The Ancients and the Angels: Archons

By M.C. O'Neill

The thrilling sequel to “Celestials” is here! Get “Archons” today and follow the new adventures of elfmaid Quen’die Reyliss as the malevolent forces from the Inferno attempt to infiltrate the earth! This time, it’s personal. The Hells have a vendetta to settle - and our heroine is the target!
An indispensable member of Lada Ray’s YA Revolution, “The Ancients and the Angels” is a cosmic joyride that spans multiple dimensions! Read “Archons” now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.C. O'Neill
• Release date: May 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301898312

M.C. O'Neill

M.C. O’Neill was born in Chicago, Illinois on a cold November morning and graduated from Indiana University with a B.A. in graphic design, later to be awarded an MFA in painting from the University of Cincinnati. Currently, O’Neill resides in Des Plaines, Illinois.

Book preview

Preface

Well, it wasn’t easy, but this addition to The Ancients and the Angels was a doozy to write. Not so much that I had trouble constructing the plot, but for my dealings with the tone and theme of this entry to the series. Let’s put it this way: this book is dark. I’m not going to lie; terrible, awful things happen within these pages, but that’s what happens when you write about demons and devils.

If you haven’t bought Celestials, you’ll need to read that first, or you won’t know what’s going on with this installment to the saga.

So, sit back, wherever you may be, and enjoy a tale of a horrible and wonderful yesterday. If the ending enrages you, don’t worry, Quen’die and company will return. Promise.

- M.C.

Dedicated to James Roy Daley, Lada Ray and Caprice Guidry.

"Behold, my friends, the spring is come; the earth has gladly received the embraces of the sun, and we shall soon see the results of their love!"

-Sitting Bull

PROLOGUE: LAKE OF MAMMON

"The negative side is that sometimes it is beyond control."

-Mikhail Kalashnikov

"Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent’s fate."

-Sun Tzu

Useful Ruins

For the people of the earth, their chances at life were restored, or rather, rebooted. A brand new day full of opportunity and rebuilding lay ahead. They all knew that it would take years to become once again what they had been. Palaces were crushed, families decimated and nothing was quite what it used to be, but the gratitude of continued life coursed through their veins and a sense of freedom unlike ever before pushed them forward in their diminished states. As for their adversaries, hell was what they got. A jarring defeat howled through the Nine and that agony would not be tolerated. If they could not bring Earth to hell, then hell would be delivered unto Earth.

***

Glynna Reyliss was lounging in the cab of the cutter coach as it sliced though the icy wastes of the Vril. An annoying long shock of crimson hair continued to dangle over her goggles from under her thick hood. Yes, despite the cab’s heater, it was still freezing in the vehicle, but such an impediment as weather didn’t bother her hardened nerves. Kumarian humidity, Gonduannian heat, and Xochian sun had battered her body over the course of her years as a faethropologist, and she would be certain not to let the chill of the Vril get the best of her.

More than any inclement temperature or trifle such as a misplaced bang, another topic was buzzing against her mind. Minn’dre, her new assistant, carried a disturbing air of familiarity that she could not quash. When the maiden had first approached her during the opening day of the new semester, a stunning bolt of recognition enveloped her senses. A homeness. From under the rubble of the Corosa University’s shattered auditorium, the elfmaid of platinum-blonde coif strode with confidence to her new professor. Throughout her on-again off-again years as a marm to scores of faethropological hopefuls, Glynna had become quite renown and students would rush at the chance for any opportunity to adventure with the lady whenever she had made the call for a dig or field investigation.

This term, she was assigned to spearhead the Vrillian Mysticism course. After the tragedy of the Dim’borgir redoubt, the academics had declared it a hotbed for spiritual investigation. So many elves had been killed under the suicidal blast of that foul pyramid’s detonation, and so, the tiny northern territory needed to be reconnoitered. The gods only knew what wonders and mysteries could have been left behind from that conflagration.

She was the most apt to lead this adventure over any tweedcloak in her department. Her accolades must have filled an entire tablet in her relatively short career and not even her beloved Centeo had needed to pull any strings (despite popular rumor) to secure for her that mission for the university. This was her domain and many in the field considered her the queen of it.

Minn’dre Harvatt. Where had she heard the name before? It was quite possible the maiden was somehow involved in the haphazard revelry in the days of the demonic ruse, but for Glynna, that time was a whirl of confusion, happiness and terror. It was such a lavish and invigorating chapter for the lady and a large part of her wished that it had never ended. Well, not in the manner that it had. Some of her students had actually been devoured and doped within one of those monstrous behemoth bellies, and in some ways, she wished that she could share that experience with them; just to say that she had been in the gut of a dragon and lived.

The maiden had to have Thuless’in blood in her. Atlanteans just did not come by that blonde. Sure, it could be a dye job, but Glynna knew the difference between the natural glow of Minn’dre’s locks and a tacky salon special. Young Maiden Harvatt was the real deal, Glynna decided as she studied the strands within the blue glow of the cab. She had to dig further.

Minn’dre, how old did you say you were? The doctor broke the silence in the coach.

"Heh, I’m older than… I’m nineteen," she saved.

Nineteen. That would be about the right age, Glynna considered. Minn’dre’s eyes carried an intelligence that the lady construed as a trance of genius. They were like layers upon layers of blue and so translucent that one could see the immense brain they covered. In some ways, that intelligence seemed frightening or maybe even threatening to the professor. She was just a baby pup - a coed, Glynna assumed. Nothing professional to worry about. For now.

This elfmaid had champed at the bit to apply for the expedition. In the hectic week of auditions and reviews for the coveted spot as an assistant to the great Doctor Reyliss, many students filled the lady’s inbox with pleas for the opportunity. It wasn’t just for college credit, she knew, it was for the adventure that was sure to be had when traveling to the icy locale. So many tales and rumors had erupted all over the manacloud about the fate of Dim’borgir. What had happened, exactly? What marvels were left in the aftermath, if anything? And, of course, there were the ghost stories.

According to her college records, Minn’dre Harvatt was an exemplary student who had been active in many extracurricular activities, including the infamous political group the Black Hood. Glynna chuckled to herself when she thought about how close this young maiden must have been to Travius during her tenure with them. Her Travius. What a loon.

Although in the top five, Minn’dre wasn’t the first on the list. In an odd stroke of fortune, three of them to be exact, the maiden had made the final cut for the spot.

Glynna’s top contender, Benn’ya Qua’driano had fallen ill with a strange bout of measles. Measles, the lady chewed. She thought that the disease had been all but eradicated when she was still a child. Strange.

Tulli Mir’quanda was a hopeful for second place. The day before the professor had made her decision, the young lady met with an unfortunate coach accident which had put her in the hospital. The attending health wardens predicted that the maiden would be laid up for the majority of the semester.

The third deletion in the race was delivered in the form of a simple message: I can’t do this. Sorry, from one Quex’iss Bor’lann. It was understandable, but unbecoming of a true faethropologist to be spooked by such a forbidding climate and an even more forbidding subject. Good grades were just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the art of archeology and exploration. Master Bor’lann would need to grow a spine if he ever hoped to prove successful in this business, Glynna judged.

Speaking of icebergs, Glynna’s stylist, Djaenn – just Djaenn – was not taking to the tragic weather of the Vril very well. Centeo had commissioned the fashionista to spruce up the cast and crew of this journey as it was to be documented and broadcast on the popular reality program Wraithwatch! How droll, Glynna thought. Yes, the production would help promote her career to the masses, but it was such a cheap and corny show that she wondered if she were not compromising her professional name by answering the inane questions of the show’s presenters. To wit: Do you believe in wraiths?

Oh, Glynna, why couldn’t we just fly here from Ultimo by limmer? Djaenn whined from the back of the cab. Despite the loud hiss of the coach’s skis slashing against the ice, Djaenn’s protests were of an even higher volume.

No can do, For’gaard Helgestin, their pilot, yelled from the reins of the coach’s mammoth train. Airport was knocked out in the blast. Nowhere to land one!

Yes, Djaenn, Glynna began. I thought that you were a Thule yourself. You should take to this cold like a sabercat.

"But I’m from Vin’huldir! It’s much warmer than this… this Vril! Djaenn gasped. Besides, this vile winter is no good without some hot cocoa!"

The whole cab snickered at her bleating. Sometimes Djaenn could be so adorable, even when she was being unpleasant, although the stylist did have a point. Up in these latitudes, during the winter, it was dark for the majority of the clock and the temperatures never spiked above zero. Then again, it was always winter up in the Vrillian Wastes. Djaenn would just have to cope with the weather and enjoy her rich pay after all was said and done.

Doctor Reyliss, Minn’dre called from the warm gloom of the cab’s light. I do think that we should begin shooting this straight away, if I may be so bold.

Her student was a feisty one, thought Glynna. Not a bad idea, she considered. This was an opportunity to delve into new territory and their team might not be the only ones to enjoy such an undertaking. There had to be professional competition about, the doctor mused. The site was just too delicious of a prospect for any faethropologist to ignore. A pang of shock rode up her back when she imagined another team already setting up at the site as they arrived.

No boldness required! Glynna nodded. I think it’s a solid idea. I vie to be the first there and if we wait any longer, we’ll be beaten to the punch. Excellent suggestion, Maiden Harvatt.

Gods! Helgestin remarked. I think this is it. The dashmap indicates this as the area!

Only blackness could be seen from out of the coach’s windows. The night had grown even darker, darker than any of the inhabitants of that vehicle had ever encountered. The supernatural feeling of woe was thick and unwelcoming and cold. The Wraithwatch! team was not just surrounded by the dark of Vrillian night, but the tenebrae of evil.

A’right! Gannis Bangaloo, the star commentator of the show announced in his thick Muvian accent. Whether he was indeed Muvian was up for debate as he did not have the rich, obsidian skin of their natives, but looked like any variety of an Atlantean grey elf. It’s showtime, folks, so get your gear ready an’ let’s ‘ave a go!

Glynna rolled her eyes to that. She was beginning to really not like the assumed charlatan. Wraithwatch! was such a stupid show, she thought. Not even her son bothered to watch it anymore, but he was much more involved with the Atlantean Youth Parliament and his new friends to be enthused with such nonsense on the manascreen.

With every episode that she had watched, and that was only out of one eye, nothing had ever seemed to happen. Gannis and his buffoonish cohorts would run around an abandoned building or grotto in the dark and make a big to-do out of each and every little sound that they claimed to hear. Sometimes, Glynna figured, these sounds were really just their imagination projected onto the gullible viewing public. Real or imagined, no wraiths had been ever detected with any conviction on any episode. What a waste of time. Why it had lasted for five seasons boggled her mind, but she was quite aware of how stupid people, in general, were.

They all took to their marks as they jumped out of the cab. Their feet landed with a terrible sucking noise as their boots met not ice and snow, but the blackened muck which was a leftover from the Nine Hells themselves. Glynna could hear Djaenn retch from the stink of the goop. She hoped that her stylist would not make this production unnecessarily more difficult than it was certain to be.

Just pop a mint sprig in your nostrils, Djaenn, the doctor called to her. It should help alleviate the odor.

Eww… this isn’t odor, Glynna! Djaenn whined. "This is like standing in the middle of a blocked-up toilet! I think I’m going to just die!"

Oi, Gannis slapped the stylist on her padded shoulder. Just think o’ the paycheck. Tonight, we’ll make ‘istory! Just make sure I look good!

History, really, Glynna shook her crimson-maned head. This fool knew nothing of true expedition work. Nothing but digging, polishing, collating and cataloging would be done. Gannis and his editors would have to gussy up the raw footage with plenty of visual and audial effects to make her work not seem like a snoozefest to the show’s faithful audience.

Gannis wasted no time. The recording mirrors were chanted to life and their lights unveiled the carnage from three months ago. What was once Dim’borgir was now nothing but a massive expanse of blackened ice and it seemed to stretch on for miles. No structures of any note could be seen within the shine of the lights and, with all thanks to the gods, no corpses. Lord Mammon had blasted the little city to stygian slag. Glynna and company were standing in the middle of a lake of dirge next to four nervous mammoths.

Oi! Gannis hollered. Let’s give those mammers a sedative, eh? They’ll ruin the sound! Oi, Djaenn! ‘Ow’s me makeup?

An absolute fool, Glynna snorted. This guy could be the death of her professional integrity if he attempted too many dramatics. She made a note to herself to keep as far away from him as possible and just continue her investigation of the site.

"Right! I’m Gannis Bangaloo! Paranormal Investigator extraordinaire! An’ tonight, you’re watchin’ another episode o’ Wraithwatch!" On cue, spooky music wafted from the shoulder-mounted recorders on the mirrorcaster’s clunky comsuit. As were all present, he was heavily insulated inside a Vrillian padcloak for the warmth needed in such dire climes.

Here I ‘ave with me renown faethropologist Doctor Glynna Reyliss from the University o’ Corosa in Atlantis! She’ll be our specialist tonight as we investigate the tragic battlefield o’ the ill-fated city o’ Dim’borgir! Just four wee months ago, this site was the scene for the final battle o’ Thuless’in against the ‘ordes o’ demons that tried to drag us all to the Nine ‘ells! It was the only battle elfdom had lost during the Great Eviction!

Here it comes, Glynna groaned to herself. She knew well a stupid question was on the Muvian impresario’s lips and she prayed that she could dodge giving a stupid answer. Looking behind, she could see that her assistant was becoming fidgety and ready to get some real work done.

So, Doctor Reyliss. Just ‘ow ‘aunted do you reckon’ this site is?

Yes, very stupid, she judged. It would take much diplomacy and lip-biting to deal with this quack. "Well, Gannis, I reckon that this site may not necessarily be haunted per se, but it is sure to be a hotbed of cultural history and a testament to the terrible loss elfdom had sustained in that battle. Eh, my heart goes out to all the families of the lost."

In truth, Glynna could have cared less about the tragedy of the Thuless’in unfortunates, as she was more concerned about getting her own investigation underway. It was certain that the media coverage would be a boost to her curriculum vita, but the theme of the show was juvenile, exploitative, and a bit parasitic. A part of her felt an amount of guilt having had agreed to allow this three-ring circus along for the job.

But surely you can’t rule out the possibility of supernatural activity?

Oh gods, just leave me alone! she screamed in her mind. Eh, anything’s possible, Gannis.

As Gannis prattled on about hearing noises and seeing shadows, Glynna sorted all of her equipment with Minn’dre’s help. Meters, gauges, and maps were all accounted for and the doctor felt fortunate enough that the unpacking process was going with relative ease. Djaenn, on the other hand, huddled next to an idle mammoth for warmth, moaned in baseless fear under her breath. Her mewls were relentless. The wilds of the glaciers were no place for such a honeyed elf.

The doctor used the seismic activity application in her tablet to determine if there had been any weak spots created in the ground as a result of the big blast’s concussions. With nary a wait, a large fluctuation was detected due north. Gesturing to Minn’dre, the two trudged toward it through the slimy blackness.

***

Lucifer was salivating deep within his host’s mind. He was quite fortunate to have possessed this one, as resourceful as she was. Not just any elf or elfmaid could secure an easy sojourn to his goal. It was almost as if fate had led the dark lord to her for just this reason alone.

Minn’dre, he uttered in her brain. "Can you smell it? Just keep a low profile and hang behind your professor. We must make sure that we secure the stone. But whatever you do, do not be the first to touch it! You may find the result unpleasant."

Speaking with her spiritual hitchhiker had become easier as the months in which he lived in her consciousness and soul passed. More and more, she was becoming used to his presence and communicating to him with just a thought was all the more simple. In some ways, she was beginning to depend on and even like him. Just mere months ago, she was sure that she had gone crazy as his voice was relentless with his directives and advice. Sleep was near impossible as he never did. In time, their two consciences had made a scheduling agreement as to when they could occupy the fleshy vehicle known as Minn’dre Harvatt.

Well, who exactly is going to be the first to give it a go? the elfmaid almost mumbled out loud. Minn’dre was close to biting her tongue as the last thing she wanted was for her professor to catch her talking to herself. Within the howls of the wind, the chances of that happening were slim at best.

I think the good doctor would make a fine sacrifice, yes? I mean, she would only be competition for my possession of the black mana. I really don’t care to see such power squirreled away in a locked vault within a stuffy university.

Lucifer’s suggestion was not a very prudent one this time. No! We can’t have that, she did say aloud. Doctor Reyliss is too high-profile and that might draw too much attention to the plan. Let’s have the stylist make the first contact. She won’t be missed as much.

The devil thought on this for a moment. I supposed you may be right. Beckon the little fop over here and keep her close. When she sees the profound blackness of the stone, she is apt to not control herself. I’ve taken fine note of all of her jewels and baubles with which she adorns herself. And, really, chartreuse hair? Such a greedy little scum, and a scum whom I can use in this matter.

Minn’dre slugged over to the mammoth Djaenn hunkered next to. Despite her garish, pink padcloak, she was still shivering and the maiden figured it was all an act for attention. Such articles were insulated with mana and kept the body warm at a fine seventy-eight degrees.

Djaenn, she called over the wind. Doctor Reyliss would like you to come with us. We may need your services in the event the mirrorcasters want a good close-up!

The look on the stylist’s face was apprehensive and Minn’dre wondered for a moment if she was going to bite the bait. Er… Is it safe? I’m really cold and it’s so dark out there.

It’s totally safe, the maiden fibbed. Not only that, there is rumored to be rare jewels hidden in the ruins up here! Dim’borgir was rather wealthy, you know. Maybe we can get you in on a cut for your personal collection, yes?

At that, all nerves had melted along with the cold and Djaenn grabbed her bulky bags heavy with makeup and accessories. With Lucifer’s tutelage, manipulation of others was fast becoming an easy chore. He was right. This lady was a greedy sort and such temptation triggered her to action.

Hey! Djaenn shouted as she plodded as fast as the abysmal muck around her boots would allow. Wait up! I don’t want to miss this!

The lights of the mirror crew were all that guided the pair and nothing but black ice under blacker night could be discerned. What a hellish place, thought Minn’dre. How could anyone live here for all of their lives? Even if a small city had glowed within the pitch of the near-perpetual night of the neverending winter, nothing but ice and darkness would surround it for miles and miles. The maiden wondered if insanity or, perhaps, suicides had run rampant when the town had still stood. Regardless, it was an environment she figured she could never grow accustomed to.

Up ahead, Minn’dre could hear the blather of the silly show’s commentator as he trekked closer to the doctor. By the rough intonation of his voice, she could detect that he was haranguing her professor with just as silly of questions. The maiden chuckled as she realized the doctor failed to answer the show’s host with nothing more than a monosyllable. Gannis was not fetching the good lady’s attention very well.

With a sudden shout, Glynna halted the small procession as she held up her fist like a military division’s signal. This was it, thought Minn’dre and Lucifer in tandem. Lord Mammon’s parting gift unto the planet earth was ensconced before them. This had to be it.

Everyone! Just hold back! Glynna hollered. I think I’ve found something!

Of course you did, Lucifer cooed into Minn’dre’s brain. This is my treasure. Get the stylist over to the stone and let her be the first to siphon it!

Turning about-face, Minn’dre trod over to the nervous lady who once again began to shiver by habit. Djaenn! I think this may be the goods! Come closer!

I don’t know, Minnie. What if it’s something dangerous? she shook. We had better let Doctor Reyliss do the probing.

The maiden touched the young lady’s shoulder in consolation Look, there’s nothing out here but us. This place is a wasteland. All the fires have quelled and there isn’t hardly a stick of rubble left. Nothing is going to burn you or crush you or eat you. Do you want a little something extra for your efforts here or are you going to hold back on yourself? Early birds and worms, you know.

Like the bird to that proverbial worm, Djaenn pushed forward with reluctance. The trap was set and it appeared by the crazed look in her eyes that the young stylist would not be able to resist. Another pang of guilt ran through Minn’dre as she realized that severe unpleasantries were in the works for the lady.

Lucifer, she consulted in her mind. What exactly is going to happen when she touches this thing? It won’t kill her, will it?

Minn’dre. Great power always comes about at a great price, he lectured. I know this very well myself, but I am all the better an entity to this day because of these sacrifices I had to make in order to claim my realm. Whatever happens to Djaenn remains to be seen, but she is needed regardless. Just watch.

Shouted warnings turned to screams as Djaenn sauntered up to that rock in a trance. It was beautiful and simple. A black stone that reflected not one quanta of light despite the glare of the manamirrors. She figured it had to be priceless and would look so wonderful forged into the platinum frame of a solid necklace. It had to be her’s! She would be the envy of Lank’aawood and even the world-famous newsie Quay’liss Dalian. Taking off a hot-pink glove, Djaenn ignored the frantic caveats bursting around her and kissed the tenebrous surface with the tips of her fingers.

A whirl of noise erupted the very instant her greedy hand met the stone. The cries of Gannis and Glynna were nothing compared to it. The scream of Vrillian wind and the honks of spooked mammoths could not compete with the caterwaul of a million trapped elven souls channeling through the fashionista’s body as they had at last found their way out of their hellish prison and to a richly-deserved eternal rest. Djaenn’s spirit fled her body along with that myriad as her system could not withstand the shock of such spiritual traffic.

