The Ancients and the Angels: Celestials

The Ancients and the Angels: Celestials Page 8

by M.C. O'Neill

From: Basil

  To: Nightbloom

  It’s me. I’m alive and for some reason I’m in a barn with a dead lamb. I can’t figure out how I got here but it’s getting dark already. I was knocked out for a long time according to my tablet’s clock. We could still be in trouble, so wherever you are, please keep a low profile. Odd thing is, we aren’t mentioned on the news. Once I figure out a way back to the city, I’ll try to find you, but as you can probably guess, I can’t go to the civil wardens (duh). I hope that you are Okay. I can’t call you either because SHE took my phone.

  Hang in there, Minnie. I will find you.

  And Sammian: I’M GOING TO GET YOU!!!

  That last line may not have been a great idea, but as he had already sent it through the manaflow, it was much too late for regrets. Knowing what he knew of Sammian, it would only give her a good laugh. That or she would just ignore it, but either way, he knew very well that the fiend would intercept the mail. It made no difference, she wasn’t going to hurt Minn’dre and he was savvy enough to know that. She needed her. For how long and for what, he had no clue.

  She had really knocked him out hard. His full memory had returned within a short time, but the pain still throbbed and spiked every now and again throughout his head and neck. Checking his satchel, he found no pain relievers or any such medicine. The only aid he could find for any of his ails was a rusty water pipe at the back of the small barn as he was parched and needed hydration and had to wash off the smell of the garbage and detainment trailer; that was his top priority. The water tasted ferrous and earthen, but it was still fresh and he didn’t care otherwise. He was out in the country without a doubt, and far away from any urban treatment system.

  There would be no possibility of chancing the dark of the country roads on foot all alone. Although the newsscrolls made no mention of him or him being wanted by the authorities, he still didn’t want to risk being detained on a trespassing or vagrancy charge as he wandered the rural gloom. He would have to hide in this derelict structure all night and that suited him just fine as he only wanted to fall back asleep until the pulsing ache in his head subsided.

  Up in the loft, On’dinn snuggled into some old hay and even found a horse blanket that smelled like dust. He figured he was lucky as it could have been a much worse odor. As he closed his eyes, he could feel the pitch darkness wash over his lids as there was no illumination at all in the barn. It had never seemed so dark in his life and he felt like he was a troglodyte huddling in a cave.

  Sleep had fallen upon him the very instant he shut his eyes and he dreamed about Sammian. He may have dreamt about her while he was unconscious the night before, but that was a different kind of slumber of which he could remember nothing. No matter how much his mind tried to focus on her face, he could not manage to make any details. She just seemed to blur in form and color and in such a vague manner that she sometimes failed to appear elven. She would become something unlike he had ever known. As the dreams of the strange lady phased in and out of his consciousness, he was awoken twelve hours later by a startling nightmare featuring the bleeding dead lamb. It claimed his mother was with it now and that she was happy. He awoke screaming all alone in a barn on Saturnalia morning.

  Outside the barn, the young elf could see about a dozen or so farm hands working in the fields. Amongst the workers, giant stone golems were pulling tills behind them. He needed to figure out a way to slip off the property and find some method of getting back to civilization. The last thing he wanted to do was spend another night in that stinking hovel which would become even more rank as the lamb continued to decompose.

  Nobody could be seen as he peered out from the back of the barn. If he could run into the copse of trees behind the farmer’s property line, he surmised, he should be able to skirt away without anyone being the wiser. The ladder leading to the ground was a bit rickety and he needed to shimmy over to it to board it, and his usual clumsiness did not plague him that morning.

  After wandering through the small expanse of forest in the back of the property, he made it out to a dirt road. It was rather wide and many large coachliners were buzzing about hauling their wares to and fro. The elf even saw a couple of coaches that were burdened with furniture and luggage puttering toward the city. Perhaps they were ex-refugees who reasoned that it was pointless to run anywhere by then and decided to return home.

  By mid-morning, On’dinn was still trudging along the berm of the country road as coaches zipped past. A couple of rural wardens buzzed by, but ignored him, and he was grateful for that. Hitchhiking back to civilization was a bad idea because he remained worried about being recognized. As he continued to journey, he read the indicator on his tablet which claimed he was on the correct course toward Corosa City.

  Newsfeeds would update in a constant scroll for any developments in the region. Travius was to be put on trial before a high circle of counsel for the attempted assassination of the king. The prosecution wanted capital punishment for him and him alone. Already, some of the other members of the Black Hood had been released in a just manner as they were cleared of possessing any ideation to do the little regent harm. He could see that the kind elderly couple who went by the names “Poplar” and “Germander” was amongst the freed. That made him feel a sense of justice had been working for the best as there was no way that those two sweet people would ever in a million years consider harming an animal much less a little elfling.

  Despite the reliable updates to the news, what puzzled the young elf was the lack of information in regards to him. After all, he and Minn’dre were the ones that got away. They had, to be sure, all their vital statistics on record once they put them under the biomana. Not even his father or Minn’dre’s parents had been interviewed. This caused him much reason to fret as he recalled the stupefied state of the wardens at the time Sammian released them. What did that freak do to them and how did she manage it, he wondered? It was possible that she worked with the wardens from the inside, but why would she liberate him and Minn’dre only? Maybe he was just lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time. Such an explanation could be as simple as that, but On’dinn knew that his luck was one of either extreme fortune or terrible calamity. Either way, there was almost always a catch as nothing was free.

  Going back home seemed a logical destination since the tablet’s news evidenced no dragnet out for him. But what could he get done from there? All that would do is waste time as he would have to argue for hours with his father about where he had been for the past few days unless the elf was so dead drunk on wine and mead that he would be in no shape to row with him. It was a sad possibility the old lord didn’t even know he was gone or cared if he did. Perhaps he could find some better information at the Sea and Shell where there was always some good gossip and sometimes actual useful info to be found.

  When the young elf heard the whoops and hollers approaching from behind him at a cheetah’s pace, his eyes widened with terror. The voices seemed to hold so much spite to them that he feared that he was about to have a repeat of the beating Hyrax and company gave him the other day. After Sammian had knocked him out for a whole day, the last thing he wanted was to sustain even more physical damage. He promised himself that he would train himself to become buff if he were allowed to pass through this event unscathed.

  A bright white utility coach with its top down sped past him and pulled over to the side of the road, kicking up the country dust under its bed of mana. On’dinn knew that this was yet another unfortunate event in the making and he prayed that some warden would drive past before any of these would-be aggressors kicked a hairball out of him.

  “On’dinn Jak’sin!” a young male voice hollered. There was no malevolence to his catcall, but surprised joy. They knew him and were happy to see him. On’dinn squinted his eyes to adjust to the midmorning sun and saw elves with the deepest of tans who were packed like sardines in the vehicle. This was a time of great fortune, the young lad supposed. It was the Zobbos and it look
ed like a free ride.

  They backed up the coach with a reckless speed and almost bowled him over, but it wasn’t out of any malice. Monti “The Face” Dell’lavio was always something of a daring guy and he did almost everything to the extreme if he had an audience.

  “Yo, On’dinn!” the elf called down from the driver’s side. “What in the Nine Hells are you doing out in the sticks on foot?”

  “Hey, Monti,” On’dinn raised a weary, but relieved hand in greeting. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “All right. You don’t tell, I won’t ask.” The other elves in the cab were staring down at On’dinn like he was an unidentified trudging lifeform. Ay’linn “Princess” Dell’vannio flashed On’dinn a shy wave and batted her heavily-decorated eyelashes at him from the back seat of the cab.

  On’dinn could always rely on the Zobbos. They were a subculture of youths from the working class warehouse district down by the docks of Corosa. By no means were they his intellectual contemporaries, but he gained their respect as he would often stick up for them when the elitist clique would attempt to ridicule the group. They also respected his intelligence and On’dinn even profited by offering his services to them by doing their homework. The females of the group all harbored secret crushes on him but they would approach him with an almost shamanistic reverence as they couldn’t figure out what to make of him. Each and every one of this crew carried a nickname and On’dinn was quite flattered when Monti decided to honorarily dub him “Brain.”

  “Yeah, we were spending last night out at the quarries,” Monti gestured behind his shoulder with his thumb to indicate his point of departure. “I tell you, you gotta go try it sometime. I’m not a big fan of nature or camping and stuff, but jumping off those rocks is such an adrenaline rush.”

  “I’ve had all I can take of adrenaline for the past three days, Face,” On’dinn stated with his usual wry wit.

  “Heh, so I smell. Seriously, what were you doing out here? Dancing a boogaloo in the barnyard?” The entire cab erupted into laughter, not so much at On’dinn, but with him. All the Zobbos congratulated Face’s crude humor with high-fives.

  “If you give me a ride back to the city, I’ll tell you all about it. Well, most of it. If I told you everything, I’d have to kill you.” On’dinn continued with his sarcastic banter which only worked the Zobbos up even more.

  “Ha! All right! Super-spy stuff,” Face cheered. “I can always count on you for some entertainment, Brain.”

  On’dinn managed to tell the Zobbos about his run-in with Hyrax. He made sure to embellish what little heroics he had performed that day and downplayed his beating. The incident with the dumpster he all but omitted, especially since he didn’t want to disparage himself in front of the females. Face was not amused and treated everyone in the coach to a detailed and rather surreal daydream involving an egg beater about what he would do to Hyrax Arcovis and his cronies when he next saw them. On’dinn could only smile. He was never a fan of violence, but it was nice to know that someone considered his support because he figured he needed that more than ever. As for the drama at the arena, On’dinn made little mention of it. Since Sammian’s name was all over the news, there was no way he would admit personal association with her, even to his saviors. He only managed to focus his story on Hyrax and his goons.

  After what seemed, much to On’dinn’s surprise, a short drive though the countryside, the utility coach was met with the grand Gates of Corosa. Giant statues of the city’s forefathers flanked either side of the structure as the four-lane highway fed itself into the city’s innards. To the first-time visitor of the city-state, it was quite a spectacle of time-honored elven architecture. At the top of the gate’s archway, two immense statues of dolphins crossed each other in a triumphant leap skyward. Underneath the delphine sculptures, a large sun disk displayed the motto, “All Roads Meet at Corosa.” On’dinn observed how getting back home always seemed to be quicker than leaving it.

  The Zobbos’ headquarters was Face’s house. The very modest structure was a stilted home that lurched over the waters of Corosa Bay. It was an old and leaky model, and was not much more than a sea shanty to some, but it was Face’s lifelong home and he and the Zobbos were proud of it as if it were a valiant knight’s lodge. There was always something happening there at all hours of the day and night. If it wasn’t a party, it was a dockworker’s union meeting. If it wasn’t either of those, it was a seaside wedding for what seemed to be one of the endless streams of Face’s relatives. No matter the event, a good time was sure to be had by all and On’dinn wondered how any resident to his address ever got a wink of sleep. He supposed one just got used to it.

  Monti’s folks were dockworkers who had been killed a few years ago in one of Corosa’s rare, but violent hurricanes. His parents had been assigned to the ill-fated garbage barge the El’drann Ged’drann which was sunk in the turbulent waters of the Bay as it tried to dock at one of its numerous jetties. The hull of the boat was pierced by the jetty in its rushed maneuver to bob for safety, thus sinking the craft as all twenty-nine of its crew had been drowned in the icy late-autumn waters. A ballad detailing the tragedy was written by the renowned Avalonian bard God’runn Lit’fynn and had become very popular much to the surprise of the media. Ever since, Monti’s eldest brother Rob’yss ran the hectic house as best as he could on his humble dockworker’s salary.

  The usual hubbub of the house was in full swing by the time everyone filed in. Rob’yss was already in his reinforced raincloak and had a stocky foot out the door as they arrived. He held a wicked-looking pole hook in his hands.

  “Monti!” he hollered without greeting. “Before you run off to whatever party you have planned for tonight, I need this place looking like it isn’t fit to be condemned.” His brother was agitated without a doubt at the state of the house, although, more than likely, he too was a great contributor to the mess. While his younger siblings were out at the quarries, Rob’yss hosted a soiree of his own as was evidenced by all the wine and mead bottles stacked into a pyramid on their front room’s coffee table. A female’s party gown was draped across their family’s manascreen. On’dinn only dared to guess what kind of gathering took place last night.

  “Yeah, but Rob, I wasn’t even…,” his younger brother began to protest.

  “Yeah, but nothing,” Rob’yss quashed without missing a beat. “While you were out all night jumping into a hole in the ground, you missed a great party and now I have to make some money or you don’t eat. That goes for you too, big guy.” The elder Dell’lavio pointed to Li’rat, another one of Monti’s older siblings.

  Li’rat was indeed a big guy as Rob’yss accused. He was so big that his official Zobbo nickname was “Warehouse.” On’dinn had to squeeze into the coach on the way home mostly because he was amongst their passengers and took up almost the entire back seat of the vehicle.

  “Speaking of which,” the eldest Dell’lavio continued to the giant elf. “You have that interview I lined up for you on Moonday, so I want you there and ready. There’s no way I’m going to let the foreman think I’m a flake if you no-show. I’m putting my neck out on the line for an elf who just might be as strong as a golem.”

  “Yeah!” Warehouse boomed in the deepest of baritones. As he was one for few words, such utterances were about all he made, but he was one of Monti’s family and a valued Zobbo who defused in a flash the many scraps that his younger brother would sometimes ignite.

  “All right. I’m outta here,” Rob’yss announced. “Any of you gonna be home when my shift’s over?”

  “Who knows?” Face informed. “There’s a big bash going on at this foreign kid’s house tonight and we were thinking of dropping by to pay some Zobbo-style respects. Everybody’s going to be there, so we pretty much have to show up.”

  “Well, whatever,” the agitated dockworker said. “Just don’t get arrested. If any of you Zobbos wind up in the dungeons tonight, I can’t afford to bail you out.” With that
, Rob’yss slammed the rickety door to the little house and made his way off.

  “Hey, so I forgot to tell you,” Monti beckoned On’dinn. “Tonight over at that, eh, what’s his name, Sig’ryn God’runn’s place, there’s going to be a big end-of-the-school-year party. Everybody’s gonna be there. You wanna come with? I heard that place is so capital!”

  “Yeah, he’s totally rich too,” Sinti “Pumpkin” Dell’lavio chimed in.

  Pumpkin was Face’s twin sister. She possessed a hot head and was as impulsive as her male counterpart. Although Face would instigate many brawls in their time, Pumpkin was, by and large, the cause of the scrapes. Her ability to provoke, especially females, was legendary and despite her small stature, her mouth made up for this shortcoming. Between her and Face, a night out with the Zobbos was guaranteed adventure; for better or worse.

  On’dinn had nothing to do at all except search for the maiden whom he held an immense secret crush for who just so happened to be kidnapped the other night by a mysterious lady who knocked him into a twelve-hour coma and, more than likely, killed a farm animal for reasons unknown. Since going home would be a depressing act of pointless futility and the Black Hood HQ would be crawling with agents foreign and domestic, going to a party sounded like it could be the perfect prescription for his woes. It was assured that Hyrax Arcovis would be amongst the attendees if this engagement were as grand as rumored, but that didn’t matter to On’dinn as he would be ensconced within the Zobbo’s entourage.

  “Sure! Sounds like a plan!” On’dinn chirped.

  Princess was hoping to be a hairdresser one day and On’dinn took advantage of her skills. He still wasn’t convinced in total that the civil wardens, or maybe even the Atlantean Defense Forces, weren’t looking for him and he needed a drastic modification to his appearance. The party had an ancient theme to it, and he reasoned that he could seize this opportunity to change his look.

  She had the biggest crush on him of any of the females of the Zobbo crew as far as he could guess. Ay’linn was not the greatest student and she hired On’dinn’s intellectual services more often than any of the gang. On’dinn surmised that she was just taking advantage of his skills in order to be closer to him. He thought that was sort of a cute gesture and she was not hard on the eyes either. Despite her charming advances and beauty, the young male felt that he could not relate to her on the level with which he did Minn’dre.

  Long blond locks and braids fell to the Dell’lavio’s bathroom floor in a swirling lump. He could feel the weight of years of growth falling off his shoulders and chest as Princess whacked away at his head. When he looked into the mirror, he thought that his face looked alien without the braids framing it. It was much shorter than ever before and quite the radical change as it hugged the sides of his scalp and forehead. It looked like the cut of a genuine ancient Atlantean emperor or politician. After that, she dyed what was left of his mane jet-black; much like the rest of the Zobbos seemed to always color theirs. When Minn’dre next saw him, she would not be able to recognize him at all. He hoped that she liked it, and he was going to make sure that she would see him again.

  “Hail Bonn’fyr!” Andrex “Cheatsheet” Po’renzy, another of the Zobbo entourage present that day, made a mock salute in honor of the discoverer of Mars to On’dinn. “You seriously look like an ancient war hero with that ‘do, Brain. I don’t know how you’re gonna pull that off in public, but who knows? Maybe you’ll kick-start a new trend.”

  “Well, I think it looks great and I like guys that have the spine to go out on a limb and do something different.” Princess was running her hands through On’dinn’s scalp as she declared this, causing the young elf to blush.

  It was true, On’dinn’s hair had altered his look to a significant degree, but it would also make him stick out like a sore thumb in many instances. Hair this short was just not worn by males anymore and had not been for a few hundred years. Considering that the modern elf lived to around one hundred fifty years, the skullcap look died out with his great-great-great grandfather. The new hairdo made his ears stick out like never before and he was amazed at how large they appeared without his usual locks falling around them.

  “Gods! Why didn’t someone ever tell me my ears were this big?” he exclaimed.

  “Yeah, they look like a civil warden’s helmet!” Andrex jeered. “We should stop calling you ‘Brain’ and switch to ‘Ears!’” With that, the crew laughed with On’dinn at the friendly crack.

  Cheatsheet was the runt of the Zobbos. As he was just shy of 6’1,” he was even dwarfed by many of the females in his class, but, like all the Zobbos, he was concerned to an obsessive care about his physique and he made sure to work out with extra vigor to offset his stunted height, thus giving him a squat appearance. If Monti was the face, then Cheatsheet was the mouth. This mouth of his had been famous for provoking as well as for defusing a bad situation. He was as provocative as Pumpkin when it came to starting something. The females at school favored him more than any of the Zobbos despite his small stature because he exuded bravery, confidence and raw attitude. It was like he was born without the sensation of fear and, as such, if he saw something he liked, he went for it. He was best friends with Warehouse and seeing the pair together was a bit comical as Warehouse stood at a whopping 7’7.”

  “We have to get you into some ancient gear for this,” Monti announced to On’dinn. “We better do this on the double too, because I want to get there early. Scope out the territory and stuff. Besides, Cheatsheet wants a good spot at the sunwheel game. It’ll be bad enough that we have to wait for Pumpkin and Princess all day long. Those two females can take hours to get ready, as you can imagine.”

  It was not too difficult for On’dinn to find some fabric to fashion ancient-looking clothes as couture from that time period was simple compared to the complexity of the cut-tunics, cloaks and robes of the modern age. He was draped in nothing much more than a gunny sack with armholes and a rope belt, but playing the role of the peasant tonight was much preferable to wearing the same smelly duds for the third day in a row.

  Although Monti called for quick preparations, as he had predicted, the females took what seemed an immeasurable time getting ready. Pumpkin was always losing something of utmost importance to her person and Princess just couldn’t seem to make simple fashion decisions.

  “If I wear shells for the bikini, it won’t historically go with the gown! Real princesses were never caught dead in shells back then. I better wear the coral-cut,” she fussed from the bedroom.

  “What do you know about any of that?” Cheatsheet challenged from the front room. “You flunked history class! Hurry up, will ya!”

  The afternoon of lounging in their front room was drawing on and On’dinn was becoming impatient. So many thoughts ran through his mind now that he was idle and had time to think. Where was Minn’dre? Was his father all right? The party was an even bigger cause of concern because he worried that perhaps some of the revelers had seen him attached to the Black Hood during the Royal Address. What would they do when they saw him walking as a free man? Of course, Hyrax and his cronies were sure to be at this shindig. Like the Zobbos, his clique was never absent from a social gathering. Even though he, for the most part, had the protection from a repeat of the other day from happening again, he still abhorred violence and hoped that the Zobbos wouldn’t get out of hand with their fists if it came down to that. Throughout the hectic bickering and shuffling about the Dell’lavio residence, Warehouse remained silent as a stone, as per usual.

  On’dinn and the Zobbos once again packed into the utility coach and sped through the seaside roads toward the party during a beautiful dusk. All of the colors of the oceanside in the early evening helped to calm On’dinn’s nerves from earlier in the day as he took them in. He felt like he was going into a blissful trance, like the kind Minn’dre could master, and this sent him to a place of inner peace unlike he had felt for days. Around him, his fellow crew was bickering over direction
s to the estate and other trivial details, but he was able to block all of it out as he soaked in the view of the ocean. At times like this, he wished that he didn’t live in the heart of the slums where not one inch of natural horizon could be seen. The immense buildings surrounded every direction back home and he was covered in their heavy shadows no matter the time of day.

  Without any problem, the Zobbos found a place to park the large vehicle in Sig’ryn’s spacious courtyard. There were quite a few arrivals already and Monti was proud of his advice upon getting there early.

  “See, what did I tell you?” he boasted. “Get there early, and you get the choice spot. An hour from now, this place is gonna be packed and we’d spend half the party driving around in circles just looking for a place to touch down. Then we’d most likely have to hike fifty miles to the front door. And I don’t do that!”

  Scanning the lot, On’dinn could see many familiar faces in the gloom of the dusk light, but everyone was transformed into a personality from thousands of years ago. He thought it was an interesting idea to theme the party in such a way and gave Sig’ryn a mental compliment.

  Over by the front door of the estate, which was, upon closer examination, a giant bush that served as an elevator to the main hall of this literal treehouse, On’dinn saw Tam’laa Na’rundi talking with some of her fellow classmates. He always thought Tam’laa was an intriguing sort and he considered her being here a good omen and this calmed his nerves even more.

  “Hey Tam’laa!” On’dinn flashed a quick hand in greeting.

  She stared at him like he was a royal agent who was about to menace her for some infraction she was unaware of. Her deep-brown eyes widened not only in shock but to adjust to the low light of the twilight. The bewildered look took a quick turn to one of recognition and happy surprise.

  “On’dinn Jak’sin, is that you?” Her face lit up into a smile.

  “The one and only,” He was still trying to gauge the situation as to how people would react to him. He had been involved with the attempted assassination of the king a couple of days ago, after all.

  “Wow! You really took this ancient theme seriously,” she remarked in regards to his new hairdo.

  “Yeah, I guess I did. It’ll grow back sooner or later.” He ran his self-conscious fingers through his hair.

  “Looks more like later than sooner,” she commented as she played with the short wisps of his tight bangs. “But it looks good on you. Maybe others will see it and you’ll begin a new trend.”

  “That’s not the first time someone had suggested that possibility today,” he said. Looking above his head, he saw the name of Sig’ryn’s family estate caved on a large wooden plaque - “Edin’na Garden.”

  Tam’laa paused as her face turned a bit grim. This made On’dinn nervous as he knew with great foresight what was coming next. She saw him at the arena, he just knew it.

  “Eh, On’dinn,” she began. “Didn’t I see you the other night at the arena? You know, with the Black Hood Group?” she managed to whisper the last part in a conspiratory hiss.

  “Yeah, Tam…about that,” On’dinn proceeded to recount his abridged version of the royal debacle to a friendly face within the blue shadows of two giant evergreens on that beautiful late-spring evening.

  Navel Forces

  “Look, I really don’t know how I can tell you this, Rylla,” Quen’die began. The evening was advancing in a slow manner that made her very impatient. She just wanted this party to be over with and they hadn’t even arrived yet.

  “Yeah, you’ve been pretty skittish all day,” Lauryl’la noted how her friend was more introspective than usual and failed to make the humorous jabs and banter as was typical of her. “What’cha hiding from me, maiden?”

  “I know, it seems sneaky, and that’s because it has to be. Since last night, I’m in real big trouble. I don’t know if I can trust even you!” Quen’die regretted saying such a thing that instant, but Venn’lith’s power and conviction to her words seemed all encompassing; almost omniscient. What if even Lauryl’la was compromised, the maiden feared? All day long she had been champing at the bit to just blurt out last night’s debacle to her closest confidant, but the gods only knew if the walls had ears.

  “All right, now that hurts, Quen’die,” Lauryl’la was becoming miffed at the notion her friend couldn’t share a conspiracy. Ever since the two had met each other on their first day of novice school, they would relay any late-breaking news to each other posthaste. “We’re best friends and you really shouldn’t hold back on me. You know I have nothing to do with it; whatever it is. Do I?”

  “Please! Don’t be mad at me!” Quen’die pled. She was already on the verge of tears but last night’s incessant bouts of sobbing had dried her well to a bone. “It’s about last night at Venn’lith’s house. Real bad news went down. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

  “Gods! What happened! Tell me everything! It’s completely all right. You know I can’t stand that evil wench.”

  “Okay,” Quen’die was trying to muster her nerves for the delivery. She felt like she did when she really had to vomit, but didn’t want to. Although she knew she would feel better after she let loose, the notion of the act was revolting. “Last night…”

  “Yes…?” Lauryl’la was on the edge of her toes as they curled around the frame of her bed. The suspense was eating at her since she had noticed Quen’die had been acting like a walking corpse all afternoon. Almost as if someone had her under a nefarious mind control.

  “Last night Venn’lith kind of attacked me. There. I said it.” It was so good to admit her defeat from the talons of that villainous maiden. Someone had to know or else she would be nothing but her ragged puppet for the next two years at school. Quen’die knew she needed a cohort. As if the runta team this coming autumn would be torture enough with her on it, Lauryl’la would not be there, and this was a loss Quen’die would not be able to bear.

  “No joke?” Her friend locked on her form with the one eye that was not covered by her lush hair. “That’s it. Tonight, I’m kicking her…”

  “No!” Quen’die squeaked with knee-jerk reaction. “That’s just the problem. The plot is way too thick and it involves my whole family. That’s the reason, and the only reason, why I didn’t tell you immediately. Otherwise, I’d be on her like a duck myself and nobody would be the wiser.”

  “I don’t get it. She hurt you, she goes down. It’s that simple.” Lauryl’la was becoming heated as her face reddened without her bothering to hide the fact.

  “No, it can’t be anything like that. She said that she would render my family destitute if I told anyone. Anyone!” Quen’die was now feeling alone again at the very notion of Venn’lith destroying everything her mother and father had built for them over some petty jealousy. When Quen’die thought about it, the envy Venn’lith harbored toward her was all-encompassing. Hyrax’s attentions, her academic prowess, her looks, and her athletic ability were all a threat to the Xochian. Venn’lith was envious of Quen’die for being Quen’die and it was as simple as that. If the she-beast could not destroy the wonderful person she had thus far forged in her near-sixteen years, she would destroy her very home. The problem was, Quen’die feared, that she had the tools to do it. “So, you can’t let anyone know I told you!”

  “How in the hells would she manage that?” Lauryl’la was never that impressed with the imported student whom everyone fawned over. “The little monster is only sixteen!”

  “Sure, she’s only sixteen, but her father holds the purse strings to my father’s entire career right now.” Quen’die could see Venn’lith’s plot more in a clear light as she explained it aloud to another person. “You see - no Lord Mitlan, no expedition to Mars, which means no more funding for my father. It’s sick! Okay, Lith said that if I didn’t obey her rules she would smear me. Well, basically.”

  Lauryl’la twisted her face in thought. “Okay, I guess I see the flow to this. So, if you tell on her, especially to your par
ents, she’ll run to her father and make up some phony story about you, or maybe even your father, and then it’s curtains for Mars. Is that the gist of it?”

  “Basically, yes,” Quen’die affirmed. “The gods only know what cover story or false flag she would raise just to get the funding pulled. Lord Mitlan really seemed like a sensible guy, but Lith is equally sensible when it comes to being conniving. You should have heard the ultimatum she growled at me last night. It was like all her bases were covered!”

  “Well, all right, what were the conditions of this ultimatum? I promise I won’t say a word.” Lauryl’la was sure that Quen’die trusted her more than anyone at school but, at a time like this, she knew her friend needed even extra support.

  Quen’die leaned in closer on the bed. “The conditions were that I firstly never speak to Hyrax Arcovis. Second, I should drop from the runta team. If I don’t, she said I would regret ever trying to beat her or something to that effect. Finally, if I told anyone at all, she would execute her disgusting plan and we’d be in the slums.”

  “That is so demented! We have to stop her! I can’t help it!” Lauryl’la was getting boiled with her anger toward the sun elf. She wanted to don her mother’s warden armor and kick the little Xochian’s posterior into Corosa Bay with the rest of the sharks. “It’s on!”

  “But Rylla, we…” Quen’die didn’t like where this was going and needed to arrest her friend’s rage to the best of her ability.

  “I know, I know,” she groaned. “We have to keep this under a lid. I have to be honest, this is going to be tough seeing her smirking from across the room all night and I can’t do anything about it. You know how badly I need to teach her a lesson.” At that point, Quen’die could see how her friend too was feeling frustrated and helpless by Venn’lith’s plot.

  Quen’die had to choose her words to assuage her friend’s hot fuse. “I totally agree. We just need to put our heads together and find out what we can do to get me out of this.”

  The maiden could tell that Lauryl’la was seeing red through her brown eyes and she refrained from telling her about the beating and the scratching. There would be no way her friend could control herself tonight if she let that cat out of the bag. There would be one pulpy Xochian body crumpled on the floor of a Thuless’in beach home as her friend rested one victorious foot on her corpse in glorious triumph. The only problem with that scenario was that the said Xochian would rise from the dead in a flash and run home to tell Papi, and then Quen’die would celebrate her birthday dinner with stewed rat as the main course in a sewer somewhere under the streets of the capital city.

  Quen’die ran her fingers over her cheek and was quite impressed that the gash had closed to a full heal overnight. It was fortunate that it didn’t blemish her milky skin for tonight’s party, but it was also a loss of evidence of Venn’lith’s crime. That was more likely than not what the twisted elfmaid wanted and it was working all too well for her. She could satisfy her envious rage and still cover her tracks. This maiden was a devious one, Quen’die guessed.

  “Tam’laa!” Lauryl’la could always correct a bad situation with the gold elf’s assistance. “Tam’laa will be there tonight and she’ll know what to do.”

  “No way!” Quen’die protested. “The minute, no, the very second Tam gets wind of this, she’s going to beat Lith into the floor; especially if she’s standing right there in front of her. Remember what happened last year when Gord Z’nunim tried to beat up my brother and Tam ripped that goon off him and, well, I’m glad I wasn’t Gord.”

  “Yeah, that was pretty funny,” Lauryl’la thought back to the incident at the ringball court last year where Kaedish and Noopy had bumped into the brute on accident and invoked his idiotic wrath. “He was like twice the size of Kaedish and Tam just let him have it right there. Absolutely no concern for who might have been around. Everyone was laughing at him too for being beaten up by a female. He totally deserved it, though.”

  “Maybe so, but I can’t afford a rehash of that tonight, because I won’t be laughing afterwards.” Every single solution that had worked for the three maidens in the past seemed to end in the demise of Quen’die’s family. It was all so entrapping.

  “All right,” Lauryl’la agreed. “We’ll keep Tam out of this for now. I’ll just have to think some more on this because Lith certainly seems to have you where she wants you. Look, I’m really glad you told me about this. You needed to tell someone because she would pretty much own you if you didn’t have someone at your back.”

  “Thank you so much, Rylla!” Quen’die was grateful for her friend’s ability to see her perspective on this situation and that notion held true. She felt so much better knowing that she wasn’t alone in this matter as she did last night. Nothing could be worse than being alone when under attack, the maiden thought, and that was what Venn’lith was hoping for. She failed to factor that Quen’die did indeed have friends and people who cared about her.

  “Hey, anytime.” Lauryl’la looked at the clock and it was nearing the time for the first arrivals at Sig’ryn’s soiree and this made her a bit anxious. “We really need to get this show on the road, though. Let’s try to make a method of this madness and get you into some ancient gear.”

  Lauryl’la’s room was rather small, much smaller than Quen’die’s, and was covered in all sorts of junk. Cleanliness was not one of the elfmaid’s virtues, but she still had managed to look very sharp in public. Gowns, shoes, bikinis and any matter of discarded containers and shopping bags littered the space. She was so busy taking care of the rest of the house while her parents were out on patrol, that her own quarters were neglected as a result. Tonight, she and Quen’die were trying to find a good fit for the party that satisfied an “ancient Atlantis” theme. It wasn’t as easy as they supposed, since Quen’die had very little of her own costume attire and needed to find something that matched Lauryl’la’s form.

  Quen’die really liked what Lauryl’la was doing with her hair as she sat at her dresser. She fashioned a braid that coiled over the top of her head, much like a wreath, in an ancient peasant’s style. Earlier, she had dyed streaks of green in her locks which created a sharp contrast to its natural deep red. Quen’die thought it made her look like a dryad or forest faerie from a mythic tale long forgotten.

  The gowns were a bit more difficult of a fit for the slight elfmaid. Lauryl’la was tall and slender like Quen’die, but was much more developed and this made it a challenging suit for her up front. The pair settled on a silken gown of a seafoam hue that helped to activate the elfmaid’s oxblood hair. The fish-hide articles in Lauryl’la’s closet were much too rigid to stay on her tiny frame.

  When it came to the bikini tops, Quen’die was faced with a real trial. Lauryl’la had many of them and they were cast in amazing styles of shells and corals which would have fit the theme of the gathering to perfection, but not her body. This was a pool party, after all. Everything they tried hung from Quen’die’s slight shoulders like they were on their last thread and Lauryl’la could see her friend becoming self-conscious the very second they fell down. Thinking on the fly, Lauryl’la snuck into her closet for some older articles from her “training days.” She made sure to not let Quen’die know that she was digging through such a stash because it might hurt her feelings even more. They decided on a mint-colored set that was quite close to being the same hue of her gown. A perfect match, they both agreed, even if Lauryl’la hadn’t worn it for at least three years.

