by M.C. O'Neill
***
The Ward of Acquisition and Archives was Glynna Reyliss’ domain and sanctum sanctorum. Scrolls upon scrolls and tomes upon tomes of information, some thousands of years old lined the shelves, and tablets of all makes and models rested in their manabeds to be on constant recharge. In the back of the office, a storage room housed relics and curiosities throughout the centuries which she had acquired from many expeditions and archeological digs.
Glynna was proud of these findings as they reflected her toughness and bravery. Some of the items housed in this enigmatic chamber had required almost heroic effort to obtain, and her children and their friends sometimes nicknamed her “Lauryl’la Kroff’tin” in honor of the fictional adventurous heroine of the popular video game series. Nevertheless, Glynna protected her little realm with ferocity and no one was allowed in it without the proper authorization.
She played with her thick red braid as it wrapped around her shoulders and into her finely manicured nails like a boa. Thoughts of Centeo Mitlan would not leave her mind no matter how hard she tried to expel them, and it was as simple as that. For the last month or so, Glynna found that her efforts to quash her feelings for him were in vain. She felt like a teen maiden again and the joy of it overrode the guilt of her affair. Just because of the Xochian, she had loved to come to work more than ever. With Ferd’inn, and even her children, it always seemed like her projects and artifacts came first, and she loved her position for the chance to study those prized objects. With Centeo, such archeological trappings were now taking the back seat to his wonderful affections. In truth, she had never even felt like this as a young maiden, as even then, her mind was consumed with scrolls and tablets and statues. These feelings in her spirit and body were never this intense. Not even with her husband.
As for her husband, she was weary of comparing him to Centeo. She was quite settled with the fact that her edgy little lord was no match for the financier. The Xochian mogul was simply superior in every respect and didn’t seem to have any flaws other than his dedication to his work. But so what, Glynna reasoned? She knew very well that she too was guilty of her own professional absorptions. Her husband just didn’t hold the same passion, in many ways, as Lord Mitlan. Such a passion for anything and everything had to be why he was so successful and Ferd’inn was, well…Ferd’inn.
Sometimes, Glynna fantasized what the sun elf was like as a child. Athletic and driven, to be certain. Most likely, he was always on the go and it was possible that he was a bit of a bully when the need arose. She supposed the difference between her husband and Centeo was that Ferd’inn hugged trees while Lord Mitlan planted them and had the absolute power to chop them down.
The red light above her door blinked. “Doctor Reyliss, you have visitors,” chimed the bell. Glynna rolled her eyes as she knew it was sure to be Ferd’inn. Centeo wouldn’t be in the office for another half hour and she and her husband were ordered to a meeting with him for some odd reason. With devilish glee, she hoped it would be him announcing to her husband his love for her, but that would be a tragic event for everyone in the end, especially the children. Either way, Glynna’s bags were all but packed and she would be a permanent fixture in the Xochian’s home in a short time. The sun elf had even informed his daughter of the bold move just last night.
“Glynna, we have a big problem here.” It was Banda Na’rundi and the look on his face was like that of a routed commander on a far-away battlefield.
“Yeah, Banda, what’s the deal?” With a thoughtless glance, she looked over at her sheepish husband who was standing behind him, almost as if he was hiding. He looked as if he had seen an actual ghost, but such a look was becoming all the more frequent out of him. Not a big deal.
“I’ll be blunt because we don’t have a lot of time,” Na’rundi boomed. “The Martian expedition has been compromised. Everyone there is dead. Killed. By what we aren’t sure, but they are not us.”
Glynna couldn’t contain her shock. Her large eyes popped out like the greenest emeralds as she clutched her pearls by reflex. “What?” she hissed in unbelievable terror.
“We just received the transmission from the apparent sole survivor of the expedition. She claimed, to the best of her knowledge, that these large, elf-like beings assaulted Cydonia and Olympus Mons and tore everything and everyone apart. ” Na’rundi bowed his braided head to collect his thoughts.
This was not the kind of defeat he was accustomed to. During the Tel’lemurian Conflict, he was at least able to try to save stranded soldiers, even if the odds were stacked against his unit. This situation was pure helplessness as the expedition was, in truth, millions of miles away.