Djaenn’s painful howl ended the event as volleys of blood ejected from her mouth and nose. The spirits of Dim’borgir were not the only ones to leave earthly reality that night.

At 8:45 p.m., The Djaenn’s lifeless body fell back before the rocky hunk of black mana and nestled into the dusky muck that was once the town of Dim’borgir. It would be four hours before the small expeditionary team had the nerve to secure that dreadful stone for themselves.

I.THE SPRING INTO SADNESS

Analysis gave me great freedom of emotions and fantastic confidence. I felt I had served my time as a puppet.

-Hedy Lamarr

Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without.

-Confucius

The Prisoner of Mars

The immense tarpaulin, which served as a makeshift roof for the classroom, failed to keep all of the drizzle from hitting the students down below. Quen’die Reyliss felt fortunate that she was seated towards the center of the General Manadynamics classroom’s circle and thus avoided the droplets, but not so fortunate that she was feeling ill from stomach to skull. Not even sipping on a small jug of whey-fortified milk could assuage the aches throughout her body.

"Gyoo! she hissed in disgust over to her classmate and new-found friend Laris Veiler. What if my milk curdles when it hits my liver?"

You really are new at this, the lad commented. You seriously shouldn’t have overdone it last night. Everyone tried to warn you.

I know this! she protested without managing her volume. But those drinks tasted so good! I really liked the blueberry elixir. Besides! How was I supposed to know that hangovers were going to be this bad?

Convict Reyliss! Professor Pentiss barked. I expect no further interruptions from out of your mouth during the remainder of this class! Remember, you are on Assisted Labor detail!

How could I forget? she moaned to herself. Although living in the same complex as her father and her friend Tam’laa Na’rundi garnered her a sense of security, the drudgery of labor detail in addition to school was taxing her nerves by the day. Sorry, Professor Pentiss.

Mars was pioneer to the extreme. All that really existed was Cydonia Base and some traffic control tower hundreds of miles away which she had never been to. Every now and again, her work detail required her to venture beyond Cydonia’s safe perimeter as the building efforts had ramped up almost immediately after she and her father had arrived planetside.

The main construction focus was on roads and aqueducts. Mission Control, in conjunction with the Circle of Climate and Environment on Earth, had been going on and on about creating a giant canal stretching from Base to the Adalia Sea in order to maintain a safe and clean water supply for the colony and any future colonies sure to erupt around it.

Father’s paycheck was quite accommodating and he would try to slip his daughter with as many little trinkets and gifts as he could smuggle into her warren. Quen’die reasoned that it was those small gestures that kept him sane in their new environment and through his separation. Their separation.

Mother had not once spoken to the maiden while she stewed on Mars. In so many ways, Quen’die was grateful for that and sometimes she would daydream that she would become a famous Martian pioneer (probably through musicianship or runta) and her mother would one day read a newsscroll featuring her and her amazing accolades:

Main>>News>>Entertainment>>Music

Quen’die Reyliss! The first Martian Popstar ever will play a sold-out benefit show on Earth for Venn’lith Mitlan’s plastic surgery fund! Please dig deep into your hearts and pockets as this will be a monumental effort!

That little fictional blurb ran through her star-struck mind over and over again and helped to get her through her hectic daily schedule. Weekday mornings were five hours of school and the entire afternoon was work detail. Weekends consisted of a full eight hours of golem wrangling, managrease and travel from one site to another. Not one day off did the maiden enjoy.

Her security oversight was pretty much nonexistent despite the occasional guard. At night, after 10 p.m., she was sequestered to her cell, but still had full access to the warrens complex with all the other workers. In truth, Mars was a prison unto itself. To where would one run? Everybody was a prisoner here the more Quen’die thought about it.

Laris Veiler was the son of a bus pilot and he didn’t have to work as he was there legitimately. Quen’die had met him in their tiny classroom and the two fast became friends. Spending time with Laris was different than her time with Tam’laa. First off, Laris wasn’t ordered to snitch on her in the capacity of a job coach. He also wasn’t as much of a, well, stiff as Tam’laa. Sometimes Quen’die thought that the Gonduannian was a bit too serious and that was due to her father’s taciturn personality rubbing off on her. Laris was just more fun to be around and fun was what a young maiden needed in her sixteen years.

