please and relax.” The scientist pointed to the small neck support on the tripod next to her. She spoke with rote ennui as she had made this introduction all but thousands of times that night. On’dinn looked off to the side for a quick instant to see an ADF bull meet his eyes though the blindness of a lozenge-shaped visor.

  The scanner was such an odd experience. On’dinn was in an immediate trance and he felt so calm and clear for the first time that night. Thoughts and memories rushed through his mind with lucid recall and, for some reason that he couldn’t identify, they made him feel comfortable and at home. As his reach of mental recall approached his dealings with the Black Hood Group and Travius, the fugue cut out and went black. The world of guilty fear returned around him like the nightmare he was in and he had found himself clutched in armored hands and cuffed when he came to.

  “It’s a check. We have one!” the analyst chimed with shrill pride.

  “Come with me,” a bull hissed though the buzz of his visor.

  On’dinn looked over at Minn’dre who met his eyes. Tears streaked makeup down her face as she too was being ushered into the mobile stockade. The young elf thought she had never looked so juvenile; a role that she had refused to play in front of anyone. This incident was too much for her and she lost that usual composure.

  “Should we separate them?” Minn’dre’s officer asked the scientist.

  “No, we have these two where we want them. I can’t risk losing them by moving them all over the place. We’ll just have them sequestered at HQ,” the labcloak huffed with weariness.

  On’dinn’s head was swirling. Minn’dre’s courage had been compromised and he had seen his life flash before his eyes in the literal sense. Now, he felt more alone than ever. It was decided; he supposed that the throng of elves waiting to go home to their comfortable beds were gaping at his arrest and murmuring with wild frenzy about whether or not he and his comrade were the assassins. He didn’t care if he was or not. He just wanted to go where they were going - home.

  Inside the stockade, the benches were full of elves who committed some sort of infraction or another. Scanning the heads of the detained, On’dinn could not make out any familiar faces other than Minn’dre. No other Black Hood members were caught at that particular gate.

  So many of those faces seemed confused and all of them scared. Even the robust Thuless’in, who appeared like one never to back down, was frightened as a kitten. These people were the crowd now and they all knew by some instinct that On’dinn and his female friend were not thrown into the coach for drunk and disorderly conduct. On’dinn figured that he had been changed at this moment for the rest of his life and was now the stuff of legends; for better or worse.

  On a manascreen at the far end of the mobile brig, messages looped over and over again to those detained: