The Ancients and the Angels: Celestials

by M.C. O'Neill

  ***

  Quen’die’s stomach was fuller than it had been since she moved to Nanna’s. She was grateful that she had her grandmother to help her out, but the old lady wasn’t on the government’s priority list when it came to martial rations.

  “I can barely drive this thing, I’m so full!” Quen’die laughed as she and Lauryl’la sped the buggy through the grimy docks district and into the countryside. “It’s like every time I come over, you try to make me fat! How do you manage to be like the skinniest maiden in school?”

  “I guess I was just made that way,” her friend was adjusting her long legs in the cramped quarters of the buggy’s passenger seat. “But seriously, since my parents are with the civil wardens, we pretty much get unlimited rations.”

  “Must be nice,” Quen’die groaned with some envy. The sky was turning to a warm amber with the evening and the maiden punched the flow to speed the vehicle up. There was little time to wind through the sticks and get back before that annoying curfew. She wished that she could just drive this wonderful little thing all summer long and not worry about any stupid martial law or her being “chosen.”

  “Maybe my father will ramp up our rations too when he enlists in the Home Guard,” she added as the foliage of the country became more frequent along the darkening roads. The delicious scents of that day were even stronger out there and since evening was approaching, the flora was working in overtime. “I just get the willies from those infer, er…, I mean those Aldebarans.”

  During their dinner with the Hay’cenn’s, Quen’die’s father was offered a spot with the newly-established police division. It was more or less the civilian extension of the ADF, and the maiden laughed to herself imagining her wiry father doing the morning physical drills. For his financial situation, it was just what the doctor had ordered, and the maiden was grateful to Lauryl’la’s father for offering him that position, but she quickly thought of how he may have to work with the demonic forces that were conspiring against her entire race. They’d be sure to be most welcoming to his face, but knowing what she knew from Mavriel, they would be thinking of him as an unholy dinner.

  “They’re all right, I guess,” Lauryl’la lounged back with some effort in the small bucket seat. “Mother and Father have to meet with them pretty much on a daily basis at the station. They don’t have any complaints about them, although Mother did say that they were kind of backward.”

  Quen’die wanted so much to confide in her best friend about their true nature. Perhaps that was what she was chosen to do? Sooner or later, she would need to do something about it, but when, she fretted? Mavriel said that it would all be revealed in time, but how? Laying such an immense chunk of information like that was unfair to her friend while she was a captive in her buggy, Quen’die reasoned. No, it was not the time. “Well, they’re not of this earth,” she said in a hushed mumble. “Heh, that sounds like a bad movie title.”

  “Y’know,” Lauryl’la looked over at her crimson pilot. “You oughta sign up with the Youth Parliament on Moonday. My father’s making me join the Youth Defense Brigade. He says it will help me become a real warden when we get to the new world.”

  Amber sky was turning a wan ruby as the surrounding landscape darkened to a silhouette along with Quen’die’s mood at such a suggestion. “You mean work for Venn’lith? Never! She’d have me arrested and killed on my first day!”

  Out of the corner of her right eye, Quen’die could see that her friend was actually sneering at her. “You really need to stop being so paranoid, maiden. You took your licks and gave her some back. It’s not Lith’s fault that she has more resources than you to pull off a better revenge. Get over it!”

  “Oh!” Quen’die was feeling a sense of dread occupy her spine along with the pulse of the buggy’s manaflow. “So what you’re saying is that you and Lith are copacetic now?” Bad move, she regretted in that instant, but things may have changed in the last few days for all she knew.

  “That’s not fair, Dee,” Lauryl’la’s sneer was now full-on anger. “Just because I suggested that you get out of bed and stop whining for the first time in a month doesn’t mean I’m in cahoots with her! We’re all in this together and we need to stop being elflings and start being, uh, civic!”

  Lauryl’la’s shallow materialism was rearing its ugly head, supposed the elfmaid. Venn’lith Mitlan was just the maiden who could make those wishes happen for her and this enraged Quen’die just by the notion. How terrible life would be without a good friend in times like these. There was Nanna and Mavriel at her side, but then who? Father was a worthless sop as far as she was concerned, and even he would be working with those demons, side-by-side. If Ui could create all this, why couldn’t He just come down and clean up this mess Himself? Blink His eyes and poof! - demons be gone. What was the term for that in Literature class, she wondered? Deus Ex Machina.

  “I guess you’re right about that, Rylla, but I don’t want to be a bull working for Lith! I wish they had an opening for navigators. That’s what I really want to be when I grow up.” Quen’die slunk back in her seat feeling defeat.

  “If you don’t do your part, none of us may get to grow up!” Lauryl’la countered. “Even the Zobbos are joining, and they normally don’t do anything but party and lie around in suncaskets all the time!”

  The maiden was correct in her judgment, but not for the same reasons Quen’die had considered. What to do about it and when? Perhaps Lauryl’la was right in that she needed to get out and do something instead of biting her pillow all day long at Nanna’s in self-pity. Perhaps there would be clues and cues about what she should do out there if she got more active, she reasoned.

  “Maybe I’ll just…” Quen’die interrupted her options with a loud shriek. It was infectious and Lauryl’la joined her as the maiden conked the tiny vehicle to a halt. They were lucky that her reflexes had saved them from colliding with the two shadowy forms that darted across the dim country road. They walked on two legs like elves, but were hunched and squat.

  “Omygods! What are they?” Lauryl’la panicked. “We could have killed them! Were they kids?”

  Quen’die drove with a slow roll next to the forms that were hunkering against the road’s berm. They were only about five-and-a-half feet tall and dusky. The male held a tree branch in his hands like a spear while the female clutched a tiny infant. They all had looks of mortal fear across their heavy faces as they stared at the buggy with wonder and horror.

  “HAHAHA!” Lauryl’la belted with relieved glee. “Those are just some trogs!” She stood up over the buggy’s rollbar and began to sing the theme from a comedic cartoon that featured a bumbling family of troglodytes.

  “Trogrocks! Meet the Trogrocks!” she ended the world-familiar jingle with a point and a laugh at the terrified trio.

  “Rylla! Stop!” Quen’die reacted. “That’s awful and racist! They’re scared!”

  The burly male trog barked at them with a high-pitched warning, yet they appeared too paralyzed to run away from the maidens, prompting their baby to cry. Quen’die summoned the buggy with haste to speed away from the atavistic family. Lauryl’la fell back into the seat with a yelp.

  “What’s the big deal, Dee?” her friend shouted with a whine. “I was just having some fun and you have to get all political! Are you hanging out with On’dinn Jak’sin or something? I mean, how can I be racist if those stupid things aren’t even the same species as us? They’re gross too! They’re all covered with that nasty hair. I thought they were wearing crude loincloths or something, and it turned out to be their junk! Eww! The point is, we’re dolphins, and they’re monkeys.”

  “That’s just sick and elitist!” Quen’die barked. Perhaps On’dinn was rubbing off on her, but in a good way. “Who knows? Maybe after we’re all gone, they’ll rule the world!”

  “Ha!” her friend guffawed. “I’d like to see that! ‘I now introduce High King Ooga Booga the Hairball!’” Lauryl’la continued to chortle at her insensitive wit. �
�Honey, that’s not gonna happen. This place is gonna be orc-world in no time.”

  Quen’die was never raised to be like that and she was taught that those who acted in such a way were selfish and downright mean. Although Mother was not her favorite person at that time, she did teach her some valuable lessons, and that was one of them. The more Quen’die figured Lauryl’la would commiserate with Venn’lith, the more she would become like her. In some ways, she could see such a change in her ever since the day that witch had arrived at their school.

  She was thankful that they were almost at the end of their country drive as the Hay’cenn home loomed in the near distance. Quen’die was tired of this whole arrangement and Lauryl’la’s attitude. In some ways, she was grateful that her mother had blocked the flow to her communications. “Rylla, I just have to say, I would rather have the likes of On’dinn rub off on me than that of Lith.”

  “Well, if you want to be a loser, don’t let me stop you,” her friend huffed as she jumped out of the buggy. On their well-lit porch, Lord Reyliss was saying his goodbyes to the Hay’cenns to which Quen’die waved back a polite farewell. It looked like she was going to lose a friend, but at least she had a good meal for the first time in a week. “Bye, Quen’die Reyliss.”

  As her father made his way in the gloomy dusk toward his daughter’s buggy, Quen’die made a mental imperative that she would indeed get more proactive come Moonday morning. There were tons of positions available now for the kingdom’s youth and, she hoped, there would be a sign as to what that could be. Keeping an open mind was the best bet, she supposed.

  “Father,” she broke her concerned silence as she made their way toward their respective downtown dumps. “Please be careful.”