  Once she was outfitted, Lauryl’la was arrested by the bruised form evident on her friend’s waist. “Hey! That’s so capital!” Lauryl’la pointed at the sigil on Quen’die’s belly. “You never told me you got a tattoo. I totally want to get one, but my father would hide me if I did.”

  Below the elfmaid’s navel, but above her bikini, was a shape that appeared to be an infinity symbol. “Ehh, no.” Quen’die hated that blemish to her skin. It made her feel like a freak and she wasn’t very pleased that the bikini onl
y helped to emphasize it. “That’s a birthmark. I know it’s kind of weird.”

  Lauryl’la squinted at it even closer. “Seriously? I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Yeah, but I’ve never worn such a low-cut in front of you either. Actually, I don’t think I’ve worn such a low-cut ever.”

  “You should really get that accentuated at a studio downtown.” Lauryl’la had always dreamed about getting a design done by a professional artist, but she could not decide on what and where to put it. If she had her druthers, she wanted a permanent one, but a temporary model might be best as long as she lived with her parents. Sometimes, she was worried that if her parents found out, her father would accuse her of being a degenerate. “That would look so awesome in henna.”

  “I guess. I mean, I never really thought about it,” the elfmaid admitted. “Isn’t that kind of expensive?”

  “Not really. The great thing about henna is it isn’t permanent, so if your folks don’t like it, you can always tell them it’ll eventually wash off. Either way, you would still have that symbol on you, so I don’t see what difference it would make. ” Lauryl’la thought red henna would work the best for her friend’s fair complexion.

  “That’s true.” Quen’die always thought it was such a strange mark and she felt peculiar when she had learned of the symbol for infinity in her Astrophysical Navigation class, as if it held some inherent purpose. When she saw it on the classroom’s screen she made a connection to it and wondered to herself for the rest of that week why she was born with a mathematical sigil on her lower belly. It made her feel even more like a freak knowing that the blemish actually meant something.

  “Well, anyway, the bikini looks really good on you. Why don’t you just keep it?” Lauryl’la had no younger female siblings and there was no way she would ever hope to be able to squeeze into the top again.

  “Oh seriously? I don’t have anything like this at home. Most of my suits are one-piece and those are kind of young-looking. Especially for this party.” At moments like this, Quen’die realized how she had been ignoring some elements of her maturity and needed to consider an existence outside of the classroom and the runta field. Life was so safe there, and she felt a sense of control and mastery. Tonight would be a test into unfamiliar waters, but at least with Lauryl’la and Tam’laa there, she wouldn’t be sailing solo.

  “Not a problem; besides, you probably won’t be able to fit into it for long anyway.” Lauryl’la always was an encouragement to her and that was something for which she was grateful. So many maidens were not so lucky. They either had to compete with drama and treachery from their alleged friends and those relationships were more like a job. Some maidens just didn’t have any friends at all. Quen’die guessed that any of Venn’lith’s entourage had fallen in with the former. How terrible it must be to have that clown running your social life, she shivered. Then again, it remained to be seen if the sun elf wouldn’t do such a thing to her by force in her near future.

  If only she had a plan for tonight, she thought as she chewed her bottom lip. It was a topic she felt she couldn’t touch until a few moments before and the catharsis of letting it all out to Lauryl’la was like sliding a giant marble slab off of her sternum. She supposed a short coach ride across the bay to Sig’ryn’s did not allow much time for a powwow that would free her of this trap. If she wanted to speak to Hyrax Arcovis without a care, she should have every right to do so and no pint-sized freak should deter her from such a freedom. And Venn’lith was a freak. Anybody who was so insecure where she demanded such compliance from anyone else was disturbed in the mind and soul. Quen’die figured if she herself were that concerned about a male, and she wasn’t by any means, she would just compete for him with all the more vigor and not use the barbarian tactic of brute force and ignorance. What a beast of a person.

  “Okay, now that that’s settled, let’s get into gear.” Lauryl’la was itching to get out of the house. Her parents were away on a training weekend with the wardens beginning that evening and Quen’die felt so much stronger knowing that she could spend the night at her place. As far as Venn’lith was concerned, her own parents were off limits for any kind of support and she sort of resented them for it, but she couldn’t figure out why. It was almost like those two were on the Xochian’s side without ever saying so. Considering Father had so much riding on his business relationship with Lord Mitlan, there may have been some truth to her suspicion. Venn’lith was counting on such a situation and made her move against Quen’die with that opportunity. It was a terrible loophole that she had exploited.

  It was pitch dark outside by the time the pair reached Lauryl’la’s coach. They had been fussing too long over what to wear and primping their looks to transform themselves into maidens from thousands of years ago. Quen’die felt quite fortunate for her ghostly complexion and scarlet hair because it really did assist in making her costume look unique. Although Lauryl’la looked like a million brens, Quen’die supposed that she might appear very much like many of the other maidens at the party. There would be ubiquitous togas and saris as far as the eye could see tonight, but Quen’die figured she would stand out much better from all of them as an ancient faerie. She looked so good in those green hues. She hoped in silence that such conspicuity wouldn’t work against her. She knew there would be a shark in this pond, and sharks swim in schools.

  Lauryl’la double-checked everything to make sure she wasn’t forgetting any necessities and the two hopped into her old coach. The cab of the vehicle was still rather messy, and tonight it seemed an inappropriate method of transporting the beauties to such a lavish engagement.

  “Guess what,” Quen’die grabbed her friend’s attention after she cast the coach into power.

  Lauryl’la was concentrating on backing the vehicle out of its spot. “What’s up?”

  “Despite last night’s visit to the House of Horrors, I did get some really good news.” Quen’die had been so preoccupied with the drama Venn’lith was orchestrating and the hectic process of getting ready for her first party that she had all but forgotten about the wonderful news her father had delivered.

  “Know how my birthday is next month? Father said I’m getting my own coach!” Quen’die snuggled back into the humble vehicle’s ripped upholstery with a sense of pride. She was so happy to remember such an empowering article of news and it was helping to lift her mood.

  “Oh my gods! You lie!” Lauryl’la was more than happy to hear this and she too felt Quen’die’s excitement as she navigated the clunky beater out of her courtyard.

  “Well, he didn’t say precisely: ‘Quen’die, I am getting you a coach,’ but he certainly did imply it and he packed that implication with a wink,” she was brimming with a smile.

  “Yeah, I would agree. After all, it is your sixteenth, and with that new deal he cut with Lord Mitlan, I’d say your suspicion may be correct.” Lauryl’la looked over at her friend with a crooked grin.

  “What! Do you know something about this?” Quen’die took that smile for a conspiracy and wondered if whether or not her friend was in cahoots with her father. The notion raced through her red head.

  Lauryl’la shot up wide-eyed at the accusation. “No! Nothing such as that, I was just putting two and two together and I came up with a new coach.”

  “Oh, I see.” Quen’die’s pile of hopes was dashed by a slight amount. It would have helped cement her optimism on the matter if even her best friend knew of this tidbit. Either way, she was right; it was only logical. “You really had me going there for a second.”

  “Sorry about that, maiden. Hey! I wonder what kind of coach you’re going to get. If you get one, that is.” Lauryl’la was only trying to be practical in the off-chance that Quen’die was jumping the caster. “I hope it’s big so we can pack in all our people. At least I hope it’s newer than this petrified bucket of twigs.”

  “Hey, I’d be grateful for even your petrified bucket. Until last night, I had no clue that I was even going to
get anything of the sort.” It was true, Quen’die hadn’t dwelled much on what her birthday would hold for her. Even though the sixteenth year was by tradition a remarkable event for an elf, with such a dramatic week beginning with a possible alien invasion and ending with an assault by the missing link, her mind was not concerned with any banalities as a birthday a couple of weeks into the future.

  “Always the practical one, Dee. I suppose your model lies somewhere between this thing and Lith’s. Did you know that she drives a brand new Royal Manaball Flying Saber model?” Lauryl’la was a bit impressed about this fact Quen’die could tell. She was always more into glamour and to be so close to someone who drove such a vehicle was quite a brush for her. “She totally doesn’t deserve it either, but her father is rich and all that. Speaking of wealth, did you know Sig’ryn’s house is built into the side of a giant tree?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about those kinds of houses on the manascreen. I didn’t know he lived in one of those.” Quen’die peered out her passenger window to stare at the warm evening shimmer around them.

  “Yeah, he does. As a matter-of-fact, some portions of the house are made from the tree itself! Like the plumbing is completely rainwater and their manafountain is from the central trunk and some of the walls are made out branches and stuff. You’ll just have to see it.” Quen’die could tell her friend was already too impressed with the illusions afforded by the rich. She could never figure out why so many people couldn’t see that they were just like all the rest deep down.

  “The stories are usually more impressive than the actual thing. When we get there, we probably won’t even know the difference from any other old party. There’s going to be so many people there,” Quen’die reasoned with her friend.

  The two wound through the dockside neighborhoods and reached the bay. They drove past their beachside adept school on the way to the aqualanes. A blanket of star-flecked night swallowed the building and it looked so unfamiliar. It felt like they had been away from it for years instead of a few days.

  “Looks like the surprise vacation is over after Sunday, huh?” Lauryl’la wanted to return to the grind of school in some ways on Moonday because she would be free from all the chores and housekeeping her folks expected of her as they had extra shifts due to the pyramids’ arrival. “Good ol’ Seabreeze Grand.”

  “I would really like to go back, but I guess that depends on how tonight pans out.”

  Quen’die was apprehensive about resuming classes, however, because of Venn’lith’s horrible plans. At least she didn’t share any periods with her so she wouldn’t be a captive audience to her evil looks, but she still needed to contend with her in the halls and on the grounds. In the back of her mind, Quen’die knew that the witch would be prepared to make a concerted effort to stalk and harass her every chance she got, and that would be a definite fate for her if she managed another crack at her at the party. If such a scene developed, she expected to hope there would be an actual alien invasion before the weekend finished.

  “Don’t worry!” Lauryl’la slapped her friend’s thigh. “I have your back and no matter what, Tam will jump in like a boiling frog if she tries anything. She’s just a spoiled rich maiden. Don’t give her so much power.”

  That was easy for Lauryl’la to say, Quen’die figured. After all, this spoiled rich maiden held her whole family hostage by the brens. She didn’t want to focus on such moribund matters. Not tonight. She would just make sure that she would avoid her and her menacing glares as best as she could. She would also have to steer clear from Hyrax as well, but she wasn’t heartbroken over that fact when she thought more about it. As far as she was concerned, the lad was just a decent friend and a valuable teammate.

  “Hey, the aqualanes are open again. I guess the world didn’t end after all. We’re going to have to take that to get across the bay to Sig’ryn’s. Hang on, we’re gonna skim.” Lauryl’la chanted some manaspeech to the trackball and the coach was pulled a touch higher off the ground without breaking any speed. “Aquan’nas Capos capos!”

  Quen’die loved skimming the water. The coach left the road and sped over the waters of Corosa Bay without a seam. The ride was so smooth over the tiny waves that even Lauryl’la’s rickety beast navigated the terrain like quicksilver compared to the roads. Quen’die wanted to feel the sensation of driving over the waters in her own coach and planned to do exactly that the first day she got one.

  On either side of the maidens, commercial sea traffic lumbered their wares from all over the world. Markings of various languages and scripts lined the ships and being so close to the vessels made the pair realize how big they were. Quen’die craned her neck out of the passenger side window to catch a glimpse of any sailors or seafarers, but she could not as their decks were too high up to see. Lauryl’la ignored the waterborne behemoths and kept her focus on her driving.

  “Hey! Isn’t that Sig’ryn’s father’s boat we’re next to?” Quen’die asked her friend while pointing at one of the ships. Emblazoned in blue across the hull of one of the liners was the graphic, “God’runn Industries,” which bore Sig’ryn’s family name.

  “Probably,” Lauryl’la was still steadying the coach through the aqualane. “I know his father is an importer/exporter. More than likely it’s just one of his boats.”

  Corosa Bay had been suffering a string of sabotages around that time. The Black Hood Group had been a suspect to blame for the deeds, although that had not been confirmed. By and large, the interferences were of a nonviolent nature. Infestation of imported grain with roaches, unplugged manatanker caps, cut manalines on tugships and even a rampage by a commercial-grade loading golem. It was most fortunate that nobody had been hurt by what thus far had been nothing but shenanigans. After the arrival of the pyramids, the civilian aqualanes had been closed for the movement of emergency supply shipments only, but the waterways were reopened as of earlier that morning.

  When they reached land again, the coach turned into the beachside neighborhoods. The homes on this side of the bay were as luxurious as Venn’lith’s subdivision except the area was much more wooded; populated with giant evergreen trees.

  “Pretty snazzy, huh?” Lauryl’la was enjoying the view and almost seemed entranced by it. These homes were of much higher quality and design than hers, but she knew in the back of her mind that she would live in one someday. It was imperative that she did.

  “Believe me, after last night, I have had enough of ‘snazz,’” Quen’die intoned. This sent both the maidens into laughter, and that was enough ammunition of good spirits to arm the two for their grand entrance that night.

  “From now on, I’m calling you Lady Snazz.” Lauryl’la just liked the sound of the nickname and Quen’die joined her in more peals of laughter.

  “No, I’m ‘Lady Snazz, the Red Barbarian!’” Quen’die cried with epic triumph.

  Sig’ryn’s house was quite eccentric and grand at the same time. The entire courtyard was filled with coaches of all makes and models. The maidens recognized many of the vehicles as the sprawling lawns and central grotto were milling with elves. Neither of the elfmaids could distinguish any faces in the dark, but they could make out the ancient-themed gowns. Not a single elf present was dressed in contemporary fashion and they felt like they were driving into a ghostly time warp.

  Unbeknownst to Quen’die, a ghost was not the otherworldly being that she would encounter that night at this particular gathering. The lives of all the elves of the earth had changed in some way or form in the last week, but that evening was going to alter the very notion of life itself for one Quen’die Reyliss not long after she entered the lavish oak doors of the arboreal God’runn estate.

  Fine Time

  “That was so capital!” Quen’die remarked. “It was like being swallowed by a giant plant!”

  The lift to the God’runn mansion was as natural as the home’s gigantic trunk as every one of its elements was built of hybrid flora controlled and maintained by mana. It was
a new and somewhat eccentric method of architecture developed by Kumarian biologists and designers with the goal of altering plant life to bend to the whims of the house’s residents. Even the lighting in many instances was all natural.

  “Look!” Lauryl’la pointed to a big lantern that illuminated an enormous redwood trunk which served as a pillar. “It’s like a big glowworm’s butt!”

  “Yeah, but if you look closely, it’s really a bunch of flowers tightly packed together in the shape of a big manabulb,” Quen’die noted to her friend.

  “Hey, yeah! They’re just lilacs but they’re emitting light!” Lauryl’la made a puzzled frown with her high and fine brows. “I don’t understand how!”

  “My father is obsessed with these things. Supposedly, this whole house conserves mana by using the natural flora of the region for its structure and some of its power. It’s all Earth-happy and stuff.” Quen’die shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t look at me; I’m not a biologist.”

  “Hmm, you should snap some pictures with your phone for him. He’d love it!” Lauryl’la suggested and Quen’die figured that would be a nice gesture for the elf. Considering how nervous he was sure to be with her going to a big party unattended, maybe a souvenir would be just the thing to help assuage his fears about, well, just about everything.

  Deeper into the house, the maidens navigated their way through party-goers as the winding tunnels’ walls were made of nothing but vines and branches that warped and bent in unusual shapes. The plants wound into one another with the tightest torque, mimicking all but seamless vaults and arches.

  The party sprawled throughout the house, but most of the elves present congregated in Sig’ryn’s games’ room. It was shaped into a giant dome that housed all manner of entertainment from sunwheel tables to a giant orbital 3-D manascreen, much like Venn’lith’s, but larger. Teams of raucous young elves were pitted against one another in a multiplayer game of Golem Smash III. The figures rendered in the game were just shy of ten feet tall inside the screen’s immense crystal ball.

  “What do you think, maiden?” Quen’die scanned the gigantic room while she squinted her eyes through the green glow of the lighting. “It’s so dim in here that I can barely recognize anyone. Gods, this room is almost as big as our school’s gymnasium!”

  As she had reached the center of the party, the worrisome topic of Venn’lith Mitlan returned to Quen’die’s mind. That little witch had to be in the gloom of the crowd somewhere, she supposed. Venn’lith stated she would arrive to this event not long before she assaulted her the other night. Perhaps she would be fortunate enough to avoid the fiend for the whole duration of the party, Quen’die reasoned. The place was so dark and gigantic that it might be easy enough to hide from her if she watched her step, and it helped that she was dressed in such a way that was unconventional for her; almost like a disguise.

  “I can’t figure out who’s who, either,” Lauryl’la added. “We’ll just have to let our eyes adjust to the lights.”