“What are we going to do? We need to tell Centeo!” Lord Reyliss winced without any effort to hide it upon hearing his wife refer to their boss by his first name. His suspicions were growing by the day, and Lord Mitlan was on the apex of his list of prime suspects.
“One of our comm officers is already on the horn with him. We’ll worry about that later.” Na’rundi straightened himself with authority. “What I need for you to do is translate this word. The comm officer reported that these aggressors left it all over the walls in elven blood. Disgusting, I know, but I need for you to track it down for me.”
Lady Reyliss looked at the word on the tablet before her. “’KRO-TO-AN,’ she, with some thought, read aloud. “Well, I’ve never heard of it, but maybe it’s old manaspeech.”
With haste, she checked it against the infobanks on her computer and could not find it in any modern lexicon worldwide. She threw up her hands in frustration. She was much more accustomed to working under less-strict time constraints.
“Okay, it’s nowhere in the modern infobase, so maybe it’s ancient,” she surmised as she bit on a bright green thumbnail. “I’ll be in the stacks, so it’ll take a few. If everyone will please leave so I can concentrate.”
“All right, but make it only a few,” Na’rundi pointed. She hated his condescending attitude and couldn’t help roll her eyes at her imposing colleague. If this event weren’t so dire, she would have made it a point to take her dear sweet time in defiant retaliation.
Judging by the phonetic construction of the word, she mulled over any possible linguistic flavor. Never hearing the word spoken by any of its native speakers, she had to piece together missing portions of this puzzle. Its form was guttural, almost like old Atlantean, or maybe Thuless’in. The oddest thing about it was it was written by the assailants in an elven script, so there had to be some cultural connection to Earth.
It seemed like an eternity as she rummaged in the crowded stacks. Those old tomes were printed in ink, which hadn’t been used in a regular fashion in over a thousand years, as the modern elf lived in a more-or-less paperless society. Book after book, she searched for it in ancient lexicons, but could find no decisive match. It all was so frustrating, until she thought of the kingdoms of Avalon; the old home of the orcs.
She made a beeline to the Parables of Bonn’fyr, which focused on the battles of the legendary general who fought glorious campaigns against the orcs in the Second War. Her department was proud to have acquired an official first addition of the gallant tome which was almost two thousand years old and worth millions of brens.
Banda and Ferd’inn waited for an answer out by the water cooler. Reyliss was gulping down cup after cup of the cool liquid. He felt like he was going to explode from so many different little bombs planted in his thin body and spirit and he hoped H2O would defuse some of them. Most of all, he was concerned with the lost mission and the dreadful beasts that caused such a terror, but that worry was matched in equal parts with the possibility of the end of his marriage. She looked so beautiful in her office and she looked even lovelier when she sneered at him. At that instant, he knew that they would have their final argument soon, and, more likely than not, tonight. He worried about how it would affect the children as well, but he could only juggle two terrible notions at one time.
Na’rundi broke
him from his fugue of discomfort. “We need to take this problem seriously. Mitlan’s gonna pull the plug on us.”
“We don’t know that yet.” Ferd’inn couldn’t stand the bluntness of his friend sometimes, even though in the back of his mind he knew such a fate was quite possible. The elf prayed the boss would only put the project on a temporary hiatus, but Lord Reyliss knew this wasn’t a problem that would just go away on its own.
“What’s worse is, what if Travius is right about those pyramids out there,” Na’rundi was frowning even deeper in thought. “What if the pyramids are somehow linked to whatever in the Nine Hells is going on up there? That old freak had claimed being a psychic for years and half the world laughed at him, and today, we find out that he may be correct.”
“A broken clock tells the truth twice a day, Banda,” Ferd’inn let out a nervous chuckle.
“Maybe so, but come on, elf! This massacre and those pyramids’ arrival over the course of one week can’t be idle coincidence,” the gold elf was becoming perturbed with his old friend’s scientific skepticism.
“I hate it when you make an amazing point,” Ferd’inn flashed his comrade a wry look. “What do you elect we do about it?”
“I want to speak with the High Command of the ADF and at least double the forces guarding those things. We need to be prepared for an army of whatever killed our people up there to come spilling out into the streets,” his eyes widened with noticeable fear. “I can even get in touch with my superiors in the Gonduanna Forces and maybe we can lend you some surplus, if we have any left over. But you know my people will be busy with our own problems.”
“We need to wait for Mitlan to give us the go-ahead before we go running to the media with this. There will be total chaos unlike anything we’ve seen if this cat gets out of the bag.” Ferd’inn adjusted his glasses for the thousandth time. “Is there any way we can impose martial law without saying that we are?”
“No,” Banda began with a grim chuckle. “We either do it or get taken by surprise when it’s too late.”
Lady Reyliss emerged from her sanctioned office looking rather flustered. The shocked glaze to her eyes remained, but she almost seemed possessed this time. The renowned archeologist and adventurer who had stared death in the face on many a dig or expedition was never this offput by much of anything. Seeing his stalwart wife in such a frazzled state did nothing to calm her husband’s jitters.
“I found it,” she stated, as if her words were cast from steel. “It’s bad. Real bad.”
“You mean this is an earthly word?” Lord Na’rundi asked in disbelief.
“Sure. Earthly script usually denotes an earthly word,” Glynna lectured with a raised eyebrow. “You just won’t believe the source of the lingo.”
“Let’s have it,” Na’rundi stood, by reflex, at military attention. Such posturing prompted Ferd’inn to roll his eyes sometimes.
“According to The Parables of Bonn’fyr,” she began. “The word ‘KRO-TO-AN’ is ancient Avalonian. Avalonian orcish.” There was no wonder now why she appeared to have been hit by a rock. Essentially, all of them had seen terrible spirits that day and the eyes of the two males lit up as well in horror.
“Gods…,” Na’rundi covered his mouth, as if to keep a cry from escaping. “How…”
“It means ‘blood feud,’ Banda,” Glynna dropped it like a ten-ton boulder. “Simply put, orcs still live up on Mars and they hate us as much there as they did here.”
“But we’ve seen Mars! It’s uninhabited by any self-aware life!” the gold elf protested as if it would make these vile orcs somehow go away.
“Banda, we’ve only been on its surface for a mere four years,” she chided him. “Perhaps these orcs live underground or in caves like our troglodytes. After all, they weren’t the sunniest folk in ancient times, according to legend, so it’s quite plausible.”
“That does it,” Na’rundi began with gritted teeth. He was readying himself in his mind for a new and long campaign. “I’m getting on the horn with High Command.”
“Ah, but we have to wait for the money to talk before we can mobilize,” Ferd’inn cut in with hurt sarcasm. His unabashed rancor for Mitlan was now apparent and Glynna shot her husband an ugly sneering look in the Xochian’s defense.
On cue, the halls of the Circle rang out in song, “Lord and Doctor Reyliss. Report to Lord Mitlan’s office, please.”
This was going to be rich, figured Ferd’inn. Glynna’s rebuking glance was broken the instant upon the sudden announcement and her angry eyes were now filled with unabashed and excited joy. With each second, Ferd’inn’s nagging worries throughout the last couple of months were confirmed all the more.
“Come on,” Glynna snapped at her husband as if he were a little elfling who was acting up at the market. It almost seemed like the mere act of walking to the boss’s office by his side was a parental chore that she couldn’t be bothered with. He responded with a wounded glance to which she rolled her eyes.
As they trod down the long hallway, Ferd’inn noticed that the plush carpet to Mitlan’s office was a brilliant crimson. Mitlan wasn’t even a permanent member of their Circle, yet he received all this pretentious glory. Well, his money did keep the project afloat, reasoned the elf, but in all seriousness, a red carpet?
He strolled next to his wife in silence. He couldn’t help not to look at her, but she seemed to make a point to display ignorance to his presence. In her hands was a small pearl compact and she was applying a smoked-ruby color to her lips like she was getting ready for the big date in a hurry. Perhaps she was, he wondered? Ferd’inn realized that he feared for his whole livelihood while his wife’s eyes read nothing less than eager happiness, almost as if she was possessed by the love goddess.
The monstrous mahogany double doors to Mitlan’s sanctum opened on their automatic own. At the head of the deep chamber, Centeo’s large and booming form was silhouetted by the bleeding white glow of the overcast day from the panoramic window beyond. To Ferd’inn, the elder looked like seven feet of power.