  Birth, School, Work, Triumph

  The final clouds of the showery morning were giving way to cerulean blue skies and the Fifthmoon sun was already beating down on Quen’die’s pale shoulders. She adjusted the flat-conical sedge hat to accommodate her large ears which she had borrowed from Nanna. It was doing wonders to fend off sunburn and to provide her some more shade. Nanna claimed it was a genuine Tel’lemurian import. The maiden was susceptible to some wicked searing due to her light skin and, one summer, she was bedridden on her stomach for a week as her burning back had shed what seemed like a pound of skin. Regardless of her attempts to adjust the cover, her ears still flopped out to her sides and she felt that she looked like stupid Noopy.

  Corosa’s Central Plaza was being used as an impromptu recruiting center for the Home Guard and the Youth Parliament. There were several different stations serving the effort dotting the city, but this one was closest to downtown and she figured that she would take an early morning stroll there to clear out her mind.

  Looking around, she tried to peer over the heads of the thousands upon thousands of young elves that were fidgeting in a myriad of lines for work placement. By pure fortune, she could not find Lauryl’la’s tall auburn-capped form amongst them and Quen’die, to be frank, hoped not to for a while.

  During her walk to the great assembly, so many thoughts rushed through her mind despite her burning desire to stuff them. First and foremost was what kind of job she would choose from the multitudes of offerings and what she should do about her possible former-best friend. It seemed like betrayal was her new lot in life; first Mother and now Lauryl’la. Was her friend not the person she had always thought she was or was the maiden somehow changing under her nose, she wondered?

  Before her stood a sea of multicolored tents from all sorts of businesses, companies and vendors who were supporting the exodus. With all her worries and Lauryl’la competing for her mind’s attention, she couldn’t decide which one to approach. They all seemed like such exciting prospects, but there could be only one.

  Aside from the civil wardens, companies like the Sea and Shell, Public Manaball, Consolidated Power and Light and even the Corosa Health Circle were taking the applications from the youth of the kingdom. It was a huge operation and serious effort as most everyone was pitching in. So many opportunities were present, but where to pitch, she asked herself?

  The Sea and Shell would be kind of fun, she figured, as she would spend her days distributing food and other goods to the people who really needed them. Public Manaball was out of the question as she knew nothing about coaches except now how to drive them. Helping the power wardens just was not her gig, and she was adamant on not wanting to work with the bulls as that might entail seeing Lauryl’la every day. Helping people at the Health Circle sounded all right, she relented with a shrug of the shoulders, so she made her way toward that tent.

  As she double-checked her satchel to make sure she had her tablet and phone and any other vital info, she heard a boisterous holler incoming from behind. “Yo! Dee Reyliss! The Red Tempest!”

  It was Monti “The Face” Dell’lavio in his usual carefree form. A shirtless form, to be exact and Quen’die began laughing in hysterics as she saw him running toward her like a half-naked buffoon.

  “What’s up, Red!” he rushed-in to give her svelte frame a bear hug.

  “Hi Face,” she was still navigating her words through her giggles and his clutch. “Nice to see that you managed to dress up for the occasion!”

  “You bet!” he began posing his physique with brazen arrogance. “Look, I figured, if I gotta stand out here in the hot sun all day just so I can get a job, I might as well work on my tan, you know what I mean?”

  “Not really,” Quen’die pointed to her rigid hat. “I try to avoid all that, myself.”

  “Yeah,” Face flicked the brim of her headgear. “What are you applying for anyway? Rice farming?”

  “Not quite,” she laughed. “I have sensitive skin and I borrowed this from my nanna. It’s genuine Tel’lemurian.”

  “Hey, that’s pretty capital,” he stood back transfixed on her Eastern-style outfit. “You really look like some maiden from one of those awesome chop-socky movies!” To that, Face mimicked a martial arts move. “Hai-ya! Twenty Crippled Elders is my favorite!” The Zobbo looked around in the direction of Quen’die’s destination. “So, uh, where you going off to?”

  “Well, I figured I would apply at the Health Circle and do nursing and stuff,” Quen’die announced with only a half of a heart as it seemed the only decent choice.

  “Nah!” Face batted away her wavering decision. “You don’t wanna do that! All you’d be doing every day is cleaning up poop and pee! Look, you, you oughta come with me and work on the docks! It’s like Zobbo Central over there! A total blast!”

  “What!” Quen’die made an unabashed wince at the suggestion. “What in the gods’ names would I do over there?

