Lilith: Eden's Planetary Princess (The Michael Archives Book 1)

by Robinson, C. E.

  Josephine and Wrenn said their goodbyes. Grasping hands, they took off with a brisk step. “Guess what Josie?” It was easy to hear Wrenn’s enthusiasm.

  “What?

  “Dr. Yummy has come up with two solutions to our problem.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He’s going to…” And with that, they skipped down the beach.

  “Son,” General Pesagniya started, as he watched them. Josephine quickly turned around with a mischievous look on her face and just as quickly turned back, grasping Wrenn’s hand tighter as they bounced along the sand, whispering into each other’s ears like little girls. “I wonder if you have any idea what kind of trouble you’re in.”

  Chapter 33

  Angel Crisps

  Because of the horrible things I have personally done to the Angels, I doubt that any concept of salvation will ever apply to me.

  —Chef Vohu Manah

  Elysium

  "This is all very pleasant, isn’t it?” Castor Mayhew said dryly to no one in particular as he surveyed the room around him. Only sixteen days ago this room had been the same bustling cafeteria in which Salecia had distracted Pegasus. The murals had been removed, giving everyone a clear view of Elysium’s main, vast runway system and their latest high-performance aircraft. Lord Indra was making a clear statement regarding his power within the Eden theatre.

  The orchestra was playing a light, bouncy tune. The paper lanterns lining the walls and hanging from the ceiling cast a soft gentle glow. The highest ranking Nazz officers dressed in full dress regalia, lined the walls, each one holding a royal standard, standards that alternately bore Indra’s Griffin and Smigyl’s Dragon.

  The Grand Reception Hall of Elysium was not yet finished. Besides, this was a much more intimate setting, with exactly one hundred and eight circular tables in the room, seating guests and representatives from the ten Overlord families now dwelling upon Eden’s Celestial Mansion Worlds. Full waitstaff were assigned to each table.

  Castor Mayhew was seated at the head table with the guests of honor. Indra and Smigyl were at his table along with Patanjali, Rahu, Chismael, and Patanjali’s servant, Shorinam. Shorinam sat in wide-eyed silence. The only time he had been allowed anywhere near a head table was in the role of a servant. But this time, Smigyl insisted he sit with them. The only other representative of Smigyl’s Children of Luminosity was High Exhaulted Pundit Bramrishi Devarat.

  Prince Beliar, another one of Smigyl’s beloved sons, had been invited, but since he was still consolidating his power in Northern Venom, he had elected to send Qusay Ardibahist, his most loyal Nephilim.

  All Indra’s Demigods were on Elysium, but he elected to have only Pope Hukarknar and Benito Resheph sit at the head table.

  Kuko Kiena was notably absent, and Castor missed her. She had a charming ability to carry on polite conversation and small talk, making the mundane appear interesting. Without her presence tonight, light-hearted small talk among the big personalities at the table could easily evaporate into endless quarreling.

  “This is a pretty pattern, isn’t it?” Castor said, pointing to the design on the cutlery. “Lord Smigyl,” he continued. “Lord Indra had these especially fabricated for tonight’s banquet in your honor.”

  Castor’s eyebrow lifted slightly when everyone at the table looked at the design. He was even more surprised when Smigyl picked up his knife and admired it.

  “Yes, I quite agree, Mr. Mayhew,” Smigyl said, as he rested his knife across a finger. “These knives have a pleasant balance to them, too. An excellent symmetry between art and functionality. A credit to Nazz sensibilities.” He lifted his knife up and down on his left index finger, admiring the balance. “They look as though they might be equally at home on the battlefield or at a grand banquet.” Then he gave a broad gesture to the gala event all around them.

  “I wish I could claim I had more to do with it,” Indra said as he too picked up a knife, balancing it on one finger. Benito Resheph and Qusay Ardibahist immediately mimicked their masters.

  Smigyl noted that Indra selected the same left index finger he had used to balance the knife. Knowing that Indra was right-handed, Smigyl took this as a sign of veneration. Luckily for Indra, his Demigod, Benito was naturally left-handed. He doubted a social dullard like Benito would have known to follow his lead in honoring Smigyl.

  “The praise, however, must go to our grand master Artisan, Kuko Kiena. She has such a good sense about these sorts of things,” Indra concluded.