“Please enter,” he ordered, as there was no rich mirth in his voice as usual. “We have many problems today. Many problems. Some you know, of course, and a few you may not,” he paused to fuel the drama as the two elves in his audience maintained respectful silence like admonished schoolchildren. “One of these issues involves your daughter.”
Ferd’inn and Glynna looked to each other in simultaneous shock. How could Quen’die figure in to a possible Martian attack? Why would a Xochian financial mogul care about the comings and goings of a sixteen-year-old maiden? Then they both remembered that he had wanted to meet with them even before knowledge of this dreadful transmission was in the minds of any elf on Earth.
“Please come in and close the door behind you.”
And Now, a Break from Our Regularly-Scheduled Program
“Tam’laa is going to be so mad when she finds out we got to play runta today,” Quen’die whispered into Lauryl’la’s ear. “She’s stuck over at my father’s lab playing with mice or something instead.”
“I think ringball is more Tam’s thing,” Lauryl’la commented back. She was tying the second knot into her auburn mane which created a jointed ponytail from out the top of her head.
From across the long field, she could see the opposing team which was culled from another Kinesthetics and Kinetics period. To celebrate the return to classes after a week of closure, the coaches from the maidens’ adept school decided to hold an impromptu off-season runta match between the different sections.
Quen’die considered herself lucky to not have Venn’lith Mitlan in any of her courses, but today she was staring at her from far down the green as she was a member of the team opposing hers. Her sights were on a dead lock that could not be broken. Quen’die noticed this and knew very well that the fiend maiden had nothing but more pain and a possible cheat or two up her grimy sleeves. The Xochian wouldn’t get away with it. Not here, Quen’die decided. The runta fi
eld was neither a posh seaside villa nor an exorbitant treehouse. It was Quen’die’s domain and she, as the Red Tempest, would treat the insane sun elf to a defeat that rivaled the humiliation she had experienced on Saturnalia night.
She wrapped her thick scarlet braids around her neck like three boas and tugged at the skin-tight runta suit. It was feeling a bit looser than usual, she found as she double-checked her leg and elbow guards. “I think I’m losing weight!”
“It’s probably just nerves. We’ve been through a boatload this week,” Lauryl’la reasoned as she slipped on her curved runta glove. The wooden sports gear was a hooklike basket that was designed to hurl the runta puck across the field and catch it as well. “Don’t sweat it. All those fried mushrooms we had the other night will catch up to you in no time.”
“Okay, guys, I need you two to lock onto the center after the faceoff,” Hyrax broke their personal conversation. Quen’die noticed that her former object of affection was afflicted with dark circles under his already dark eyes. “We aren’t used to these guys’ style, so keep a good lookout and don’t pop off.”
“Feelin’ better today, Cap’n?” the redhead jabbed. Quen’die still could not contain her disappointment from his behavior at Sig’ryn’s. Now she knew what her parents meant when they would say, “I’m not angry at you; I’m disappointed.”
“Don’t worry about me, kiddo,” her captain answered without a skip. “Just focus on the center guards and watch your flank. If they close in on you, just pull one of your famous tornados and then Rylla can be free to receive.”
It was just like night and day. Hyrax was all business now, as if he had never let himself get out of hand on Saturnalia, or any other night for that matter. This was the Hyrax that she respected, but now that she knew of his tawdry double life of getting belligerent and intoxicated and bullying innocent people, such respect was paper thin at best.
“Yeah, focus like he focuses on steins of mead, Dee!” Lauryl’la hissed a sarcastic whisper into her ear when he was further down the formation. It sounded like a parody of the coach’s advice.
“How can I forget?” Quen’die added as she inserted the gummy teeth guard into her mouth. As she looked down the way, she could still see Venn’lith burning holes into her form with her angry black eyes. At this, the maiden double-checked her shin guards again. The Xochian was going to play dirty; of this she was now certain.
“Period Six A versus Period Six B runta match will now commence,” the coach’s voice over the loudspeaker reverberated through the grey afternoon air. “Please report to your positions for the faceoff!”