  “What all the females do there!” he belted as if it were common knowledge. “Golem handler! Everybody knows that females make the best handlers. Something about better empathic links or some such hooey. It’d be great! You’d get to work with me and my brothers all day long and all you’d have to do is load and unload stuff onto barges. It’s easy!”

  Quen’die bit her fingernail in uncertain wonder over that. “Hmm…I don’t know. I mean, I don’t really know a whole lot about golems and all. It sounds kind of capital, though.”

  “You bet it is!” Face was hyped at the notion of working with her as she could tell from his enthusiastic tone. “We’d have such a good time! You’d actually want to come to the job! Total Zobbo adventure every day!”

  “Well…,” she hesitated for a quick moment as she filed the pros and cons of such an opportunity in her mind. “Okay, Face, you sold me.”

  “All right, Red!” he clapped his hands in triumph at her decision. “Way to be!”

  She chewed on the concept of working on the docks as a handler. How could such a position be her chosen calling? Helping the wounded and sick at the Health Circle seemed most apropos and most logical, but for some odd reason, she could feel she was making the right choice by relenting to Face’s suggestion. It was an intense feeling that she just couldn’t put her finge
r on, so she decided that she should just ride with it.

  As they made their way to the Corosa Docks pavilion, Face stopped her for a moment. “Hey, Red, you wouldn’t happen to know where Ay’linn is, do you?” His look on his face displayed a grimness that was quite uncharacteristic of him. He seemed really worried, she thought. “You know, ‘Princess?’ I don’t know how to tell you this, but she’s gone missing.”

  “Huh? Sorry, I… didn’t know she’s been missing,” Quen’die answered with honest concern. “When did you last see her?”

  “Hmm…It’s been almost a week now and nobody’s heard a thing,” the burly Zobbo shook his head in defeat. “There’d be no way she’d run off for no reason and the salon hasn’t seen her either. Shoot, she hasn’t even been seen at the gym or gone tanning! Now, that’s bad! I’m really worried, Red.”

  “Well, didn’t you at least go to the warden’s?” Quen’die suggested.

  “Aw, sure we did,” he raised his palms up in confusion. “But those guys are worthless. We’re just dock-trash to them and they only come around when they want us to turn down the music or bust up one of our parties. They were like certain Princess just ran away from home and pretty much left it at that. I’m like, ‘Whattaya mean! She loves the docks!’ You know, sometimes being a Zobbo is hard work.”

  “Look, Face, she can’t have just disappeared. Really, look at all these people. She’s probably in here somewhere,” the elfmaid tried to reason.

  “Yeah, but come on, Red!” he leaned back in friendly challenge. “After a week? Nah, she isn’t here. It’s bad news, I tell ya.”

  “Really, I’m sorry to hear that. She seems really sweet,” Quen’die put her hand on his bulbous shoulders. “I’ll do my best to look for her and I’ll tell everyone I know that she hasn’t turned up.”

  “Hey, that’d be really great of you,” he said in all seriousness. “Just keep your eyes peeled, eh? On a lighter note, here’s our stop. The Docks!”

  The Docks’ tent was one of the larger ones erected that day and a gaggle of rough-looking elves from all over the city were milling in the long queue to submit their applications. Quen’die noticed that few of the applicants were female, but there were a couple of surly maidens in line. Knowing what she knew of the business, they were likely to be jockeying for golem handler positions as well. Competition wasn’t a concern anymore as the Docks needed anyone and everyone to handle all the traffic in the port now that this phony exodus from Earth was underway.

  A gruff foreman was seated in the shade of the tent where it was at least ten degrees cooler. For this, Quen’die was thankful, but Face seemed anxious to get back out into the sunshine so that he could nurture his bronze coloration. With nervous steps, the maiden walked up to the long table.

  “Name,” the hulking foreman blurted without bothering to look up.

  “Eh, Quen’die Reyliss,” she tried to keep her cool with the big oaf.

  Raising his scarred face to her slim form, he shook his bald head and crossed his eyes in exasperation. “Lemme guess, you’re here to be a gung-half?”

  “Uh, well, no. I…”

  “Golem Handler,” he answered for her with a rude grunt. “What do you know about wrangling puppets?”

  “Uh, well,” she stammered again as she tried to find a decent response to such an expected question. “I have top social ranking on Golem Smash III!” That sounded so stupid she thought, but it was the basic truth.

  “Good gods, we’re all doomed,” he lamented with a hint of a joke in his voice. “Here, I’ll upload the application for handler to your tablet and you flow it back to me when you’re done.”