  Sig’ryn’s sunwheel tables were models of the most exquisite craftsmanship that were illuminated from within. His family had about four of them in this room alone, as far as Quen’die could count by their golden glows which broke up the green ambience of the party. At a larger model off to her left, Quen’die spotted her first familiar face of the evening.

  “Look,” she pointed off to the gaming table with the clutch of young males basking in the gilded light. “It’s Hyrax.” Seeing him made Quen’die’s heart sink. Not so much that she carried any sort of unrequited love for the elf, not at all, but he was a reminder of the leash Venn’lith had shackled around her long neck at that terrible dinner. Just to show Venn’lith that she held no control over her, she wanted to go up to him and kiss the lad right in front of the whole party. Thinking with prudent foresight, Quen’die knew the horrible price such a display of backbone would cost her family.

  “Ewww,” Lauryl’la winced. “He’s sloppy drunk! It’s not even 10 p.m. and he can barely prop himself up on the sunwheel table!”

  Quen’die noticed that the prince of her runta league was indeed inebriated. Very inebriated. From where she was standing, it appeared that his big toady Tal’liss Garb’ann had to hold him upright. Next to the two, Ferd’inn Kokoff was tapping figures into his tablet and adjusting his round spectacles as the rest of the table’s participants barked and shouted bets for the game’s next winning numbers.

  The entire display of such tacky behavior from a young elf whom she had respected and thought of as a potential romance was very disappointing to her. If it was normal for him to be like this outside of school and off the field, there was no way Quen’die could consider him as a potential novion. Not all that glitters is gold, as her mother would say now and again.

  Disappointment gave way to disgust when she saw the runta champ lose his footing twice as he knocked over his large stein of mead on the gaming table which was polished to a blinding sheen. Garb’ann propped him up again as Hyrax fell almost face-first into the sticky mess of alcohol that dripped onto the floor.

  “Well, I guess I’m not going to throw myself on that lug just to make Lith jealous,” Quen’die stated. “That’s so disgusting! Who cares if it’s 10 p.m. or any time of the night? Nobody should drink that much - ever.”

  Lauryl’la could see Quen’die’s disappointed repugnance turn to a look of concern. As far as she considered it, Hyrax was his own person and if he wanted to act upon his poor decisions, then so be it. Maybe she felt that way because she had to fend for herself most afternoons as she was expected to keep any and all situations in check if chaos reared its ugly and unpredictable head. Her parents had little complaint about her and she considered it to be the result of a natural good sense.

  “Look, Quen’die.” Lauryl’la began. “Don’t get all worried about the big oaf. If he has a problem with this kind of stuff, it isn’t your responsibility. You just need to look after yourself.”

  “Maybe so, but what if he’s seriously sick from it! He could have liquor poisoning or something!” The young maiden was working herself into a deeper anxiety over this.

  “What can you do about it?” Quen’die’s caretaking behaviors often annoyed Lauryl’la and she sometimes worried that they would throw her best friend into a terrible bind someday. “It’s really not your place to fix this and you’re not a health warden or anything. I know it sounds selfish, but just feel fortunate that you aren’t caught up into that kind of a problem. Just because you’re a hero on the runta field doesn’t mean you can always save the day.”

  “Yeah, I know, but he’s my captain and…” Quen’die was cut off by her friend’s heated reaction.

  “And the only two things he’s a captain of right now are the sunwheel table and a stein. To be honest, it looks as though his ship is sinking.” Lauryl’la admired her friend’s compassion but sometimes she would go overboard with the things that weren’t her concern.

  “Okay. I guess you’re right. I mean, this is a party, so let’s mingle with people that can actually string two words together,” Quen’die relented and wondered if she too was not exhibiting some of the high-tension anxiety that her father would so often.

  The maidens sauntered down into the sunken main floor of the games’ room and Lauryl’la made sure to steer her friend away from Hyrax’s entourage. On an opposite side of the packed room, a small stage made of bushes and bramble rose from the deep floor. This area was shrouded in total darkness and the maidens could see the vague shapes of elves milling about it.

  “I wonder if that’s where The Gonduanna Princes are going to set up,” Lauryl’la pointed.

  “Oh yeah! I almost forgot they’re tonight’s entertainment. This should be amazing,” Quen’die said as a sudden burst of happy energy coursed through her form. “I know, let’s go out on the deck and check out the pool until that starts.”

  “Right, good idea,” Lauryl’la agreed. “Maybe we’ll find Tam’laa out there.”

  The
God’runn’s pool deck was at the end of a tunnel made out of woven vines that snaked up above the rest of the house. The water itself collected into a twenty-foot-deep bowl made of the same species of vines and was lit from below by the compacted lilacs that illuminated portions of the estate elsewhere. It looked like a tiny lake of purple wine. The maidens had never seen a structure quite like it before. This house was getting more and more interesting, Quen’die thought.

  Elves were lounging around the water and many were jumping in and out of it as they splashed each other in aquatic play. The light up on the deck was a stunning violet as opposed to the green haze of the games’ room. In another vine-hewn tunnel off to the side of the deck lay the sauna room which was bellowing out a steady stream of steam from its blowholes.

  “Lauryl’la Hay’cenn!” a gruff voice boomed not long after the pair boarded the deck.

  Looking over to the source of the catcall, the maidens saw a group of rowdy elves occupying a large round table that had a small banana tree growing out of its center which served as a natural umbrella. They sported the deepest of tans and were covered with henna tattoos of various designs and both the males and females of this group had tawdry amounts of jewelry dripping from their bodies. As Quen’die adjusted her eyes to the amethyst light of the pool, she saw that it was the Zobbos from the Docks district.

  Quen’die thought they were an all right clique of elves, even though they could be rather raucous and crude. The largest of the crew, the one she believed they called “Warehouse” had already (by the skin of his teeth) graduated from adept school. She had remembered him lumbering through the halls her first year at Seabreeze Grand and thought back to how intimidating he was to her then. He had lifted a tray full of fried squid from the buffet table and was digging into it all by himself. Either way, she liked the eccentric group and had giggled many times at their sometimes foul wit and gross humor at school.

  “Hey guys!” Lauryl’la called back, bursting with cheer. She was better acquainted with the crew than Quen’die and lived in the neighborhood just one over from them. Her parents were no strangers to these elves either as they had made many official visits to the Zobbos’ dockside abode for various calls, but mostly for noise complaints. The shorter lad whom they nicknamed “Cheatsheet” had been picked up by Lauryl’la’s mother on truancy charges a couple of times.

  “Hi there, ladies,” a very familiar voice rang out from within the group of brazen youths. Tam’laa Na’rundi looked amazing. She had made tremendous effort with her ancient costume for this party. Her tight-woven curls, as was the usual style for her, were relaxed into draping lengths of henna-reddened swirls that framed her face. A large violet clasp held her topknot which fountained even more lengths of her deep, dark mane around the crest of her head. She was already in her beach gear as were the rest of the Zobbos and her dark brown skin looked flawless. Quen’die was so happy to find her friend there that night and her jitters and worries about Venn’lith and Hyrax had all but vanished upon seeing her infectious smile.

  Nestled deep within the gaggle of Zobbos, skulked a slim young elf who took the ancient theme a touch to the extreme. His hair was as black as the rest of his mates, but it was cut so short that it clung to the sides of his face and skull. Why anyone would be so bold in this day and age to don a hairdo like that for just one party must have been suffering from insanity, as far as Quen’die was concerned. Either way, the elf looked a bit nervous and appeared to make a concerted effort to avoid her and Lauryl’la’s eyes as he seemed to sink into the natural shape of his seat itself.

  “Tam, did the Zobbos recruit you or something?” Lauryl’la inquired with a joking groan.

  “No, I’m more of an attaché tonight.” The Gonduannian appeared to be in a deep conversation with the eccentric new elf as they were sharing some exotic drink devised at the poolside wetbar.

  “There are seven of you now,” Quen’die commented, more than amused. “Do you Zobbos multiply when someone throws water on you?”

  “Aww! That’s a good one, Dee Reyliss!” the dockside entourage hollered in unison. Quen’die knew she had to give these guys some lip if she didn’t want to appear too haughty with them; a trait this group tended to despise.

  “Naw, we just found a couple of strays for the night and figured they needed a little bit of Zobbo-style charity,” explained Monti Dell’lavio. He was what one could best describe as this outfit’s “leader.” “You know On’dinn Jak’sin, anyway. Don’t you?”

  Lauryl’la and Quen’die both gasped upon this revelation. Not just because of his drastic change in appearance, but because a genuine Black Hoodie was sipping drinks with their friend a couple of nights after being involved in a royal assassination attempt.

  “Eh, excuse me!” Lauryl’la barked at the suspected capital offender from across the table. She had inherited an authoritative tone from her parents and Quen’die sometimes thought she would make a great civil warden one day. “Call me crazy, but didn’t you just try to assassinate the king the other night?” To that, the young elf’s eyes widened in shock and he sank deeper into his leafy chair which grew out of the deck as did all the other fixtures.

  The female Zobbo known as “Pumpkin” stood up to his defense as her jewelry clacked with her startled movements. “No! It’s nothing like what you think! He had nothing to do with any of that!”

  “Bull!” Lauryl’la challenged. “Dee and Tam both saw him with their own eyes! He was with those freaks that night!”

  “Listen! Everyone!” Tam’laa cut in. She stood up with an almost royal grace and waved with a calming motion like she was parting the waters of a tumultuous maelstrom. “He was infiltrating them for a cover story for the school newsscrolls. He just got in with them on the wrong night at the wrong place.”

  The young elf sat back up a bit to that. He seemed relieved when he saw an immediate look of trust wash over Quen’die’s eyes upon her friend’s statement of exoneration. Lauryl’la didn’t seem quite as convinced as her slim brows remained locked into a stentorian frown. She looked like a Tel’lemurian dictator lording over her subjects with anger and wariness.

  “I don’t know about that, Tam’laa,” she retorted, continuing her skepticism and never taking her eyes off the potential murderer.

  The slight male elf was becoming agitated with Lauryl’la’s unrelenting suspicion, and all present could see it. He stood up at last with Tam’laa and Pumpkin in order to clear his name, even if his account wasn’t the complete truth. His current company would have to settle for his cover story.

  “Look, everyone,” On’dinn began. “Tam and the Zobbos have heard this a million times already, but all I was doing was taking a little initiative with my journalism class by doing some undercover reporting on the Black Hood Group. For the most part, those people are all right; they just want to work for the world in the best way they can. Their leader was always a bit weird and eccentric, but the night before the attempt, he was acting even stranger and they had this new addition to the group. She was this rather odd lady named Sammian. You have probably read all about her on the newsscrolls. Well, anyway, she was talking to him in private for most of that evening but she wouldn’t go to the arena with the group the night of the king’s address. Neither I nor any of the group knew that the old freak was going to take shots at the king! Yeah, I was arrested, but we were all let go when the bulls put us under the biomana and saw that we had no knowledge of his ideation.” With that, he slunk back with self-assured pride into his seat; a cocked grin of satisfaction running across half of his face.

  “See that! He’s off the hook!” Monti reasoned with Lauryl’la. “Hey, you have to admit, it takes some spine to infiltrate a creepy group like that!”

  “Yeah!” Warehouse bellowed in agreement with his usual deep baritone between mouthfuls of squid.

  “Well, all right.” Lauryl’la hated to be wrong sometimes, but she had to confess that she didn’t know the full story from an insider’s pe
rspective. A good detective should always be as impartial as possible but still sleep with one eye open. Her intuition just wouldn’t allow her to believe the tale the lad told, as logical as it sounded. “I guess I’m sorry about that, On’dinn. After all, the biomana scanners don’t lie.”

  Quen’die also thought that Lauryl’la was being too harsh with On’dinn. It was true that she saw him with the protesters that night, but she knew that he was indeed the type of student to go that extra mile when it came to his classes. He never did anything halfway or rushed and it was most often rather inventive, so, coming from him, it wasn’t too surprising of a tale. On’dinn was not the first person she would care to be marooned with on a desert island, but after seeing Hyrax’s drunken and sloppy state downstairs, she remembered how much people could amaze her. She had to admit, Monti was right about his stunt requiring a lot of courage.

  “Hey look, everyone,” Monti was lifting his muscular frame up from his seat while re-donning his toga. “Let’s forget about all this cloak-and-dagger stuff and get downstairs. The Princes are gonna start up soon and I don’t want to be stuck way in the back of the room when they do. After that, we can always get back to the pool.”

  Face was something of a natural leader, Quen’die observed. Upon his statement everyone got up to go downstairs without question. Even Warehouse abandoned his trough of squid upon the head Zobbo’s suggestion. Sometimes, Quen’die doubted her own leadership skills and wondered if the only thing she was ever in charge of was her annoying little brother. Sure, she was well-respected for her athletic abilities, but beyond that, she began to picture herself more and more as one who was just following orders to the best of her ability. Even Lauryl’la, who was a mediocre student at best and who was, without question, losing interest in athletics seemed to make all the decisions when the two were together.

  Then there was On’dinn. The young elf was never afraid to speak up, no matter how unpopular his views may be, and she was quite impressed upon hearing of his daring escapade with the Black Hood. She would have never had the gumption to infiltrate a suspicious affiliation just for a mere school assignment. That was taking initiative to the utmost, as Monti had pointed out. From one leader to another, both held each other’s respect. Quen’die made a note to herself to start taking more active measures in her life; to go that extra length and do something, anything remarkable without being told or suggested to do so.

  The hallways of the all-natural house were beginning to reverberate with beats that were native to the cultures of Gonduanna. Sound from the games’ room was reaching all corners of the house as the volume increased with a steady rise in decibels and the tone and timbre was swirling with each emission through the corridors like a wind tunnel. Quen’die loved the wind-up to the show, even if it was long and drawn out. Its repetition was a calling for everyone to share the noise with the Princes, and nobody was going to be left out.

  The main floor of the games’ room was becoming thicker with elves. Ancient garb of all design and colors floated around her. She recognized many faces from school, but fair amounts of them were still unfamiliar to her. They were either University students who wanted to catch the show or just adult fans of The Gonduanna Princes. They were a multi-national act, after all.

  Seeing Hyrax blasted beyond comprehension was a grave letdown to Quen’die, and she looked back to his sunwheel table and saw that he was still slumped in the same place over a stein of mead. The big fool was going to miss the show because he would rather spend the party nursing his drinks. He may be the captain of her team, but as far as someone who could have a good time, he was a total loser. If he wanted to waste that eventful night in such a state, that was his loss.

  Not to her surprise, Venn’lith was nowhere near him, as even a despicable creature such as she elected to steer clear of his display of drunken pathos. Ferd’inn Kokoff had ceased calculating bets and wagers for Hyrax and Quen’die figured he had run off to see the coming show. The only person who stood by the captain on his own scuttled ship was the loutish Garb’ann who was too busy holding him upright.

  “Hey, Dee!” Lauryl’la nudged her friend. “There’s the object of your affection right over there.” She pointed to the side of the stage where Venn’lith Mitlan was conversing with a tall gold elf. In her hand was a large wad of brens and Quen’die could see her head darting side to side as if she didn’t want the meeting to be noticed.

  “Hey, yeah! That’s the little beast!” Quen’die yelped within the din of the recorded drums. She wished in her secret soul that the Xochian maiden overheard her, but the creep was in heated collusion with this elf in the shadows of the flickering stage lights.

  “Gods, look at her gown! She looks like a clown in that!” Lauryl’la commented on her yellow dress marked by large blobs of color and her sharp-gold tiara with a giggle. “An evil clown. Those kinds are the worst.”

  Venn’lith was another leader in her own right. After all, she had managed to put Quen’die’s family in ultimate peril. Such evil was not the kind of power she wanted to hold when it came to taking charge of her life. She would rather beg for money as a lowly street urchin in the bowels of downtown if given the choice.

  “I thought Sig’ryn paid the Princes to play tonight,” Quen’die noted with much wariness.

  “See, I don’t like this,” Lauryl’la agreed with an equal suspicion. “I wonder what she’s paying him for?”

  “Don’t ask, don’t tell, I always say. I hope it’s none of our business.” Quen’die ran through all the possibilities of what the little witch was up to. If her eyes read the situation to the best of their ability, the elf was one of the members of the Princes, but she couldn’t discern which one. It was true, as Quen’die learned the other night from her inbox that Venn’lith was in direct contact with at least one of them. Perhaps she was just another one of his many conquests which the Prince was certain to have worldwide.

  The lights of the gaming room were no longer a green gloom, but flashed in an alternation of colors from the full spectrum. How a bunch of woven lilacs could emit all these different hues boggled Quen’die’s mind, but she found the display amazing. The beats were becoming louder and more chaotic and the rays were following the noise in perfect tandem. It would not be long before the big show.

  “Agh! Excuse me!” Quen’die felt a hard bump hit her slender side. It was probably another reveler who had too much to drink. That was one of the most annoying factors to this kind of gathering, she learned.

  She checked herself to see if anything was splashed on her gown, but she was dry. She looked over to the source of the collision and saw a rather tall male. His hair was very long and he wore it tied into a thick braid that draped down one side of his chest. Through the flashing and frantic ebbing colors of the room, she could tell that it was a golden blond.