Quen’die and Lauryl’la flanked either side of their captain. In a direct line across from Quen’die hunkered the slender form of Ferd’inn Kokoff who was the maiden’s opposing counterpart.
“’Sup, Dee,” he shot with an amicable mumble through his teeth guard.
“’Sup,” she chirped back in a tone that was just as garbled.
Venn’lith stood as the opposing team’s captain. She must have been as good at the sport as she had claimed, otherwise she wouldn’t have achieved such a high position. The sun elf was not concentrating on the two-bren gold piece which was set on the squat runta block between her and Hyrax. All of her energies and attentions were directed on Quen’die Reyliss as she ground her teeth into her guard and growled. Despite her smoldering anger, she still won the coin grab, and, without effort, much to Hyrax’s surprise. Quen’die shot him a brief dirty look as she knew that he was still slow from the self-abuse he had committed at the party.
“Period Six B has control of the field!” the loudspeaker sang.
“You’re dead, Quen’die!” Venn’lith hissed through her guarded teeth.
Hyrax raised a finger and circled it in the air with frantic energy signaling for his team to fall back. Quen’die shadowed his movements and shimmied behind one of their beefy line guards. Lauryl’la looked over to her friend and rolled her eyes. This was going to be an interesting match, she figured.
Her captain looked nervous for the first time in Quen’die’s memory. Venn’lith was tearing down the field while passing and receiving the puck with her forewords like it was a child’s game of hot potato. Not one of Hyrax’s teammates could catch her. His designated line guard, Ford’yss Tiras, made an honest effort to block her incoming storm of force, but she bounded over his crouched form with her thick legs as if he were nothing but a stepstool. Quen’die kept her focus on the barreling Xochian, but she was so fast such attention was difficult to align.
Looking back, Quen’die could see their hefty goalie, Bir’ginn De’vallera’s wide-eyed fear though the holes in his ivory mask. Venn’lith was approaching with blinding power while he was looking ever the less sure-footed the closer she got to his runta bunker. Quen’die never thought much of his goalkeeping abilities, but that was never the usual matter as their team was more renowned for offense.
This play was out of their team’s style. The Sabercats didn’t hunker back like a frightened turtle. They were fast and lean and drove the puck to the bunker like an iron spike. Quen’die was growing weary of the defensive play and decided to take the initiative as Hyrax continued to hobble backwards ever further in hopes that his team could stop the charging sun elf. As he glanced back, he realized that he was fast losing precious runway.
Venn’lith played high as she leaped and bounded over her opponents. She wasn’t as confrontational as Quen’die had assumed since the sun elf almost avoided tapping a single adversary, much less collide with them. Speed and agility seemed to be her forte instead of bashing and brute force. It was time to change the maiden’s good fortune with one of her special tornadic moves.
Red ropes of braid, as thick as the netting on a commercial ship swirled like a mad dervish through the air as the crimson maiden smashed into the Xochian speedster; knocking off her goggles, thus losing the puck. Venn’lith howled a curse in her native tongue while she fell back onto her buff haunches. By the time she pivoted into the opposing direction, Hyrax and Lauryl’la were relaying the prized puck toward the sun elf’s bunker with joy. Quen’die soon joined her mates in their triangular formation on a grass road to victory.
“Six A has the puck on a return save!” the coach boomed through the air. “Hyrax is closing in on the bunker! It looks like we have a goal but seconds away!”
Venn’lith was closing the gap with valiant effort, as Quen’die could see while peering back over her shoulder. After a second look, she noticed that the Xochian maniac was making a beeline, not for the puck, but for her. As their distance grew ever smaller, Quen’die could hear her vitriolic growl incoming louder and louder.
“It’s in! Six A wins the first round!” Quen’die heard the amplified announcement of their victory, but she could not share her team’s celebration as tough, violent meat slammed her svelte frame into the hard rubber of the bunker’s wall. Before she even knew it, Venn’lith had ripped off her goggles and managed a vise grip around her center braid as she straddled her prone form.
“Time to go to sleep, you little wench!” the furious maiden’s wiry fist was drawn back and ready to rabbit punch the back of her head; all knobs and nails. It was by fortune that Quen’die’s hair was so dense and the tug her enemy gave her did not hurt at all.