  “Yeah, but I…,”

  “NEXT!” he boomed beyond her little shoulders.

  The questionnaire scrolling on her tablet’s canvas presented a volley of rather unexpected questions, in her opinion. Many of them were quite easy to answer and they more or less dealt with people skills, charisma and self-esteem. Some of them were also a bit weird, like: “You dream you are running down a hill. On the way down, you stop to smell a lily jutting out of the grass. How do you feel?”

  “Triumphant!” Quen’die answered, as if by instinct. Why she made such a response boggled her for a moment, but it was like she couldn’t help it; like the answer was canned or prerecorded. Was that supposed to be a sign, she wondered?

  As if to elucidate her confusion she heard a voice from over her shoulder, “Good answer!”

  Mavriel was standing right behind her and Quen’die wasn’t sure for how long he had been there. His solid frame was wrapped in a simple fitted toga and topped with a floppy suncatcher hat while the rays of the sun bathed his body in such a way that he looked to be hewn of gold. With a devilish tingle, the maiden entertained a momentary salacious thought about her angelic guide, only to shake it out of her crimson head with an automatic pang of guilt.

  “Hey! That’s cheating!” she jabbed with a laugh. “What are you doing here, Mavriel?”

  He leaned in close to conspire. “Hey, just call me ‘Mav’ out here. I don’t want the bad guys to know I’m roaming around on Earth. That could create a big mess for all of us.”

  “Oh, yeah, I gotcha,” she winked without effort. Some elves couldn’t do it well, but she could wink either of her lids with as much ease as she could wiggle her ears. Lauryl’la thought it was an enticing trait of hers and was rather envious of the redhead’s ability.

  Darting her head to and fro, Quen’die could see that some infernals were punctuating the crowd of hopeful volunteers and applicants as she counted those with the dull wings sprouting from their backs. Their presence was sporadic, but still known, and some of the elves present were in awe of their natural beauty as they seemed to beg for their attention. Mavriel had discorporated his shining pair as he aimed to remain incognito.

  “Won’t some of them recognize you anyway?” the maiden challenged. “There’s quite a few of them roaming around us.” She bit her bottom lip in thought and realized she had not bothered to apply lipgloss that morning. “Do you think I’ll be in danger if they see me with you?”

  “Possibly,” he stated with the gravity of a dropped stoned. “But that could all be a part of the plan. We are playing this by instinct and ear, or rather, by heart. For some burning reason, I feel secure that you applied for golem master, if that makes any sense.”

  She looked up at her deva with some annoyance as she lost her good feelings about the job. “No, not really. All I can see by me working on the docks is that I’ll just have a good laugh with the Zobbos every day. That is, if I could laugh anymore.”

  “You seem to be in better spirits than you think,” he looked around the bustling of the plaza himself and tipped his brim down to hide his eyes. Sauntering duly toward them was a tall female with coppery curly hair. Her eyes locked dead onto him.

  “Quen’die, why don’t you go back into the Docks tent and try to look interested in something. Talk to your friend Face or some such thing. I’ll be right back to get you.” His features slid down, turning his face into a grim mask. “I think I’m busted. Go!”

  “But Mav!” she blurted in a panic.

  “Go! Now!” he shooed as furtively as he could to detach his company of her. He was thankful she did just that without further protest.

  The disgraced erelim stalked her way over to the familiar figure of the deva with a cocked smirk on her face. Sammian was wearing a uniform summer gown of a simple red and black, as were all the female infernals present for that occasion. Perhaps it was to help maintain the trust of the general populace to display a humble appearance and promote some sort of communal empathy with them.

  “Mavriel! What are you doing here?” Sammian was grinning with a genuine sense of relieved recognition. “Did you get sick of the Boss getting up in your business too? Can’t say I blame you. It’s really good to see you here, sweetie.”

  “Even for my own benefit and the benefit of my mission,” his eyes shone through the shad
ow of his brim. “I cannot tell a lie.”

  “Oh, great!” her mirth all but drained as she ground her teeth in annoyance the instant he answered. “Ui sent you down here to bust me, I suppose? I promise, I won’t go with you easily. Not with a lowly deva. You are going to have to earn that reward, little pigeon”

  “You suppose wrong, Sammian,” his grim look of judgment failed to falter. “Although I find your actions completely foul, my mission is of a much grander scale than mere police work. That was your job, or did you already forget?”