  “Hey! Are you all right?” He leaned in closer to her. He didn’t appear or smell drunk, although Quen’die could tell that his face was a little too wizened for adept school.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m okay,” she answered with a stutter.

  He thrust out his hand in greeting. ‘Hi. I’m Mavriel.”

  “Eh, my name is Quen’die.” She offered back her hand and his grip was like a glove of softest cotton. This was surprising to her because it looked like it was cast of pipes and wires.

  “Do you mind if I stand here with you guys?” he asked, scanning the scene from side to side. “It’s getting pretty packed around here and I can at least still see the stage.”

  He was at least seven feet tall, so seeing The Gonduanna Princes perform would not be much of an effort for him even if they were stuck at the back of the room, but he looked nice enough in Quen’die’s opinion. Under normal circumstances, if an unknown male were to pay any attention to her, she would freeze like a mammoth in the Vrillian Wastes, but for some strange reason, she didn’t experience that sensation with this newcomer. He wasn’t even within her social network, so there would be no way s
he would need to bother with seeing him come Moonday if she made some sort of embarrassing gaffe.

  “Um…okay,” she managed. He was standing so close to her as the crowd was forming for the inevitable exposition that would begin in any time. The lights were becoming more and more hectic in their stroboscopic frenzy that her eyes were having a difficult time focusing and the beats were soon accompanied by strange bass noises that the ramparts of manasynths were booming low into her innards.

  She looked up his frame to see that he was staring at her and his eyes were a sunny brown. They were almost like the buttered toast that her mother would prepare for her every morning, but she didn’t want any thoughts of her at this moment because such notions made her feel so young in the warm shade of this mysterious elf. How old could he be, she wondered? At least a university student, she decided. She vowed to investigate further into this golden oddity’s background when the performance was over. Lauryl’la would be so impressed if she dated a male outside of their insular community of Seabreeze Grand.

  In a sudden instant, everything stopped. The silence was as palpable as the hide of a sabercat dried out for the market as was the black of the darkness that occurred when the room’s natural light winked out. Deep down, she hoped that this Mavriel guy would at least bump into her again during the protracted wait for the music to explode with the expected force that only the Princes could deliver.

  It was true, she loved the Princes. She had all of their songs that she could get a hold of. On her phone, on her tablet and on her screen at home; she had downloaded them all. The Gonduanna Princes were the best producers and lyricists of any musical outfit to hit the markets. There was something about MC Prince Nam’mi that she could connect with. He knew how she felt and how she would react to those feelings like a science. All of her secrets and dreams were up front and center with his fevered compositions.

  I Like You, but I Don’t Love You was a single that captured the fleeting feelings that she would experience whenever she was thinking about a potential romantic prospect at school. Take it Back, Maiden was one of her favorites. Although written by a guy, it proposed how a female could cope with the drama and heartache of actually relenting to a male’s affections and still be her own person. A maiden like Quen’die needed plenty of personal space due to her schedule and that tune spoke to her better than the lessons of any professor at school.

  With a blinding flash of the God’runn estate’s alien lighting, the stage burst with color and a thunderous boom. The elves in the audience met that beat with their own cheers of joy and all the fears and woes regarding the pyramids, the assassination attempt, or even the trifling crises of their daily lives were wiped clean for this very moment. Those imported geniuses were going to give that party an exclusive treat like none other. The whole world could be ending outside, but they would not be any wiser to it as this beautiful production of sight and sound connected everyone. Even that beast, Venn’lith Mitlan.

  “Ladies and Lords of Corosa City!” God’rie Bal’undi, the manager of the band boomed through the sound system. He was dressed in ancient garb much like the rest of the party-goers. “I bring unto thee the Masters of Music! The Bards of Boom! The Troubadours of Trouble! From deep out of the jungles of Dam’balla Province - The Gonduanna Princes!”

  The collective scream of the crowd was deafening, and Quen’die wished that she had equipped her large ears with some plugs. She didn’t want them to get hot like they did earlier that week during the quake. Lauryl’la, who did indeed have a pair of whoppers on the sides of her head, was covering them with her hands and laughing like a maniac.

  You Got With Him? was their first number. It described a hilarious account of a maiden who agreed on having a relationship with a dubious guy who just wasn’t her type. All throughout the song, Quen’die couldn’t help but think of On’dinn Jak’sin and Tam’laa. She looked over to the pair and saw that they were singing the words together and laughing at each other with some element of affection. It must have been the first time in her life that she saw the dour, intellectual male wear such glee on his face. She stole a quick glance at her new-found compatriot, Mavriel, and was met with his direct warm gaze once again. With a large lump in her throat she looked away from him with lightning reflexes. How much did this song pertain to her, she wondered?

  Prince Nam’mi was always in top form during the show, just like in the videos on the manascreen, but there he was in the same room like magic. Despite the ancient dress code of the party, the Princes were donning their usual hooded overcloaks printed in a red and green camouflage that had become something of a trademark to their presence. Quen’die was ecstatic, and Lauryl’la was screaming her head off in ecstasy. All the Zobbos were punching their fists in the air with perfect timing to the beat of their music. Not a single bad feeling existed in that beautiful all-natural house at that moment. Well, maybe for Hyrax Arcovis, but he decided to get drunk and act the fool.

  The Princes played their complete collection throughout the night and even some unreleased tunes written for this particular crowd as a special gift. All were an amazing assault to Quen’die’s ears. She was becoming exhausted from the energy that the group emitted and she wondered how they could do this every night while on tour. After soaking in the sounds for a bit, she danced with the enigmatic older male and one time, the giant Warehouse swung her slight frame around the floor during their live rendition of I Need ‘em Skinny. Her gut ached with laughter after that escapade.

  With a sudden oscillating blast, the relentless noise of the group cut out. The DJ had halted all sounds with a deafening scratch to his manasynths. One very popular freeform ad libitum tune had not yet been performed: the infamous Tell the Truth.

  Tell the Truth was a total rip on someone or something. It usually focused on a popular figure or politician that needed a bit of a jibe only to end in a scathing invective of character assassination in regards to its subject. Who would the target of the song be tonight, Quen’die pondered? Could it be that Travius guy who tried to kill her king? Could it be the MC of a rival pop group? Perhaps it was a popular actor or actress? Whatever the subject, the song was never the same twice and it had been quite a live collector’s item for the underground downloading community.

  After Prince Ro’dee X, their DJ ceased the synths and the beats, he had gestured with wild energy to get the rest of the outfit to pay attention. With authority he barked, “All right, everyone. I think it’s time!” he continued with a beat-laden buildup. “I think it’s time to tell the truth!”

  The throng of elves joined the DJ in that last line with a mountainous roar. Everyone present was laughing and waiting with anticipation of who would be tonight’s subject of ridicule of the famous tune. Nam’mi began as Ro’dee X fired up the array of synths:

  “Okay, now it’s time to tell the truth.

  I’m gonna come clean with the fame and the name

  Of someone who has gotta take the blame.

  For being so stupid, petty and worthless,

  That I gotta wonder why I bother to word this.

  Her name isn’t known, not surprising she’s alone

  Got her standing here stupid

  Like a dog without a bone.

  She’s someone that you’d easily miss (miss).

  A little slip of maiden

  Name o’ Quen’die Reyliss.”

  No! That’s what that vile creep Venn’lith paid Nam’mi for. He was taking money from her so she could bribe him to humiliate her in front of everyone at this party. There were so many of her classmates there, as well as people whom she had never met before. This foul stunt of hers was going to ruin her social life for the rest of her foreseeable future. No matter how Quen’die abided by the little witch’s demands, she would still continue to torment her. The lights of the stage were trained upon her shrinking form for everyone to see that she was the focus of this torture.

  She looked over to Lauryl’la and was met by her friend who was
stuck gaping her mouth in horror. Behind her was On’dinn Jak’sin along with Tam’laa who were gnashing their teeth in anger and pointing at the performers with vicious fervor. Quen’die could see the rabid politician or legal warden On’dinn would most likely become one day in that instant. She made a note to herself to appreciate his support for her if she lived through this foul event.

  At last, she turned to the strange Mavriel. He looked down at her almost as would a priest giving a blessing in a temple. It was the most wonderful buttress she felt during that heinous moment from even her best of friends. He could see the plaintive tears already streaming out of her deep emerald eyes and looked on in them with a profound knowledge. For some instinctive reason, she knew that he would not allow her to endure this terrible episode any longer.

  Within the swirl of colors and light pulsing throughout the room, the tall elf clutched her hand with an almost loving grace. It was like smooth velvet with a steel skeleton charged by an abundance of red mana. She had never felt so much sanctuary in her life, not even after she had torn apart her knees on the runta field last year while she wallowed in agony as her father held her hand in the emergency ward. There was something magical about this male and she could not put her finger on it.

  He gripped her hand ever harder and, for an instant, she thought she saw his toasty eyes flash a brilliant white, but that may just have been a reflection from one of the spinning lights from overhead. It would be no surprise to her that this elf did something extraordinary. He was such a puzzle, and she knew this upon her first bump with him. This mystery of a lad turned his sights with a slow and deliberate movement to the stage and locked onto the Princes like a hawk to a mouse.

  Prince Nam’mi continued his verbal assault nonetheless, but the tune changed on the face of a coin:

  “Whoops! Sorry, I meant you,

  Venn’lith Mitlan.

  How could such a little freak

  Dare to bribe me?

  To pay me, to tempt me

  To tell a lie

  When this song aims to tell the truth

  About a spoiled little brattie

  That deceives and is catty

  Who can’t leave the house

  Without asking her Papi

  If he would give her some money

  ‘But of course I will, honey,’

  So you can play a joke that you think may be funny

  On an innocent…”

  Nam’mi himself couldn’t believe his own words flowing from his lips as Quen’die saw that he was vexed as to why he was spouting his diatribe about his employer. As the lyrics turned their focus to the Xochian, the illumination warden swung the lighting rig over her. She was off to the side of the stage as the flashing blue blasts centered on her feral shouting and gesturing form while she made vengeful accusation at the band. She was livid and the crowd was laughing at the backfired plot that was of her own design.

  The impromptu song went on at length detailing the heinous lies and scandals Venn’lith had perpetrated while living in Atlantis, as well as her terrible behavior back home in Xo’chi. Tales of animal cruelty, racism, arrogance, a trail of broken hearts and plenty of sabotaged relationships of her “friends” were all accounted for and put to verse for the whole crowd’s benefit. Quen’die had to ponder how one person could manage to spend what could only be all day long devising such schemes and this made her wonder if such a force as true evil existed. After all, the elfmaid got whatever she wanted, so it wasn’t due to an unfortunate home environment such as On’dinn’s or the Zobbos’. If it had been Venn’lith with the Black Hoods that night, she would have made sure all her shots hit their mark just out of the lust for causing pain and woe, she figured.

  As the crowd laughed and booed at the spoiled teen fiend, the only retort she could manage was flashing wild and rude gestures with her hands as the booming sound in the room prevented her from giving an audible verbal response. Such an opportunity would have sure to have been a lie to save her face and, to Quen’die’s misfortune, half the revelers would have believed her if she had that chance. Quen’die was sure that she would cover her tracks with her peer group through some devious tale by Moonday and Venn’lith would once again be back on her adolescent throne. Until then, however, it was quite the joy to see her past bite her posterior for once. On’dinn Jak’sin was, without a doubt, basking in this display of fine justice for the underdog laid out before him.

  It was a fine finale to the act, Quen’die would recount for a long time to come. Especially when the Xochian’s rude hand-signaling prompted the most brazen of the crowd to respond by flinging food, drinks and other assorted articles of trash at her. Her harlequin-like gown was further made more clownish with the various stains of offal offered by the revelers. Venn’lith’s steely emotions could take no more and Quen’die received the small wish she had been praying for over and over for the last couple of days: Venn’lith burst into tears. Makeup which she had caked on by the pound drizzled in streaks down her face making her appear like a defeated supervillain in one of Kaedish’s cartoons. How fortunate such a blessing occurred, Quen’die smiled, her own tears forgotten.

  After the show, Quen’die and company were laughing so hard that they had to avoid falling on the sticky ground which was littered with party trash by then. Venn’lith was nowhere to be seen as she had stormed out of sight halfway through her shining moment. Good riddance, Quen’die thought. Even if the sun elf did manage to rectify the situation before Moonday, her classmates and associates would still have her laundry list of crimes in the backs of their minds. It was a usual dismay that people often forget these warnings until it’s too late, but that would be a concern for another day. All in all, this had been a fine time, Quen’die enthused.

  “Hey!” Cheatsheet blurted. “Isn’t this that caramel stuff the Kumari people are always going on about?”

  “I think you mean, ‘Karma’, Cheatsheet,” Tam’laa corrected the Zobbo with a laugh.

  He nodded with effort. “Oh yeah, ‘Karma.’ Well, it certainly is a bit…”

  “It’s bikini-time!” Pumpkin cut her mouthy comrade off to which everyone present agreed with a unanimous cheer. They all wanted to check out Sig’ryn’s genuine Thuless’in sauna next to the pool. Quen’die had never been in one, but had been told it was a very relaxing experience and that was what she needed more than anything after the endless volley of emotional ups and downs that night.

  Lauryl’la grabbed Quen’die and pulled her away from the group. She had a devilish look in her eyes and Quen’die had a very deep suspicion as to what she was about to suggest. Throughout the show, her best friend had been observing her behaviors and the behaviors of the new addition to the group who continued to mill about with them.

  “So, do I have to ask the new guy to come to the sauna with us for you, or are you gonna elf-up and have the spine?” Lauryl’la whispered into her ear as the lights of the party wound down once again to a soothing green.

  “Oh, you mean Mavriel?” Quen’die stalled for time.

  “No, I meant the big, purple mastodon serving drinks by the door. Of course I mean him!” Lauryl’la chuckled. “Go get him, maiden!”

  What harm could it do, she thought? It’s not like this male was going to one day be her husband or anything of that sort. Again she reasoned that he didn’t go to their school and chances were she wouldn’t have to see him again if she found that she didn’t like him. There was something almost amazing about him that she couldn’t put a finger on. It was almost as if he had orchestrated Venn’lith’s musical backfire as the tune had changed the very instant he squeezed her hand. She loved his hands. How something could be so strong and soft at the same time seemed to defy physics and that was just one of the baffles that shrouded him, and the only way to solve a puzzle is to work it. Quen’die needed to cut to brass tacks and just ask him. He was a bit older, so it really wouldn’t matter if she made a witticism to impress him, which was something she felt she couldn
’t muster at that moment. Either way, now was the time.

  As expected, his gaze was already locked onto her form as she turned from Lauryl’la. She met his eyes and the bashful feeling she had knotting up her innards melted away the instant she joined them. It was as if the conversation she was about to have with him had already happened. There were no obstacles in her way and she was enveloped in the spirits of well-being; just like on the runta field.

  “So Mavriel,” Quen’die began with an honest confidence. “Do you want to check out the wonders of ancient Thuless’in sauna design with us?”

  A Gateway, a Hope

  The sauna’s shed looked much like a vaulted beehive formed of the swirling vines which had become a ubiquitous feature of the weird house. Instead of honeycombs, benches lined the curves of the tunnel-like room which ended in a caldera-shaped depression that jutted into the back wall. The strange orifice blew soothing steam out into the room which was controlled to a pleasant frequency by the natural chimneys that snaked out of the ceiling.

  The elves disrobed their ancient costuming and hung them on the thorns which served as hooks alongside the sauna’s entrance. The female Zobbo “Princess” challenged the hooks by tapping her fingertips on their mean-looking points.

  “Ow!” she squealed as the hook broke her skin.

  “Aw, what’s the matter? Did you break another nail?” Face chided his compatriot.

  “No! The hook bit me! Look! I’m bleeding! Well, kinda,” she said as she offered her hand to Face for evidence. “Hey! I wonder if I can sue Sig’ryn for plant abuse or something?”

  “No, actually you can’t,” On’dinn broke in and began to lecture. “First off, the wound is so slight that there would be no evidence of trauma by the time you challenged it in a circle of law. Secondly, there is a sign posted above the hooks clearly warning you not to touch them just in case someone gets too curious, like you did.”

  Princess looked up to the sign which read, “Be careful! We Bite!” To that, she let out a disgruntled moan as Warehouse wrapped a giant arm around her for friendly support. “Aww, I thought I could have won some money! Then I could get that suncasket I’ve had my eye on and have it installed in my house! Why do you have to be so smart, Brain?”

  “Well, you call me ‘Brain’ for a reason, I suppose,” he answered. The elves present laughed at that and Princess batted her lashes which were decorated with little crystals at him again for the thousandth time that night.

  Quen’die noticed something even more peculiar about her new friend. As he placed his white robe on a hook, she could tell in the green light of the sauna that it seemed authentic, as if he purchased it from a museum. She was no fashionista like Lauryl’la, but she was savvy enough to see that the stitching and strength of the linen-like fabric was well above the costume-grade rags the rest of the party had rented or had whipped together with various skills. Not to appear too pesky, she snuck a quick look out of the sides of her large eyes to see if the piping along the robe’s seams was indeed gold leaf.