  “Then, please give her my compliments,” Smigyl said, running his thumb across the sharpened blade before laying it down. Obviously, Smigyl had noted Kuko’s absence, but was unsure how to interpret it.

  Conversation ceased, and Castor’s mind went blank. He was relieved that Smigyl had not asked about Kuko’s whereabouts and more relieved still that Indra had not asked, although quite sure that Indra was irritated by her absence. Castor glanced over to the main entrance, hoping that Kuko would miraculously appear and rescue him from all this tedium.

  Castor could feel the tension between Smigyl and Indra. They had been in a room for hours discussing Indra’s petition that called for a planet-wide offensive against the Valkyrie-backed Azakamani, using Smigyl’s Kshatriyas to support Indra’s Nazz.

  To Castor’s surprise, Guru Patanjali spoke, holding up the china plate, examining it carefully. “Of course, everyone realizes that when it comes to such acts of violent warfare, I know exactly less than nothing.”

  Simultaneously, everyone at the table chuckled, except of course Castor. “However, I do admire beautiful china. See how there’s such a nice flow between the Rising Sun and the Ouroboros.” Everyone began examining the plates.

  Again, conversation fell silent. Maybe I can talk about the upcoming play. Or perhaps some insightful nuance on the style of music playing. Or the training of our maestro. Or perhaps some light-hearted tale about why Kuko had been so angry after she landed a few days ago after dropping off Pegasus, interweaving it with some sort of historical anecdote.

  If Castor Mayhew had been one to sweat, right now he would have been sweating.

  “My Lord, might I interest you in some fresh crisps?” Smigyl said nothing, not being in the habit of speaking to waitstaff. It was enough that he did not wave her off or voice protest at being addressed by an insignificant. A delicately fried crisp was gently laid on his plate, followed by a second. The sweet aroma tickled his nose.

  “And for you, Master?” Indra made only the smallest of gestures, but smiled at the pleasant aroma as the crisps were laid on his plate. If Castor had been one to smile, he would have smiled now, but not for the crisps. He would have smiled because he recognized that smooth voice.

  The waitress moved around the table with exacting politeness, addressing each guest by name and laying the appetizer on their plates with precise elegance, serving each individual in the proper sequence dictated by protocol. When she reached Castor Mayhew’s plate, she asked no question of permission, signifying that he was not a God. However, as she bent over, she gently whispered in his ear, “Thank you for that beautiful note this evening, brother. It meant the world to me.”

  She could have said those words so softly that none other than Castor could have heard. She could have also used their personal battle language that none would have been able to comprehend. But she did not.

  “Why, there you are Madam Kuko. I was hoping you’d join us,” Smigyl said. Dressed as a Dek Geisha, Kuko hoped Smigyl would also recognize who she was by addressing Castor as brother. However, as it was, he had not bothered to analyze the statement of a waitress, rather he felt the shift in Indra’s attention and quickly followed his gaze. Smigyl laid down a half-eaten crisp, stood, and then nodded subtly to her. Although Patanjali and Rahu were repulsed by the concept of standing for any female other than Lakshmi, especially a female Nazz Panis, their God had stood so they must as well.

  As Indra stood, he nodded to Reginald, Castor Mayhew’s assistant and
their headwaiter for the night. Reginald immediately provided an additional place setting just to Smigyl’s left.

  “My Lord. You embarrass me with your generosity,” Kuko said, bowing low, a flush of red coming across her beautiful green face. “I am honored and happy enough to be of service.” She glanced to Indra with an apologetic look.

  “Please, my God and our illustrious guests,” she continued as they stood, her head now lowered to an even deeper angle, the red flush growing more intense. “I was hoping that you would allow me the privilege of being your servant for this evening’s meal.”

  “Nonsense, Madam Kuko,” Smigyl said as he magnanimously gestured her toward the new place setting between him and Benito. Smigyl was happy to have a buffer between himself and the crude Benito. His breath was becoming intolerable. “Our dear Castor Mayhew was perfectly flummoxed as to how to keep us entertained.”

  “Truer words have yet to be spoken, my dear Lord Smigyl,” Castor said as he took a low bow toward Smigyl, somewhat amazed how the powerful Smigyl had lost himself in Kuko’s beauty, charm, and elegance.