As the trapped elfmaid shut her eyes in wincing terror and readied her body for a horrible thrashing, she soon realized that there was no delivery. Upon opening her lids, she learned that Ferd’inn and Hyrax had both pulled the sun elf off of her and were trying in desperation to restrain her fury. Hyrax was a big elf, but he was still having noticeable trouble subduing the enraged muscle of Venn’lith Mitlan.
“You have to calm down, Lith!” Hyrax tried to reason with her as he attempted the wrangle, but such wisdom could not be conveyed as the Xochian was spouting expletives a mile a minute in her foreign tongue. It was a wonder if she could even understand Atlantean at that moment as she had appeared to be possessed by the pure id of rage.
“Somebody get the coach!” Ferd’inn shouted to anyone within earshot. Being more fragile than Hyrax, Quen’die could see him straining in earnest as Venn’lith’s body was breaking free of his insufficient grip. That maiden was nothing but meat and anger and plenty of it. What on earth was her father feeding her, and where could I get some of it, Quen’die wondered?
Lauryl’la grabbed her friend and spun her around, giving her a good once-over. “Are you Okay, maiden?” Quen’die could see the look of cold fear in her eyes as she glanced over at the two lads trying to restrain the maddened maiden. “We gotta get you out of here. No male in the history of elfdom has ever successfully broken up a catfight. It just doesn’t happen.”
Coach Eldredd approached the crowd of nervous elves who were forming a circle to view the wild fracas. Quen’die hoped that this would defuse the situation, but she wasn’t sure that even the authority of the academic wardens could bring Venn’lith back to her senses. That was if she had any in the first place. “All right! What’s going on here?”
“Venn’lith Mitlan slammed Quen’die Reyliss into the bunker and tried to start a catfight with her just because she sucks at runta, Coach!” Lauryl’la never minced words, and her insulting candor fired up the Xochian even more as her screams sounded like something that could only be described as demonic. Ferd’inn and Hyrax were still trying to hold her back, but even Hyrax was losing his strong grip.
“Everyone fan-out!” ordered the coach. He approached the three elves with ginger care and raised a hand in hopes that he could deescalate the fiery maiden. By the maniacal look in her eyes, he could tell that he would have his work cut out for him.
“Okay, Venn’lith. Just ease up. There are still two more plays to go in this match,” he was fumbling for things to say as his words were not getting through to her, judging by her lack of registration. “Eh, you haven’t lost this one yet, so… don’t go on losing it!” He tapped his capped head to relay the message that she was indeed acting crazy.
Her body was still attempting to jerk free from the males, yet by sheer will, they managed to hold on by a thread. Perhaps it was the knowledge that upon releasing her, she would be certain to pummel the redhead in one mere movement. The coach seemed to know this as well as he gestured for Quen’die and Lauryl’la to remove their persons from Venn’lith’s sight.
The two targeted maidens hunkered behind the runta bunker to keep out of the Xochian’s eyeshot. Both knew very well that if she did at last calm down, she would flare up again the instant she saw the crimson plaits of Quen’die Reyliss. Lauryl’la covered her mouth to stifle a devilish giggle. Venn’lith’s behavior was just too funny and she was tempted to stand up and point and laugh at her for acting like an elfling fool. The desire was almost uncontrollable.
“Who sunk the puck, anyway? You or Hyrax?” Quen’die was now infected with Lauryl’la’s mischievous glee. Her tall friend crossed her eyes and nodded in the direction of their struggling captain while she stuck out her tongue in playful defiance. Both the elfmaids erupted into laughter at that.
While the coach made a vainglorious effort to return Venn’lith back to reason and reality, the field’s loudspeaker’s hum buzzed through the air. “This is Vice Warden Golom’bin. I apologize for the interruption of your classes, but we have an announcement of a situation concerning our kingdom. If you will please turn your sights to your class’s manascreen, I would appreciate it if you all gave this broadcast your undivided attention. Thank you.”
During normal times, the giant manascreen on the field delivered the scores of the official school games and sometimes sport juice advertisements or even pertinent announcements by the institution’s administration. Instead of such mundane content, the famous face of Quay’liss Dalian was displayed in monumental proportions for all the young elves on the field to see.