  Quen’die and company were lucky enough to be the only elves occupying the sauna as many of the party goers were splashing about the pool or raiding the buffet tables outside. Many of the others were just milling about with each other, perhaps hoping to fall in love. No matter their reasons, the sauna was theirs and theirs alone that night.

  Lauryl’la and Tam’laa made sure that Quen’die would be sitting next to the new compatriot to their circle of friends as they trotted off to their respective attractions of the night’s party with giggling haste. Quen’die looked about the tunnel’s seating and saw that On’dinn was sandwiched between Princess and Tam’laa. How that guy attracted so much female attention was a bit funny in her opinion since he was so slight, but she figured the male flexed his brain as much as an elf like Hyrax flexed his muscle. Either way, it was a display of power and prowess and such displays can make one noticed.

  Andrex Po’renzy, aka “Cheatsheet” had attached himself to Lauryl’la with a rather aggressive move, and she found the attention quite amusing. They would make a very comical couple since Lauryl’la was, it was decided, the tallest female in her grade, perhaps the whole school, and Andrex may have been the shortest male. He didn’t seem to fret over such stature limitations, however, since he made up for it with a beaming sense of humor and a positive attitude.

  Monti, Pumpkin and Warehouse were at the far end of the sauna next to the strange blowhole growing from the back wall. She was chattering at a mile a minute about some social concern plaguing her mind at that moment. Her large brother was nodding his massive head in silent agreement and would at times punctuate his taciturnity with a resounding “Yeah!”

  As if designed by her friends’ strategy, seated next to Quen’die was the calm Mavriel. It was somewhat unsettling that she was paired up with the elf nobody knew. She felt safe as houses with him; that wasn’t the problem, she just had to break the ice of unfamiliarity with a newcomer and that could be a bit unnerving. That he had to have been at least two or three years older than her wasn’t helping matters much and she wished to herself that she could talk to a male who wasn’t so advanced. Nonetheless, she did have an array of questions for him.

  “So, did you knock over a museum?” she blurted with a small chuckle.

  “What?” her question confused him. “I don’t quite follow,” he continued as a smile formed on his lips. He may not have much of a sense of humor, she thought, but at least he appeared intrigued.

  “Your robe,” Quen’die began to explain her jibe. “I know this is an ancient-themed party, but your robe looks like it is seriously about two thousand years old.”

  “Well, I’m just that good, “Mavriel quipped back. “Yes, I made it myself. I guess I just figured I would do it the right way and go all out.”

  “Yeah, but is that real gold leaf on its seams?” Quen’die prodded further.

  “Something like that,” the male just added to the mystery. Quen’die expected that he would cause more confusion with each answer to her questions. With this lad, she didn’t mind. Sometimes the unexpected was a welcome treat into her regularly-scheduled life. Not unexpected like the bird-monster she and Lauryl’la encountered the other night or the assassination attempt, but a nice, pleasant enigma in the shape of an elf like Mavriel.

  Now that the din of the crowd and the boom of the musical performance had subsided, Quen’die was treated to another question: his accent. He spoke perfect Atlantean, but it was not of a dialect from any of the continent’s kingdoms or provinces. His speech was lazy and long whereas all the flavors of her kingdom were short, clipped and a bit guttural to the foreign ear.

  “Eh, where are you from, anyway?” Quen’die was becoming a bit self-conscious by then. She didn’t mean to pry so much into this lad’s life, but she was so curious to his enigma that she could not help it the more she sat with him. The maiden imagined how her mother must have felt on an archeological dig whenever she had discovered some new unearthing from days of yore. Perhaps such curiosity was an inherited trait from the lady.

  “Avalon. I’m from Avalon,” he answered as if the words were concrete slabs.

  That explained the accent. Avalon was adjoined to the north of Xo’chi on the Xo’chi-Avalon supercontinent. At one time, Avalon was a terrible wasteland that was home to the orcs until their eradication about two thousand years ago by a worldwide alliance of elves. All of the elven kingdoms of the earth had put aside their differences and converged upon the continent of those beasts in a final effort to defeat them once and for all. History, or so it was recorded, had shown that her forefathers had no choice but to employ the grim maneuver against an entire species because those beasts would never tire of causing havoc and pain with raid after raid and war after war upon all of elven society. After the final orc stronghold was flattened to dust, elves, many of whom were from Atlantis, began to colonize the land and make new lives for themselves in their new-found home.

  Lik
e the trogs, orcs were an altogether separate species from the elves, but they were still sentient, self-aware beings. Some biologists had debated as to whether or not they evolved from the killer whale (hence their name “orc”) versus a theory of the wild boar. Many pundits worldwide had admonished the celebrated victory of their forefathers as they had considered it genocide, which, in a technical way, it was. On’dinn Jak’sin was, of course, one such voice of protest and he boycotted with smug pride the O-V Day which honored the heroes of that great conflict. The majority of elves who supported the victory reasoned that it was a “kill or be killed” situation as these antagonists were the attackers. Such truth was lost in antiquity and some theorists had even doubted the existence of the race entirely, but those voices were the subject of general ridicule.

  Life was difficult for the pioneers of Avalon. The Avalonians had organized an eventual revolt against their original homeland to the east and then had to contend with numerous “border disputes” with the Xochians to their south. Many Avalonians still considered themselves to be Atlantean, since they could track their heritage back to the great kingdom with relative ease, but the rest of the world looked upon them as a self-contained and, by comparison, new collection of nomadic tribes. The people of Avalon were even nicknamed “plains elves” due to their wandering culture on the tundra and taiga of the Avalonian flatlands. Quen’die, however, didn’t think her new acquaintance looked much different than any other grey elf of her kingdom.

  To the elves from other lands, Avalonians were deemed a rustic people and that made quite the contrast to their lavish and extravagant Xochian neighbors. Worldwide, Avalon jokes were composed by the less-culturally sensitive gentry, but Quen’die was raised not to behave in such a brutal manner. Besides, she had never met a Avalonian until that night, so how could she judge the unknown? Most people from Avalon were deemed not very cosmopolitan or could not afford to travel the globe often, so a plains elf was a rarity to meet in her kingdom.

  “Wow!” Quen’die chirped as she found his origin to be impressive. “I must admit I’ve never met anyone from Avalon before. Well, not conversationally, anyway. That’s so capital! Are you here for the University?”

  “I just so happen to be here for the University,” Mavriel confirmed her suspicion and Quen’die was so happy to hear this. She thought of this tidbit as an icebreaker because she knew very well that she would go to the University one day and this fact opened up a cornucopia of conversation with the male.

  “I guess everybody you meet asks you this, but what’s your focus of study?” Quen’die continued her poking of the elf with legitimate wonder.

  “Theology,” the plains elf answered.

  “Oh, Wow!” Quen’die knew she sounded young and astounded, but she just couldn’t douse the feeling of excitement with this lad. Anyone who could tackle the unseen notions of religion had to have a brain that rivaled On’dinn Jak’sin’s. Handsome and smart. She could see without any dispute the intelligence in his eyes the moment she met them, but it wasn’t the brick-and-mortar intellect of facts and figures that someone like she or her parents possessed. Religion was speculation, creativity and a wellspring of imagination. One who studied it had to surmise not only the unknown, but the unknowable. Quen’die had never fancied her brain to be that creative, and it was another one of her goals in life; to think in a more creative manner. “Do you want to become a priest or something?”

  “Something like that,” Mavriel continued to confound the maiden and she was beginning to wonder if he was doing it on purpose.

  “Well, what god is your concentration?” she couldn’t contain her interest.

  “It’s my first year at the school, so I’m basically surveying the entire pantheon, but I think I am most interested in the big one. Ui.”

  “The Creator? But what would you do with that? We don’t even build temples to Him.” Quen’die was correct about that fact. Elves lived with a one-world religion which was managed by twelve gods who oversaw different aspects of the earth. Some gods supervised fire, or the sky, or the oceans and water, and so on. Depending on where one lived or their trade, an elf paid their worship to the god or goddess that influenced their life the most. Ui was the Creator and He was not considered part of the pantheon because He didn’t listen to prayers and such. He more or less created and went on His way throughout the universe creating. Many elves believed that He loved them as did the other gods, but such concerns were not a part of His influence.

  “Plenty,” he answered with self-assurance. “There are many applications to the study of Ui. Mainly the origin of your, er, I mean our species and society and things like that.”

  “My mother studies that kind of stuff.” Quen’die hoped that such a fact would impress the elf. She was feeling her competitive streak fire up in her brain again and she wanted to climb her way onto his intellectual playing field. “She works as a faethropologist over at the Circle of Climate and Environment. As a matter-of-fact, she’s going to Mars on expedition eventually to survey any possible lost cultures from the planet. That’s pretty capital, huh?”

  “Very,” Mavriel answered, although Quen’die couldn’t discern if her attempt to impress took hold. The male was playing coy she thought, unless she, in truth, did not amuse him. She had hoped for the former and felt compelled to continue the conversational spelunking.

  “So, is Avalon getting in on the race to Mars?” Quen’die knew the answer to this question, but she was trying her best to keep the ball rolling. There was so much about this guy that she liked beyond him being easy on her eyes; she had to know more.

  “Avalon? Ha! I’m surprised we even drive coaches much less fly a godswheel that could launch us into space. No, as far as I know only your people and the Kumaris corner that market.”

  Quen’die detected a touch of pride and sarcasm in his answer and she feared that she had made a flub. Avalon was not a wealthy collection of people by any standard, and to suppose that they had the resources to fund a godswheel program was quite cavalier of her.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…,” she saved herself as fast possible. “Look, your people will develop one or something like it sooner or later. Such a technology is a rarity to occur so far.”

  “No,” the Avalonian answered. “I didn’t take any offense. If anything, I could say I’m a bit jealous. Avalon is far off the map when it comes to the latest and greatest. We’re still getting our feet wet in many areas that you’ve had well-developed for hundreds of years. Comparatively, we’re a new nation, but we aren’t exactly a bunch of hicks; just so you know.”

  “No, Mavriel!” she stopped him. “I certainly don’t view you in that way. Actually, I think you are pretty intimidating in many ways.” The maiden couldn’t believe she admitted that, but it made her feel good inside to be honest with her feelings. This was the kind of elf that would appreciate such an attitude, she could tell. From her knowledge of Avalon, the people there were simple and honest, if not a bit gullible.

  “It’s all right,” he assured her. “I sincerely took no offense. If you’re worried that I find you snobbish, I don’t.”

  Quen’die was more than grateful for that. Sometimes she was too sensitive about being sensitive, if that made any sense. Ever since the end of the Tel’lemurian conflict, Atlantis had been very touchy about other societies and cultures. Almost too careful, some thought, but Quen’die disagreed with that philosophy for the most part. Elves all over the world were different and she enjoyed such differences and felt that those interesting flavors should be respected and preserved. After all, her mother was paid to supervise such cultural sanctuary. Mavriel’s own Avalonian flavor was a large selling point to her.

  “Well, if there is one thing I am sure we both have, it’s those weird pyramids,” Quen’die changed the subject. “Corosa City has four of them right outside of town!” So much had happened to her this week that she had made little consideration of them, most of all, after sighting the strange winge
d apparition on the bluffs.

  “Yes, we have them,” Mavriel confirmed. “They’re all over the world, as far as I know. As a matter-of-fact, there is one practically in my parent’s back yard.”

  “Really?” Quen’die was stunned. “Are you worried about them?”

  “Very,” her new friend admitted with grim stoniness. “Those things are bad news. I can sense it.”

  He wasn’t overreacting in his answer. Quen’die could detect a grave concern in his voice and this made her worry about them in all actuality for the first time since the quakes. What if the reporters on the news did indeed know something about what was in them that they were too afraid to let the public know about, she wondered? Time after time, all the newsscrolls and broadcasts would feature those monoliths just sitting there with their blinking lights while some eggheads would argue over some new conspiracy every day. It was as if every channel on the screen was “The Pyramid Channel” and it all became numbing after a short while.

  “Why? Do you have any sort of theological perspective on it?” It was clear to Mavriel that she was sharing his worry now and wanted an opinion from someone other than the famed reporter Quay’liss Dalian.

  “I suppose you could say that I do, but it’s kind of complex.” He huffed out some air in exasperation and looked straight ahead. For the flash of an instant, Quen’die thought he looked so old and almost tired.

  “Well, I’m all ears,” Quen’die prodded him on.

  “I’ll tell you what, give me your phone number and we can discuss this matter later. Promise.” He turned back to her and gave her a wink and a smile. Either way, he wanted to change the conversation to something of less gravity.

  It was unbelievable. Quen’die was being asked for her number by a university student. She knew she had to respond without a skip, or else her nerves would be more than evident to this lad. She could tell he was as genuine about getting that number as he was fretful about the pyramids. So many factors plagued her mind. What would her parents think about this arrangement if they found out an older male was calling her? Mother would approve and maybe even encourage it. Father, on the other hand, would be sure to faint. To be honest, Father would faint if he saw a cockroach, so it appeared. This was one of those instances where Quen’die realized she needed to show some more backbone, and backbone she would show.

  “Okay!” she responded with much enthusiasm. “Here, let me get my phone and I’ll send it to yours.”

  “Great!” Mavriel was pleased, she could see, with her immediate gesture, even though Quen’die feared she may have looked too desperate. One of these days, she figured she would master the art of playing hard to get, but with this elf she didn’t want to waste much time. It almost seemed an imperative by a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that they at least remain friends.

  “One thing you must know,” the elf began. “I’m staying in a youth hostel temporarily because our dorms got evacuated after the quakes hit.”

  “Oh, right. I understand,” Quen’die said. “Must be pretty dingy in one of those, huh?”

  “Yeah, the food is terrible and there are plenty of big bugs crawling around, but the housewarden is really nice,” he answered to that with a feigned shudder of disgust.

  “Yo! Red!” Monti chimed over to her from down the sauna. “That tattoo you have is really capital. I didn’t know you were the type to get one.” Quen’die wondered why Monti was trying to catch glimpses of her ever since she had disrobed the gown.

  “Oh, this?” She stood up from the bench and pointed to the infinity-shaped blemish on her belly below her navel. The maiden noticed that Mavriel was studying it like her mother would ancient crockery. “No, that’s a birthmark, Face.”

  “You should get that worked over at a shop downtown. I know this lady who is an amazing artist. She does all of mine,” he advised. “Look at all these! They’re the best!” Monti stood up and posed in order to give everyone present a vain exhibition of his ink and muscles. Some of the work was temporary henna and some of it was permanent cuttlefish ink. Most of it was a gallery of machismo with designs such as skulls and flames. Everyone was rolling their eyes and laughing at his impromptu biological art gallery.

  “That isn’t the first time someone said that in the last twenty-four hours, Face.” Quen’die looked over to Lauryl’la who met her glance with yet another eye roll and a smirk.

  “I think you should just leave it as is,” Mavriel commented. His tone sounded strange, almost as if altering it in any way was a matter of national security.

  “Yeah, I suppose. I’ve always wanted to get some ink, but I don’t know how my parents would react,” she admitted to him and felt very young again the second after she said that. Sometimes she needed to watch what she blurted and think about how others might respond. This kind of sociability was so new to her and she reasoned that she would figure it all out one day; at least the important stuff.

  “Speaking of blemishes,” Quen’die pointed to the bandage wrapped around Mavriel’s wrist. “What happened to your arm?”

  “That was an accident I had in the kitchen,” he explained. “I got a bit of a grease burn. That’s all.”

  “Oh, sorry to hear that,” she said.

  A recent fashion for many young elves throughout the kingdom was the cutting and burning of themselves and it had developed into something of a self-destructive craze. Quen’die had to wonder when she saw the wrapping if Mavriel was one of that multitude, but he seemed to hold himself with too much confidence and calm that such a behavior out of him figured most unlikely.

  “Hey, everyone,” Monti interrupted the group once again. “Let’s scram, guys. I’m so tired already and this sauna is making me doze off.”

  After collecting all of their personables, the elves navigated their way through the tunnels of Sig’ryn’s treehouse. They chatted with each other as they journeyed to the main lift about what a great time they had and gossiped about Venn’lith. As the group crossed the games’ room, their way was blocked by a trio of elves.

  “I think - I think I smell Zobbo stink,” Hyrax Arcovis slurred from his sloppy lips. Garb’ann was still holding him upright as the immense amount of alcohol he had consumed that night made such a stance almost impossible for him. The look on his face was murderous. Ferd’inn haughtily and, perhaps through his duty to his alpha male, chuckled at his friend’s drunken jibe. He held his tablet aloft which was loaded with stats and figures of the sunwheel games’ winnings from earlier that night.

  “Oh yeah?” Cheatsheet challenged. “How about I help you with that when I rip your nose off your face?” The young Zobbo stepped in front of Lauryl’la and blocked her in a protective manner with his squat frame. Mavriel held him back with his hand. Quen’die took note of this gesture and was pleased to see his instant reaction of pacification. When she looked at her new friend’s grim face, she saw it relax in an instant and, once again, she could have sworn that his eyes flashed.