  Kuko sat as Smigyl held her chair. Indra gave her a little smile and a quick wink, obviously forgiving her for being late. He immediately understood what she was doing and was again impressed, as he had been so many times before, in how she was able to make a grand entrance, drawing everyone’s attention, while at the same time appearing perfectly humble. He well knew she would in fact have also been perfectly satisfied to remain in the role of servant.

  As Kuko gave Salecia the empty serving tray, she felt Rahu’s animosity hitting her like tiny pin pricks.

  Salecia looked at the tray, which still held some Angel Crisps. She noticed that Chismael, Benito, and Qusay had already devoured their crisps. Only Guru Patanjali had taken his time to savor every bite. Salecia knew not to offer more until either Smigyl or Indra had finished consuming theirs. Had Smigyl and Indra both left them uneaten, then the others would have to go without a second helping. It was a more delicate situation if Smigyl did not finish his, but Indra did, or vice versa. But Kuko knew Salecia was quite adept at protocol.

  Fortunately, both Indra and Smigyl finished their Angel Crisps simultaneously. Smigyl again noticed how Indra honored him, biting into his crisp a quarter of a second after Smigyl bit into his own.

  “My Lord, may I interest you in a second helping? These are fresh from Prince Beliar’s recent victory over Northern Venom,” Salecia said softly.

  Smigyl gave a small, dismissive wave. Anyone not as attuned to desire as Salecia would have been unable to determine if that wave meant yes or no.

  “Since my delay here upon Elysium, I was hoping to see my ferocious son, Prince Beliar,” Smigyl said casually, making it clear that his conversations with Indra had been an inconvenience.

  “I’m struck dumb. Your family’s presence overwhelms my sense, my dear Lord Smigyl. What a privilege it’s been to spend the past eons with them on Eden.” On the surface Indra appeared to remain generous while using the term ‘eon’ as an expression of his own inconvenience.

  “At the one end of the spectrum, you have a master of the Astra,” Indra continued, referring to the realm of pure concept experienced through the Crown Chakara. “Who amongst us could claim to have as rarefied and comprehensive a view into the Etherial realms as Lord Rahu? And who amongst us could claim to be as vicious a warrior as Prince Beliar? Then there’s the brilliance of High Exhaulted Pundit Bramrishi Devarat. I feel so fortunate to have enjoyed his good council upon many delicate Eden matters. Of course,” as Indra gestured toward him, “a creative genius like Guru Patanjali. I can scarcely imagine your pride. So frequently I have wished that I could have been here when Prince Nebuchadnezzar had…”

  Blah, blah, blah, Salecia thought to herself as she walked out of the room, happy to get away from all the posturing and grandiose language. She glided down the wide stairwell to the prep stations and pushed on the first door to the kitchen. Upon opening the second, the heat and aromas, the rattle of pans, pots, and plates, the shouts from the cooks, and the muffled screams of Angels, hit her senses all at once.

  “Nine more orders of Angel…uh no,” Salecia then remembered her poor dear Kuko sitting with that bunch of, “…make that ten more orders of Angel Crisps, please Brice,” Salecia called to the top assistant for head Chef Vohu Manah. Not only was head Chef Vohu Manah the overseer of the dozens of other chefs, he was also the one responsible for the often exotic desires of the gods.

  “Have you tried one?” Brice asked her. “They’re really quite good when this fresh.” Salecia just shook her head. “Not hungry. Thanks. My gut’s in a bit of a twist tonight.”

  Salecia’s gut had in fact been in quite a twist earlier that evening. She had nervously waited outside Kuko’s door as the days, and then the hours ticked down to banquet time. Castor had slid an envelope under Kuko’s door without acknowledging Salecia or Daresiel her assistant. Salecia tried to imagine what it said.

  Ever since their arrival on Elysium, it seemed Castor had grown increasingly distant. It bothered Salecia that he had not recognized her when he visited Kuko. Salecia suspected something strange had happened with the PPP project, as Dr. Speer had started to call the Lanonandek replication project. It seemed a good code name. Everyone who knew Kuko knew who PPP was and because so many Nazz had seen ‘Pigeon Pasiel Pegasus’ on Elysium, it would not sound suspicious.

  Soon after Castor slid the envelope under Kuko’s door, Salecia heard Kuko’s sweet voice. “Isn’t it about time you got ready?” Kuko stood in her doorway, dressed impeccably.