“Oh crumbs, here we go again,” Lauryl’la huffed. “What is it this time? Giant cubes?”
Quen’die rolled her eyes to that in agreement. “Yeah, and look at her hair! She’s totally ripping off the Princess.” The reporter’s hair was indeed the exact same color and fountain-like style as the little king’s mother had worn on the night of the ill-fated address.
“Aww, she’s just trying to be patriotic or something. Take a look around the field! All the maidens are sporting that look today.” Lauryl’la pointed out her observation as half of the females dotting the green were honoring her look, albeit not with as much professional grace. It was a rather difficult hairdo to emulate.
“Good afternoon Atlantis!” Dalian began with her usual chirpy greeting which turned into a dark tone of gravity in the measure of a beat. “Today we have an urgent report from the Circle of Climate and Environment as officials there have delivered claim of a terrible, heartwrenching event that has supposedly happened to the Mars expedition.”
“Gods! That’s where my folks work!” Quen’die gasped as Lauryl’la gripped her hand in immediate consolation.
“For more on this dreadful matter, we bring you now live, to this Circle with our guest Centeo Mitlan who has been a primary financier for this monumental venture. Good afternoon, Lord Mitlan.”
The massive screen split to focus on the large elf who was looking a bit haggard in contrast to his usual impeccability. Compared to the slighter frame of Dalian, he appeared to push her out of the screen’s real estate with his bulky presence.
“That’s Witchy-poo’s father!” Quen’die pointed a long digit at the giant elm screen as to educate her best friend on the lineage of pure evil. Lauryl’la looked back over to Venn’lith and noticed that the maiden was now becalmed by her father’s immense presence. The two males were no longer holding her slimy body in their grips as she stood before the screen in rapt attention while waiting for the one who sired her to speak.
“Ohh…Papi! Please help me, I’m insane!” Lauryl’la mocked the Xochian in a sweet, high-pitched voice which only made Quen’die giggle.
“And good afternoon to you,” he responded with a dashing wink. Quen’die thrust out her tongue in anger at the image of the money mogul as she remembered how he had kissed her mother’s hand during that horrid visit. That gesture he made to her that night left her cold.
“What is the situation on Mars? We have reports incoming that there has been an accident or a disaster or some sort of travesty. What more can you tell the people about this?” Whether or not Dalian was confused in truth by the situation was unknown, but she was doing her best to wrangle viewers.
“It was an attack. Pure and simple, Lady Dalian,” the Xochian lord stated with a blunt drop. “This morning we received a transmission dated from last night out of Olympus Mons Traffic Control. Eh, that is the tower that essentially regulates the sparse traffic from Earth to Mars. The communications officer stationed there claimed that she was the sole survivor of an attack by beings whom she had described as elf-like but bigger. To add to the drama, she claimed they all had razor-sharp claws.”
Dalian appeared astounded and afflicted with genuine concern by the sun elf’s grim account. “So, what you are saying is, we are not alone up there? There may be some sorts of native inhabitants who are obviously hostile on Mars? Is that correct?”
“We only have video and audio reports of the incident. We do not have any documented proof of the aggressors themselves, but the communications officer was indeed in a terrible state and quite apparently on death’s door as she made the transmission. All our prayers do go out to her family, of course, and so on and so forth,” Lord Mitlan added with a blithe wave.
All the teen elves on the field covered their hearts and mouths in shock at his assessment. Amongst the impromptu audience, sniffles and sobs could be heard, although mostly from the females. The coach took off his wedge-shaped hat and covered the right side of his chest in solemn honor.
“Why don’t we send a rescue team or at least a mission of special forces to investigate these claims?” the reporter challenged. She had to cover
her bases as it was predictable that many in her viewing audience were thinking of such a valiant option. The majority of those folks were war veterans and supporters of the United Standard Party who were almost always hot to wage battle at the slightest upset on any portion of the globe. Or Mars.
“Sadly, I would if I could, but this is too much of a risk to deliver even more elves to their deaths.” Mitlan was playing to the fears of the general audience, as if this mysterious enemy was unstoppable and impervious to any earthly effort. “We really don’t know what we are dealing with up there, but we do know that whoever, or whatever they are; they are tough. All forty spirits who gloriously served on that expedition are now gone,” he made a contrived sigh of sorrow to pack in the moribund message.