  Hyrax turned his head and, in one movement, vomited square in Garb’ann’s face. His oafish friend took the full brunt of the regurgitated alcohol he had consumed all night long and he looked like he was going to die from the utterly foul experience. Ferd’inn Kokoff’s eyes widened to the size of discuses as he clutched his tablet across his chest to guard it from Hyrax’s flash.

  “Gods! I’m gonna puke!” The dapper young elf ran off from his friends; his long legs stomping through the games’ room to the nearest lavatory. As his comrade spirited off, Garb’ann’s bewildered eyes rolled back into his head as he fell down on his back in a faint. His limited brain could not process the shock of what had just happened to him as it was beyond his belief. Hyrax’s intestinal muck covered his entire face and flooded his senses. With no toady to hold him for support, Hyrax too fell down across the body of his unconscious comrade.

  “That is so disgusting!” Princess squealed as she jumped up and down in imagined pain. “I hate barf! I hate barf!”

 
“Me too,” On’dinn agreed as his face folded into menace. “That is, except when it’s on a moronic troll like Tal’liss Garb’ann.” The young elf strode over to his bully from a few days before and lorded over his slumped form. “Payback is always around the corner, idiot.”

  “Yeah,” Monti joined him. “Goodnight, sweet princes. Hope you had a great time!” With that, he gave Hyrax a swift kick to his side. Monti was no stranger to Hyrax’s gibes and monkey shines either as the elitist runta captain gave the Zobbo a hard time quite often due to his poverty.

  Pumpkin packed her own farewell to the fainted pair. “Looking really good, guys. Looking really good.”

  So many revelations had reared their heads tonight for Quen’die. Hyrax Arcovis was nothing but a drunken bully who tormented some genuine and decent people. No matter what his accolades or his pretty face could hide, underneath it all he was no better than a freak like that Travius who tried to kill the king as far as she was concerned. Venn’lith could, without a doubt, have him for all she cared and the two made the perfect vile couple. It was certain to Quen’die this event would have its consequences for her come runta season, but that was far off and maybe things would turn around for the better by then. The night was over and it had its close calls, but over all she had an excellent evening.

  Outside in the courtyard, the group was saying their respective goodbyes. The Zobbos filed into their utility coach and Tam’laa hopped into her convertible with On’dinn.

  “See you all until later, guys” Tam’laa chimed out from the open cab. “I need to take this vagabond home before his father forgets he ever existed.” To that, On’dinn raised a silent hand signaling his goodbye. He was trying to hide a smile from his face in order to appear aloof, but the act was failing as his mouth was bursting with glee.

  “What about you, Mavriel?” Quen’die asked. She had hoped deep in her soul that he would offer to go back with her and Lauryl’la, but that was also a scary notion. No matter what kind of connection she felt with this elf, he was still a stranger when it came down to brass tacks.

  “I’m going to hop the tram downtown,” he informed her as he gestured with his thumb in the direction of the city’s center. “I have a few things I need to do tonight when I get back. Classes resume on Moonday, you know.”

  “Eww, don’t remind me,” Lauryl’la responded to that with a contrived wince. “I was spoiled with this surprise vacation. It almost feels like I’m an adult or something.” An offer of a ride to the plains elf was on the edges of Lauryl’la’s lips until it was cut off.

  “Hey!” Cheatsheet shouted from the cab of the Zobbo’s coach to her. He made an invisible manaphone with his thumb and little finger. “Call me up!”

  “Yeah! I will!” Quen’die’s friend seemed excited at the prospect of seeing the little Zobbo again. They would make a cute, if rather odd couple if it worked out, but knowing the capricious nature of both Lauryl’la and the Zobbos, such a pairing would be fleeting at the most. Perhaps it was best Cheatsheet had interrupted, Quen’die considered. To see Lauryl’la happy like that was well deserved for the wonderful night to which she had treated her. Mavriel could wait until later; after all, she now had his number.

  “Until later then, Rylla Gorilla,” Cheatsheet flirted as he slapped the door of the coach.

  “Andrex,” Lauryl’la called back in an almost motherly tone with one eyebrow raised. “You’re really cute and all, but don’t ever call me that again.”

  Venn’lith’s Week of Blunders

  Her scream resounded throughout the spacious bathroom and was only accentuated by the giant clam shell which formed the tub. Ever since fleeing the party earlier that night, she had let out these pained caterwauls at least a dozen times. The only thing that felt tolerable to her was the feeling of getting the muck of the party off her skin. Fruit, alcohol, elixirs and the gods-only-knew-what other varieties of filth were pelted by those vile elves at Sig’ryn’s. To have such a stink permeate her coach on the frantic way home only formed a just cause to junk the coupe and shop for another one. How she would explain the reason to her father would have to wait as her mind was consumed by schemes of revenge.

  Just outside the marble bathroom, Ping was stifling sobs while doubled over as Venn’lith had been compelled to thrash her stomach in an effort to release the night’s tension. Thoughts of running back home to Tel’lemuria were always in the back of the sea elf’s mind, but now they were up front and center. Was imprisonment in the salt mines of Mongg for something she didn’t do preferable to this lavish torture? It was true, many beatings would be bestowed upon her and at a higher frequency for perceived offenses there, but with Venn’lith, those beatings were so personal, and that was a consideration to weigh. If all else failed, there was the arsenic she had been stowing away, but would even the Atlantean dungeons be a better arrangement than this, she wondered?

  Venn’lith too was sobbing as she nursed her broken ego between bouts of screaming. Her heavy makeup which she had applied for tonight’s appearance was still streaming down her face and she had to check and double-check for any last vestiges of streaking. Perhaps next time it would be better to go for a more natural look, but that would be admitting defeat and relenting to the machinations of those traitorous fools who dared to call themselves her friends. It was only the money and glamour that they liked. It was only the close proximity of reveling in a luxury that they just were not born to ever have, no matter how hard they tried. Even Sig’ryn’s and Ferd’inn Kokoff’s family fortunes were no match for the Mitlan’s and they too knew it.

  People from all walks underneath hers love abuse, the sun elf mused. Why would someone like Ping persist with her behavior without protest, much less quitting or running away back to her primitive land? Why would her classmates, male and female alike, boomerang right back to her even after she had smeared them across the walls and the halls of the school? Self-loathing was the only answer to her philosophy, and she figured that doling out such pain was all a part of the job of being Venn’lith. Revenge, on the other hand, was not a simple social test, but a gallant beast that needed grooming and proper care. The main question was: who was responsible for the repulsive spectacle made of her earlier tonight?

  So many possibilities for fault were apparent that night as she backtracked though the events while she smeared liquid mana on her skin in order to exfoliate. Although the water was hot, her heart was cold and that, of course, was when revenge was best served. Venn’lith prided herself on leaving behind the insurmountable odds against her at that party. She figured that she could have done something of spectacular crudeness within eyeshot of all her moronic peers, but that would have been déclassé at best. Aside from being bad form, payback needed planning and precision or else the guilty party may flee scot free and she could remain none the wiser. Her father dealt with this sort of thing and dealt with it well at least once a month with his mergers and corporate takeovers. Such success was not attained though a wonton tantrum. Why was she surrounded by such simple, stupid people, she lamented? Her compatriots back home held themselves with so much more class than these Atlantean barbarians, although she hated them too.

  Once the bath was finished and she had collected herself in full, she found herself more in a mood to get on that phone and begin making the calls to the proper channels; if there were any left. Venn’lith considered it fortunate that her father was off on a dinner date with some lady from one of the circles. They all loved his Xochian charm, and more so, his success. Ever since her birth mother died when she was but an elfling, he had treated her to two different step-mothers. The last of them was hospitalized from a nervous breakdown all thanks to the elfmaid’s designs. It would not be long before she had a new one, she assumed, but she hoped that Father would at least wait until she was off at a university somewhere before he did. Father did have a way with the ladies, however, and to hope for such a delay in his appetite for the opposite sex was the washiest of wishes.

&nbs
p; “Ping! Robe and lotions! Now!” she screeched within the echo of the bathroom. She wasn’t angry with her anymore, she just needed to engage in some detective work now that she had composed herself better, and timing was of the essence. So many forces were working against her at that moment that she needed to make sure she had the initiative. Classes resumed Moonday, and the last thing Venn’lith needed was a repeat of the night’s travesty lasting up until the end of the school year.

  After she had covered herself and dried off without an apology to the housewarden for tonight’s beating, she rushed her way to her bedroom and spied her phone lying on her leopardskin bedspread where she had flung it earlier in a rage. For the most part, she was not afraid of other people as they were lesser lives and their deficit wasn’t anything to worry about in her opinion, but at that moment, she feared that a volley of taunts and abuses were waiting for her in her inbox as these people felt they for once had the power to exercise their jealousy of her.

  Jealousy. That was the core of their behavior toward her tonight, she thought as she pulled the mudscrub off her face. There were no blemishes to be seen, as always, and that made her feel a bit lifted for the task to come. It mattered not what the Princes listed in their pathetic song about her that enraged the crowd, it was their reptilian wish to see someone who had everything their tiny hearts desired be knocked down a peg and nothing more.

  With a touch of apprehension, Venn’lith stared at the solid solitude of the manaphone on the covers after she had applied a light amount of makeup. Her worry made the device seem far away, but she, with much haste, put that anxiety behind her as such feelings were the enemy to success, and succeed she would.

  Just as the maiden had expected, the list of inbox messages was spiraling out of control. Upon viewing the headers of the mail, she could see that many of them promised an insulting report. Every one of those names that carried such dismal sentiment were saved without the skip of a beat and cataloged for an eventual reprisal. Of the hundred or so calls, at least ninety percent of them sparked in her mind the insectoid pang of rage upon her quick perusal:

  “Hey Lith, you got what was coming.”- Menn’die Quel’ya

  “You looked like a clown tonight. Glad to help you with your makeup!”- Pinn Dor’maa

  “Good riddance to bad trash.”- Gai Ro’dann

  “Awww, did the widdle elfwing get her feewings hurt?”- Cad’die Bel’acqua

  “It’s all fun and games until someone gets trash in her hair.”- Mad’die Bel’acqua

  “Good. I hate you.”- Lauryl’la Hay’cenn

  “You’re fat.”- Sinti Dell’lavio

  That was the last straw; she burned as the expensive model sailed across the bedroom and lodged itself with true aim into the stucco wall. Its speaker was still exposed and it wailed its announcement of malfunction - “Manalink severed! Manalink severed!”

  “Good! I hate you too! And I’m not FAAAT!” she screamed at the now-derelict half of the phone. With that, she hopped over to her gigantic mirror in a frenzy to double-check her dimensions and saw that the message was an envious lie. Her form was perfect, so she could tell, as not one excess ounce of skin could be tugged from it and such an accusation must have been made by a female whose body was probably the consistency of cottage cheese.

  It was certain that Ping would require another beating if she read one more file from that dreaded inbox, but she needed to collect herself once again and check to see if all that smelled was not spice. Perhaps there was a benevolent voice amongst all of that green-eyed spite.

  From out of her dresser, she chose another phone from the twenty or so backups and readied herself for a replay of the assault of malice. With a deep breath, she activated an older, less-advanced model which sang its tune of greeting.

  With her bottom lip between her perfect teeth, she did see a ray of light in the foul gloom. It was a message header from Ferd’inn Kokoff. She had never minded him that much as he was one of Hyrax’ best friends and he drove a nice convertible coach. He wasn’t even close to being as cute as Hyrax, but at least he wasn’t a sloppy drunk like the runta champ. There was no doubt that the young elf carried some form of a crush for her, what male didn’t, but he was a little more tolerable than many of the lads at her school with their pathetic offers of their affections. Ferd’inn carried an ambience of class and poise which even Hyrax couldn’t match. After all, Hyrax wasn’t that wealthy by any means and that detracted from his ability to have some of the better experiences in life that she and Ferd’inn could afford. Hyrax was just a pretty face for the time being, whereas Ferd’inn was someone whom she could better relate to. For instance, he was much better traveled and had visited many different kingdoms in his sixteen years, whereas Hyrax had barely even left Corosa City’s environs.

  Speaking of Hyrax, he had indeed left her an inebriated sweet-nothing on her phone: “Oh my drunk, I’m god…”

  Whatever, she thought. If ever there was a big loser that night, it was him. When he had imbibed his fourth stein of mead in the matter of a half hour, she began to raise her latticed eyebrows. When he began to slur his speech, she began to wonder if he did this kind of thing often, but when he first fell off the sunwheel stool which required Garb’ann to hold him upright, she had become disgusted with his behavior and smell and sashayed elsewhere. Many had accused her of desultory actions in her life, but that was a scene that she did not want to associate herself with as it signified the making of bums and burnouts.

  Ferd’inn’s message was intriguing to say the least: “Lith, we have to meet tonight. I’m so sorry for what happened to you and I know you probably need someone to talk to. Got some weird stuff to tell you. Meet me at the Sea and Shell if interested.”

  What could be weirder than total public humiliation, Venn’lith wondered? Ferd’inn may have some answers to more of her questions and perhaps he would be so kind as to accomplice in her revenge, but she needed more information. She hoped he at least had an inkling of it. If she let the male in on her schemes, he would have to be the one and only. Too many confidants spoiled the plan as so many lips were loose. That was another parcel of advice her father had learned in his cutthroat industry.

  She went over to one of her massive closets and chose an elegant white mohair camisole that was collared with albino rhea down. Except for sports gear, everything she wore was extravagant, even casual wear for late-night jaunts to the coffee shop. So many Atlantean females would dress down in public like they thought that they were so beautiful that they could make a go of it with ease. The majority of them were dead wrong about such notions.

  Beating Ping again was no longer a priority for Venn’lith, so the young sea elf was spared further bodily harm that night. The Xochian could waste little more time and cast her coach to life; peeling out of her estate’s courtyard causing the vehicle’s mana to make a nerve-shattering howl. “DONK!”

  The cab still smelled like the floor of a nightclub mingled with the alley of a brothel. The teen had so much trash thrown on her that the mixture of foul odors was lingering in her mind and she expected that they would not leave it for days to come. What a horrible development, she thought as her eyes widened trancelike to blot out the olfactory memory.

  “Capso olla gouf!” she chanted with a growl to the cab as it sprayed relieving perfumes of minty orange into the coach’s fuselage. Yes, she would be certain to have to beg Father to buy her a new one as the stink of that humiliation would never leave this particular model. Not even their coachmaster would be able to dispel the skunkish reek of her blunder that night. How she would cover her odorous story to Papi would have to wait until later. He was easy to convince as she was his only jewel of the tropics. One plan at a time, she noted, and the plan at hand was revenge. First on the methodical list of the to-be-fallen were the Gonduanna Princes. They messed up big time as far as Venn’lith was concerned. While steering the coach’s trackball with one hand, she slapped her spare manaphone with all the might of
She’vashh, the god of revenge himself against her hip.

  Youf Mal’maa was the recording executive of Garma Music who represented the Gonduanna Princes. The corpulent Kamdenite was responsible for launching many a career in the field of contemporary barddom. Acts from all over the world in genres of various flavors were indebted to the mogul for their renown and success. He was the winner of many musical and industry awards, as was the talent in his tightly-controlled stable. Never was he a lord to be crossed, as he could break an entire career with one phone call, and today he would make such a break.

  “Ah, Lith! What a surprise to hear from you!” he greeted in his rolling Kamdenite tongue, of which the sun elf teen was fluent. “It must be, eh, 4 a.m. over where you are. Do you have an emergency, my dear?” At his company headquarters in the city of Luzz, it was already a bright, sunny morning in the tropical oasis, save for their own pyramid’s shadow which was blocking the wonderful view of his corner office.

  “You can bet I have an emergency!” she screeched to the friend of her family. “The Gonduanna Princes publically humiliated me in front of a crowd of at least, eh, a thousand elves!” She lied with that figure, as there were only about six hundred soaking wet that night, but a little embellishment never hurt to pack in the message.

  “My dearest Lith, no! They would never…” Venn’lith had no time for this excuse from the fat tycoon as the Princes’ career in music had to end posthaste. It was imperative.

  “Oh yes they would!” she broke into sobs which were somewhat genuine. All the events of tonight’s disgrace were dredged from the front of her mind to cull more tears. It was a rather easy ploy for a manipulative maiden like her. “They made the whole crowd… Oh, I can’t say it,” she continued to bawl her woe into the high elf’s chubby ears half the world away.

  “Listen, my little…,” his term of endearment was severed.

  “J-Just finish them! Now!” her scream could not be suppressed with success by the manaflow as the timbre of her voice squelched over the link. “They threw trash at me and ruined my gown in front of everyone for no reason! They even made me the subject of tonight’s version of Tell the Truth!”

  “Venn’lith,” he began with an air of professionalism. “I just cannot merely disengage an entire business relationship with those lads. They are some of my biggest moneymakers worldwide! Practically all of elfdom loves the Princes! They are even a huge hit up in Avalon! No, I cannot do this.”

  “Oh, but you will do this or my father will make sure that you are back on the street corners of Luzz playing the SPOONS!” she peaked the connection again with that wail.