  “Do you mean to tell me He assigned you to stop this whole operation?” Her face lit up as if she had just heard the most hilarious of jokes. She was good at what she did and could read the mind of anything or anyone when she put forth that effort. “Good luck with that, little birdie.”

  “Your insults are of no consequence to me, Sammian,” he remained steadfast and locked-on. She met his sights and he could feel her mining his thoughts for any and all information he held. Mavriel erected as many psychic walls as he could muster with each and every volley of her unwarranted probes.

  “Hey!” she broke her invasive concentration. “I just realized something. Aren’t you deaf and dumb now? How can you hear anything I say?”

  “My deficit is only applicable to my brothers and sisters,” Mavriel sneered at Sammian like an iron auger. The fiend was somewhat taken aback by her former inferior. “Our conversation just proves you are no longer amongst them.”

  For a fleeting split second, the erelim looked dazed and regretful as Mavriel confirmed her total loss from the Creator’s Grace. Her normally regal jaw went slack and stupid. “Heh, well that’s settled then, I suppose,” she saved with a haughty giggle.

  “You still have a chance to turn back, Sammian,” the deva relaxed himself some, yet the air was tense and silent around the pair. It was as if time and sound ceased in that engulfed plaza and they were the only two in existence. “Although you will face judgment, of course.”

  “Whatever, Mavriel,” she broke the cold standoff. “I’ve made my decision. Since you are down here, it would behoove you to do the same.”

  “Not a chance, Sammian,” he retorted without a skip.

  “And why not?” the fiend knew that Mavriel would not act against her out in the packed open and amongst the crowd-wading infernals. She closed in on his statuesque form with a lascivious brush and whispered. “You would have total freedom from Ui and you could do whatever you desired with any of these fishies. Take that sweet little scarlet-haired morsel you were talking to just now, for instance. Would you not love to feast on her blood with nary a repercussion? Not much meat on that one, but she could still prove to be a delicious snack. Why, you could even have me if you so desired. There is never a shortage of flesh in the Inferno - for any reason.”

  “You disgust me, Sammian,” the deva jerked away from her intended embrace. “Turn back from this while you still have the opportunity.”

  “Not a chance,” she made a mockery of his earlier answer. “When you change your mind, come see me. There will always be room on the ark for you.”

  “Go away, Sammian. We have nothing left to say.”

  She made a coo of phony disappointment. “You’re no fun, Mavriel. But don’t worry; I’ll keep a close eye on you, little pigeon. Farewell and good luck with your mission.”

  The deva stood like a monolith installed deep into the earth as he watched her swagger away like she owned the place. Ui had told him that an insider had compromised the Ophanic portal, but Mavriel wasn’t certain who had been the culprit. More of this mystery was revealing itself and despite the sick feeling in his gut, he was thankful that he had at least some answers to the puzzle. Sammian turned around with a slow pivot and blew him a kiss from down the crowded promenade.

  Who was that wispy redhead with Mavriel, Sammian wondered? She may very well have been the golden deva’s ward. She noticed that the maiden had retreated into a nearby tent and was now conversing with a topless and rather boisterous male. With ears sharp in shape and ability, the fiend honed into the young one’s thoughts.

  Quen’die Reyliss: that was her name. Scanning the contents of her mind, Sammian could see that Mavriel was at the forefront of them. Cohabitating with those thoughts was a profound worry and yet, an inflated sense of purpose. Was this elfmaid a narcissist or just empowered by her new job as a golem handler?

  No, Sammian corrected herself as she delved deeper into the annals of her target’s mortal brain. This scrawny fishie considered herself “chosen.” That word was evidence enough for the fallen erelim as she squinted harder in psychic concentration. Quen’die Reyliss was an agent for the Adversary and Sammian was most sure of it. It was time to pay a special visit to her new boss as the infernals might no longer enjoy a free and easy ride to hell.

  “Mavriel?” Quen’die’s lilting voice broke his angry trance. Sammian was out of eyeshot and he figured that they were safe for the time being. “Mavriel, who was that?”

  “That, Quen’die, was Sammian,” the deva groaned. “She was once an agent of ours, just like all the rest of the infernals, but she hasn’t completely fallen yet. I guess you could say that she is directly responsible for all of this mess.”

  “You mean she wasn’t part of the Great Rebellion you and Nanna were telling me about the other night?” Quen’die had so many questions about what went on to create such horrible demons, but this knowledge was all so new to her.

  “Let’s get you something to eat,” he stated with a bland tone. “I’ll tell you more about it there.”