  Salecia opened her mouth to speak, but Kuko cut her off. “Here, let me help you.” Then Kuko led Salecia back into her apartment, insisted she wear some of her own refined clothing and jewelry, and then made her face into a beautiful work of art. This was pure Kuko — just as happy to be of assistance to a servant as she was a God.

  As Salecia waited for a fresh batch of Angel Crisps to be harvested, prepared in Chef Vohu Manah’s secret batter, and then given a quick deep fry in herbalized oil, she backed out of the way and leaned against the wall, waiting along side the other waitstaff.

  Salecia knew Brice wanted to engage her in conversation. Even though she found a Caligastian SA like Brice repulsive, he was still Chef Vohu Manah’s top assistant, so she was not about to create any friction or do anything that could possibly jeopardize Indra’s relationship with a gifted chef like Chef Vohu Manah.

  Chef Vohu Manah was Indra’s favorite and was always invited when he wanted to impress special guests. Because Chef Vohu Manah was also one of Prince Caligastia’s favorite chefs, these invitations also translated into honoring the Caligastian royal family. For the longest time, even after offering him ridiculous levels of Ratna as a fee for his services, Chef Vohu Manah had remained unmoved in his fulltime service to the Caligastians. As bizarre as it was, Ratna was seemingly irrelevant to Chef Vohu Manah when other gods would gladly commit genocide to obtain more.

  “Colonel Salecia Oisin,” Salecia heard Chef Vohu Manah call to her over the din in the kitchen. She looked up as Chef Vohu Manah waved her over. She forced a smile and walked around the counter that separated the kitchen area from the servant’s area.

  To Chef Vohu Manah, the kitchen was sacred ground. Unless he extended an invitation, it was best to stay out of his kitchen or expect a large pot of boiling water dumped on your head or a pan of hot grease tossed in your face.

  “Have you been here the entire time?” Chef Vohu Manah asked as he grasped both of her hands. They exchanged delicate kisses on each other’s cheeks.

  “No, beloved friend,” Salecia replied. “Kuko wanted to be the one who served the head table the first round of appetizers.”

  Chef Vohu Manah gave Salecia a look of expectant curiosity.

  “Chismael, Benito, and Qusay scarfed them down so quickly one would think they hadn’t eaten in a thousand years,” Salecia replied. “I actually don’t know whether Smigyl, Rahu, or Deva
rat have ever had their taste buds so delighted by your delicious recipe. And of course Indra remains Indra.” Salecia finished with a small twisted smile and a hint of sarcasm.

  “Well, perhaps they will slow down enough on the second helping to actually enjoy the flavor,” Chef Vohu Manah replied with a mixture of joy at hearing his recipe had been well received and repulsion at their crudity.

  “Perhaps, maybe,” Salecia replied.

  “But somehow I doubt it,” Chef Vohu Manah added.

  They stood in the center section of the kitchen surveying the long lines of Angels strung up.

  Multiple sets of tracks ran along the kitchen’s ceiling, each track dedicated to a specific type of harvest. Long chains hung from giant pulleys that effortlessly moved along each track. Just above the head of each victim, the chain split in two, forming a V-shape. The chain was attached to each end of a rod with a set of three manacles in a straight line. The three manacles held the Angel so that they were constrained at the neck and both wrists.

  Another rod ran between their feet, with a manacle at each end of that rod. The rod was clasped around each ankle, holding the legs open at around a 90° angle. Of course, the exact angle would depend on the length of the victim’s legs. At the center of the lower rod was a welded ring.

  Inside slots in the floor, another pulley ran directly below the tracks located in the ceiling. A chain was attached to the lower pulley at one end and to the lower rod’s welded ring at the other end. This made it impossible for the victim to move their wrists relative to their neck, and impossible for them to close their legs or lift their feet. At the same time it was effortless for the chefs and their assistants to slide them along the harvest line.

  A small pulley was attached at each end of the long upper rod. A rope was threaded through this pulley with a weight hanging down at one end of the rope. At the other end of the rope was a set of hooks and clamps, specifically designed to attach to the tip of an Angel’s wings. These hooks and clamps pulled the wings out tight and straight in order to induce new wings to grow as quickly as possible.