  Youf came from humble beginnings and she knew that he feared ever retuning to them. This was not an idle threat either, as Centeo Mitlan funded over sixty percent of Garma Music’s holdings worldwide. Whether or not she could convince her Papi to pull that financial plug on the mogul’s lucrative operation remained to be seen, but if she recounted the Princes’ behavior to him in detail, Youf would, without a doubt, get an earful from the Xochian lord. “You have until today to finish them! If I even see one of their tunes posted for sale at so much as a single Manamart site by sundown, I am going straight to my father!”

  With just a little more convincing via threat to his livelihood, the high elf relented to the petite demon’s demands. With a heavy heart and an elephantine pang of professional regret, Youf hung up with the teen and made the fateful call to the manabank which provided the uplink to all the corporation’s music files for distribution and sale. By 3 p.m. that afternoon, never again were the sounds of The Gonduanna Princes able to be bought or sold on the open market. All over the world, elves were confused and dismayed to see that their screens, phones, and any other media devices that had their music stored on them were wiped clean from the flow. From that day foreword, the Princes’ sounds could only be hummed from the lips of those that remembered them all because a spoiled maiden got her feelings hurt. By 4 p.m. that same day, small youth-led riots popped across the globe here and there demanding the Princes’ return, but such uprisings were quashed by various methods depending on the municipality. In the icy city of Lap’paa, Thuless’in, Borggi Dom’hulder (age seventeen) was shot and killed by an overzealous civil warden in the courtyard of their local Manamart during one such riot. That particular warden soon received a promotion despite much public outcry. As history had shown, however, Thuless’in had never been famous for its civil rights.

  As Venn’lith sped at dizzying speeds though the highways skirting the city, she felt a nagging feeling of being followed. Upon adjusting her rearview mirror, she could see the shape of a municipal flitcycle tailing her with its lights a complete dark in the cobalt-blue gloaming of the hours of the last watches. With a defiant cry, the maiden accelerated her coach while the warden matched her speed. “Let the bull read my tags,” she growled through gritted teeth. “My father practically owns the civil wardens too!”

  It was apparent the warden did exactly that, as after a few moments of chase he sped over to her side. From under his armored visor, he raised his gloved hand with a dutiful farewell: all clear. Venn’lith was immune to his law enforcement for such trivial matters as driving too fast and she knew it. She met his goodbye by shooting him a rude gesture to which he flew off in the other direction in hopes of nabbing someone who had no such disclaimers. She was born with societal powers above most of the gentry and such power she took for granted by this segment of her life.

  “Ferd’inn, are you there already?” she called into her phone with the sharp authority she had often used with her male peers. It was always good to hold the upper hand with the lads because they underestimated her while they tried their best to keep their lecherous thoughts of her at bay.

  “Hey! Lith! Yeah, I’m already at the S and S. It isn’t too terribly crowded at this hour, so that will allow us to talk.” Ferd’inn was always the most rational of Hyrax’s “Terrible Trio” and spending some time colluding with him tonight might be just what the doctor ordered. It could always be worse; she could be stuck speaking with the monosyllabic Garb’ann.

  “Good. Can you recognize any of those fools from the party tonight over there?” The last thing Venn’lith needed was a rehash of tonight’s trashing by getting her lovely sweater doused with mochas from the patronage. Of course, if that were to happen, she and Ferd’inn would be ready and more in control of the situation. That travesty from earlier tonight was blindsiding and she was caught off her guard. Now she was more aware than ever of her surroundings and those surroundings she would make sure to master.

  With some pause, Ferd’inn scanned the café. “No, I think all those guys are either passed out or asleep by now. The only group I can see is a clutch of Communals down from the grape vineyards. Stinking the place up, of course, so do bring some perfume.”

  “No amount of any scent will kill the stink of a Communal, Ferd’inn,” she said with her spite for the political group.

  “This is true,” he agreed with his usual haughtiness.

  “Whatever. I’ll be there in five,” she slapped the phone asleep while maintaining her dangerous speed.

  The Sea and Shell Trading Company was all but empty at that hour of the early morning as Ferd’inn had reported. The blue ambience of the approaching day contrasted in beautiful wonder with the warm yellow and orange glows of the café as the temperature changed with a rapid rise to create a film of dewy steam that covered the windows of the establishment. Venn’lith was exhausted in body and in soul from all the drama the night had punished her with, and the café’s somber atmosphere was even more lulling. It was almost like going to an early morning funeral at the temple of the dead; an event she never wanted to partake in any time soon. Regardless, there was too much to learn and too much to be done if she was ever going to put this situation right by Moonday when school resumed. She needed coffee and chocolate and she needed it hours ago.

  Ferd’inn was sitting in the back of the café over by the bist
ro’s archway tapping and chanting into his tablet various facts and figures of importance. The elf seemed to have a surgical attachment to that thing and it was something of a chore to rend him from it. As he had warned, a grubby collection of the proletariat Communals was huddled in the bistro discussing whatever self-important revolution they wanted to spark. One of their numbers, a skinny female with long dreaded hair wrapped in a multicolored scarf had a lute with her. Venn’lith vowed that if she so much as struck one chord on that thing that she would saunter over there, rip it from her hands and bash it over her malodorous head. It was much too early in the morning for music of any sort, but the worst of all was the acoustic whinging from a Communal.

  “Good morning to you, Ferd’inn,” she began with mock sweetness. “By the gods, it smells like an armpit in here!” she finished with a menacing bark directed at the Communals beyond the arch.

  Ferd’inn chuckled at his comrade’s angry wit. “Well, well… I see you are in rare form, my dear. And you look amazing!” He was quite honest in his critique as she could tell by the gleam in his eyes from behind his circular spectacles.

  Not long after sitting down, Venn’lith was greeted by a barista from the café’s bar. She looked like she had been through the wringer and possessed a dazed look in her eyes. Her short hair was unfashionable in length and seemed as if it hadn’t been washed in a couple of days and the sun elf assumed that she was addicted so some form of narcotic. Under usual circumstances, she would not touch anything served to her by such a wretched being, but she needed the rousing bolt to the senses that only the caffeine of coffee and chocolate could deliver. The barista moaned a request for her order but could barely open her mouth while doing it. Her nametag read “Minnie.”

  “Eh…Tangerine mocha. Large,” the Xochian ordered as she flashed the barista a rude and unabashed look of disgust mixed with suspicion. “Oh, and try not to touch it with your hands, either.”

  “Tangerine…mocha…large…don’t…touch,” the zonked barista parroted, never blinking.

  “Looks like someone’s been getting into the lotus juice, eh?” Venn’lith assumed to her friend.

  “Yeah! Isn’t that weird? She’s been like that all night. She’s definitely on something,” he agreed in a hushed tone. Ferd’inn was a bit more inconspicuous than Hyrax or Venn’lith with his elitist attitude at times. “These kinds of places will hire any dreg from society.”

  “This is true,” the sun elf intoned while still looking at the zombie-like shamble of the employee. “Thank the gods I don’t have to work. If I had a job like this, I too would have to indulge in some manner of emotional assistance. The drudgery must be torture.”

  “Speaking of bad habits,” Venn’lith said as she pulled a slim jade pipe from her purse which she inserted into her mouth with a loud clack.

  “Why do you bother with that thing?” Ferd’inn rolled his eyes at her pretentious prop. “You don’t even smoke!” Sometimes Venn’lith could be something of a pomp, not that he could argue against his own dandyism, but now and again his own idiosyncrasies could be quite an annoyance when performed by others.

  “I’m, eh…what do you call it? I’m orally fixated or something. My mother died when I was an elfling,” she shrugged.

  Rema Mitlan was Centeo Mitlan’s first wife and Venn’lith’s mother. She passed away due to an apparent coach accident when Venn’lith was three years old. Although it was in bad form, her father had replaced her almost a month later with a new stepmother. Because of this, many rumors about the precise nature of Rema’s demise had wafted throughout the upper social circles back home in Xo’chi, as many of Centeo’s associates were suspicious. The young maiden had claimed that her mother’s funeral was her first memory. Her father’s peers and associates had surmised that her somewhat disagreeable nature had stemmed from this event, but the maiden disputed with such suppositions. Those were the voices of sycophantic losers who were vultures to her family’s name and such people would love nothing more than to take their petty jabs to assert what little power they felt they had.

  “Hmm…I’ll give up my tablet if you give up your pipe,” Ferd’inn half-joked.

  “Exactly,” she doused his challenge. Why in the Nine Hells she would bother divulging such weakness and personal disclosure to a mere school chum was nagging the back of her mind with some regret. Venn’lith hoped she wasn’t developing some semblance of affection for this scrollworm now that Hyrax had been revealed to be a complete loss.

  “So anyway,” her friend leaned in. “After you stormed out, things got really weird at that party.”

  She straightened up her posture in defense. “I’m listening.”

  “We were all up at the sunwheel tables. I really wanted to catch the Princes, but we had to nurse dear Hyrax. He got even drunker and, by that time, I said to him and Garb’ann that we had to leave before the lad got liquor poisoning. Besides, it was in bad form and I was getting embarrassed by it all. Then up strolls - guess who?” Ferd’inn’s eyes lit up.

  “Let me guess. Her name rhymes with trash.” Her chocolate eyes turned stygian. It was a clear autonomic sign when Venn’lith was disturbed.

  “You got it, friend. Quen’die Reyliss and a gaggle of sunbaked Zobbos,” he packed in his info with a cocky snap.

  “Typical of the little wench to commiserate with such muck.” Thinking about her was beginning to make her blood boil because she had a dreadful suspicion that her plan from earlier tonight was compromised by the red-headed maiden.

  “But there was this other guy with them whom I’ve never met. This tall, blond lad. He looked a bit older, like he may be at University. It was so weird. Hyrax tried to start some drama with them, and this newcomer tried to break it up. He was obviously with Quen’die. Then, I swear to the twelve gods that his eyes flashed with a strange light and that was when…” Ferd’inn’s delicate sensibilities couldn’t take the vile memory of Hyrax’s circus of vomit.

  “What happened?” her eyes widened with curiosity.

  “Hyrax puked square into Garb’ann’s face on cue.” He slumped back into his seat to pack in the point.

  The Xochian couldn’t stop tittering. She even let her guard down and let out a couple of snorts. It was all too hilarious. Hyrax deserved every bit of it and anyone who really knew him would say the same. Even his “loyal” friend met her chuckles and they shared that moment of mirth in the dawning of the new cloudy day from beyond the window.

  Her tone changed almost with a snap. It was her! It had to be. Quen’die Reyliss. “I have to do something about Quen’die.”

  “What? Quen’die?” Ferd’inn gave the sun-maiden a plaintive look of disbelief. “Nah…she had nothing to do with that. What kind of influence could that little scamp have?”

  “That is a good question, but I know that she had some part to play in what happened to me tonight. I know she hasn’t the money to counter my bribe to the Princes, but she had to have been responsible for tonight’s smearing of my good name somehow.” Venn’lith failed to divulge anything about her foul demands of the maiden the other night. That would be kept in her back pocket as she didn’t want her trump card to backfire.

  “How do you expect to do it?” Ferd’inn was all pointed ears again as he moved in for the conspiracy. The lad loved a good strategy.

  “I’m not totally sure about that yet,” she said as she met her friend’s posture. “Perhaps we can find more out about this new guy and use him sort of as leverage against her,” she was gesturing in a wild circle with a manicured nail of finest veneer. “The last thing I need is for her to become insulated in a new romance. Besides, either way…,” she sat back proudly with cocked eyebrows.

  Ferd’inn was now ravenously interested. “What…?”

  “Besides, I have an angle.” As if the gods were in her favor, her phone sang to her on cue, “Maiden Venn’lith, Father calls you.” The Xochian’s eyes lit up with unrestrained joy. “Change of plans.”

  �
�Lith, it’s Papi. Where are you?” Lord Mitlan rambled with his tired voice on the other end of the flow.

  “Oh, I’m just at the Sea and Shell with a friend.” Her chirp was as saccharine as ever. She spoke with her father in their native tongue.

  “Fine, fine. Please do come home soon, I just got in. I was having a long dinner with Lady Reyliss. You remember her from the other night, yes?”

  Venn’lith was ecstatic. She turned to Ferd’inn with lighting speed and gave him a look of wonder as she puckered her lush lips into the form of a surprised “o.” The plan was set and all the pieces were in place; such perfection signaled the time to strike.

  “Eh, yes, Papi, I remember her.” Her voice was even sweeter with the juices of sheer delight.

  “Yes, of course. So how was your night, little Mija?” She could tell his voice was losing interest in her already as it was common for him to do. Even though he vowed to take Sunday off, she could tell that he was champing at the bit to get back to his stocks.

  “Ohh…not so good, Papi. We need to talk.” Ferd’inn could see his friend’s face morph from her genuine cheer into a feigned pout that would make any father on Earth weep. She was good, he noted.

  “Yes, of course. We should have dinner together, as I have much good news to tell you.”

  “Yes, Papi. I cannot wait to hear it,” to that she rolled her eyes and smiled a beaming grin at the same time.

  After she disconnected, she gave her compatriot a vigorous thumbs-up. Whatever it was the two discussed had to have proved a certain fortuity. Ferd’inn spoke quite a few languages and dialects from around the world, but as his luck would have it, Xochian wasn’t one of them. He made a mental note to study it one day.

  Venn’lith couldn’t contain her thrill. After a night of sheer social horror, things were coming around again. Such was the lot of a successful person, and to be a successful person was her destiny. It was true, the higher you rose in life, the harder you could fall, but there was a point where one was too great to fall. Venn’lith figured she was born beyond such a mark. “I think I’m in business!”

  “What? I don’t quite follow…,” Ferd’inn began, but was halted by the sun elf’s hand wrapping around the back of his head. It was a time of great celebration for the two and she kissed him deeply in her unfettered merriment. Today was going to be a grand day for the both of them.

  “I’ll tell you all about it soon. But you must come with me to my coach. Now!” This was becoming all the more interesting, thought Ferd’inn as he read pure lust in his comrade’s eyes.

  While the clean and happy young couple set off to rejoice their good fortune, Minn’dre Harvatt was not feeling so well. Not only did she fail to complete Venn’lith’s order, she was unable to perform simple tasks like walk a straight line.

  Forces were so chaotic in her mind and body ever since she woke up face-down on her lawn the other day that she didn’t know how to compose herself. She couldn’t figure out why she even bothered coming into work that day, but what else was there to do? Visiting a health warden would be the best idea, but such a notion had slipped her mind, as did many other concepts. She was running on pure urge, almost as if that urge was someone else’s. At 5:15 a.m., Minn’dre Harvatt had fallen face-first onto the floor of the Sea and Shell Trading Company’s kitchen. She woke up four hours later in a hospital ward.

  Sixty Seconds over Corosa

  With only a mere half-minute of flight, Sammian had broken past the earth’s radiation belt and reached libration point L2. It was there the elves’ godsrail rested in geostationary orbit. This mile-long track of machinery made it possible for the earth’s celestianauts to catapult their godswheels via vibrational attunement through time and space with a course plotted for Mars. Although the device had only one destination, it worked much like the pyramids to get to and from different dimensions of reality. At regular intervals alongside the track, large orbs full of mana pulsed at the ready to power the next sortie to their smaller sister planet. Primitive, she thought, but still effective.

  It was apparent that this new application which harnessed the earth’s mana was being further researched for personal use. Manaphysics maestro Dr. Bimi Veren’jee from Kumari, who spearheaded the development of the godsrail, had left scrolls upon scrolls of notes for a concept known as singular teleportation prior to his death. In theory, each elf had the ability to transverse time and space, much like the godswheel, from point to point almost in an instant. Such an amazing new ability would, of course, need to be planned by environment and transportation wardens to allay any chaos caused by elves popping up to and fro all over the world at random. This system was being argued back and forth by elders across boardrooms everywhere, as this was the only obstacle left between elfdom and instantaneous, coachless travel.

  Then there was this Minn’dre; her new ward. Why Lucifer had assigned her to watchhound this young maiden still boggled her mind and made her a bit nervous. Yes, he was correct, accidents did happen, but with his mind and machinations, even the most glowing success could become a great travesty at the flip of a coin. His retribution for failure was horrible and legendary so she knew that she could not do anything less than make this scheduled massacre a testament to all of the earth that Mars was off limits. When she completed this task, she would be made a goetic general for sure. The last thing she wanted was to have the love of her life replace her with a little elf who worked in a smelly coffee shop, but stranger things had happened with the Infernal Lord, so she was told.

  After passing the godsrail, Sammian folded her moth-like wings around her sides like a spotted cocoon. She closed her eyes with a gentle slowness and crossed her legs within the points of her wings’ tips. It was a long way to her target and she couldn’t stand the boredom of flying though the absolute-zero expanses of blackness and space trash for days. As she hurtled out of wide orbit, she took one last look behind her and saw that Earth was indeed beautiful. Millions of far-flung miles were ahead of her, and she prayed to her new master until the self-imposed trance had washed over her. Much like any elf, she prayed for love, success and happiness.

 

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