“By the gods!” Dalian added to the despairing remark. “The entire expedition is dead? What are the plans then for Mars, Lord Mitlan?”
“The expedition is currently on a permanent hiatus,” he answered with barely a beat. “From the looks of things, it will most likely not resume within our lifetimes. Mars, for the most part, is all but lost to us.”
“Rylla!” Quen’die grabbed her friend’s armored shoulders and looked her square in the eyes. “What will happen to my parents? That expedition is their lives!” Tears were welling up in both of their eyes and the two soon joined the rest of the weeping elves as they held each other in consolation.
“How can the people of Atlantis support our kingdom in this interplanetary crisis?” the blond lady let out a genuine choke. “I can’t believe I actually had to say ‘interplanetary,’ but that is what this is.”
“Precisely. This is a crisis between worlds,” Mitlan adjusted himself for effect. “As such, we are now very concerned about the pyramids. This attack on our base at Cydonia is much too coincidental with the appearance of these monoliths. Because of this, I have been in direct contact with Atlantean High Command, as well as our allies in Gonduanna’s High Command, to report on any developments in our investigation between these two very strange and terrible phenomena.
“To the people of Atlantis, from a direct proclamation by the King himself: As of 6 p.m. tonight, limited martial law will be put into effect nationwide. ADF patrols will be doubled and forces around the pyramids will be bolstered for national safety as our military is on full alert. Anyone found outside their homes past the hour of 10 p.m. until the hour of 6 a.m. will be arrested and detained until further notice. All schools in the area will close once again for the rest of the year. All power, communications and utilities are now under the jurisdiction of his majesty’s government. So please, prepare for possible intermittent blackouts if the need arises. This is all for the greater good of our nation.”
“Oh great,” Lauryl’la groaned. “A four-year-old elfling is telling me when to go to bed! Lame.”
“You have heard this as an official address, lords and ladies. There exists a state of martial law for all of Atlantis as of 6 p.m. tonight. We, of course, will keep you informed and updated on any developments regarding this situation,” Dalian reverted back to her usual robotic delivery of pacifying reportage. It was no wonder some elves referred to her as “the News Golem.”
“A royal decree will be sent to your tablets and phones this evening prior to the enactment, so please check your inboxes for this,” Mitlan continued. “Along with the decree, the government has provided official instructions on how to live your lives while we are under martial law and how your rights will be altered. Remember, lords and ladies, this is only a temporary condition as our lives will return to normal as soon as this situation is resolved.”
“Looks like my folks are gonna be super busy, huh?” Lauryl’la thought about how the Civil Wardens would have their hands full, leaving her to fend for herself the majority of her waking days.
“One more point I must address,” Mitlan commanded of the screen.
“Yes, please continue,” Dalian beckoned the financial elder. “Your time here is unlimited.”
“To any citizen living within the vicinity of any of the pyramids, it is now highly advised that you evacuate your homes and make arrangements for residence elsewhere,” Mitlan moved in closer to the reporter’s manamirrors. “In the coming days, the ADF will erect temporary living quarters to house any citizen that has no other option for residence or cannot afford to relocate entirely.”
Venn’lith was being ushered into the school by two uniformed health wardens. Her hands covered her eyes as if she were bawling, but Quen’die and Lauryl’la assumed that she was trying to garner sympathy from her father’s broadcast in order to delete the embarrassing memory of her violent tantrum from her classmates’ minds.
“Aw, poor little Lith. Can’t handle seeing her father tell the whole kingdom what to do,” Lauryl’la sneered as the double doors of the school shut behind the Xochian.
“Well, it was the King’s decree, actually,” Quen’die corrected her. “Not that I would ever stick up for that witch in a million years. Just saying.”
“Whatever. Let’s just get this day over with and start an early summer break that we can’t enjoy now.” Her auburned friend was miffed by the state of martial law. Ever since obtaining her license, she reveled in her freedom and was eager to get a job, even if it was with her folks down at the station filling up casters with red mana. Quen’die often thought her friend was a little too impatient to grow up, although she wondered if she herself was not enthusiastic enough.