The basics of manadynamics come from the body of the elf itself, Professor Pentiss continued his lecture. "Within each elf resides the prana, or spirit. When an elf passes on, the prana is released and the remaining spiritual residue, or mana, becomes part of the manasphere. From there, we siphon and channel this source of mana with our manasprings and that power is further distributed to manafountains, coaches, golems – whatever have you."

Dar’iq Tomonda raised his hand with frantic vigor at that. So, Professor. Are you saying that all of our stuff is powered by – ghosts?

Er, well, yes. Essentially. But not truly a ‘ghost.’ You see, Dar’iq, mana is channeled and those spirits have a programmed duty no matter how complex or trivial to perform. A ghost is nothing but wandering, unfocused energy of a departed spirit. So, yes, there is a difference. Not to worry, your father’s coach isn’t haunted.

The classroom let loose polite laughter at the professor’s pedantic wit. Quen’die used his mirthful passage to her advantage and swung over to Laris.

Gods! Quen’die puffed. This is so boring! I think I learned all of this stuff in novice school. Hey! Are we still going to the tavern tonight after I get off of work? I’m totally going on stage.

Bull! Laris retorted. I’ll believe it when you hit the first note. Or are you going to do something other than sing?

Bull true! Quen’die shot back. "And yes, I am going to sing, you jerk! I’ve got it all planned out with the house bards. I’m seriously really good. I can sing and play pretty much any instrument. It’s amazing!"

Laris reclined with haughty repose. Like I said: I’ll believe it when I hear it.

"Convict Reyliss!" the professor burst. What did I tell you about crosstalking while I conduct class? I have already warned you once and now I must send you to the Time Out.

Quen’die shot up in reaction. Her teacher had caught her by surprise. But Professor Pentiss, I wasn’t talking and everyone was laughing at your joke anyway, so I thought…

The schoolmarm leaned in while wearing a stern look across his brow. He wasn’t going to let the young redhead get the best of him and he vowed to maintain classroom control. "Reyliss, I thought I had this class in a semblance of order, but I am afraid you are here to disrupt those plans. Now I must remove that disruption - You! Tam’laa, please escort your ward to the Time Out."

How embarrassing, thought Quen’die. Laris was wearing a victorious smirk as the maiden stood up to meet her teenage captor. She didn’t know what was more humiliating; getting caught disrupting class, seeing Laris’s nasty grin or being escorted to a little hot cell by a maiden who was only months older than her.

Tam’laa locked onto her with a disappointed frown across her face. At that moment, Quen’die thought she looked so old, so mature, and a part of her wanted to be in her position. It was so powerful of a duty for an adolescent and the maiden felt an immediate pang of regret for her juvenile behavior. This just wasn’t like the way she was back on Earth before everything had been shattered to shards.

With a sheepish slunk of her toned shoulders, Quen’die followed Tam’laa from under the tarp toward the little portable cell. She didn’t want to hear it, but she knew her boss was going to impart some sort of demeaning knowledge.

Third time already, Dee, Tam’laa stated the obvious. As if she wasn’t counting.

I know, Tam, I just…

As the two were out of the class’s earshot, Tam’laa grabbed Quen’die by the arms and straightened her with a gentle push. Dee, you have to knock this off. If you keep getting too many demerits, your sentence will be extended. You won’t get off this rock by summer!

I know, Tam, she repeated. I was just telling Laris about tonight and I wanted him to come to the improv at the tavern.

Dee, Tam’laa lowered her voice. Her tone was now not just mature, but parental. Laris is bad news. And from the smell of you, I can tell that his bad news is rubbing off on you.

Quen’die sniffed at the crook of her armpit and found it puzzling how Tam’laa could detect the faint leftover of last’s night’s alcoholic bout. Yes, Laris was a bad influence, but the maiden figured she could handle the fun that went with him and still remain responsible.

Tam, I know I can’t argue with you, but I can handle this. Professor Pentiss just has it in for me. It’s probably because I’m on assisted labor and he’s just being prejudiced toward me because of it. It isn’t fair!

But that’s just the point, Tam’laa stated with further adult bluntness. "You have been prejudged in a Circle of Law. You were the one who beat Venn’lith Mitlan nearly to death. It was all over the manascreen! Professor Pentiss knows this from your record and he is just trying to protect himself and the rest of the students. He doesn’t know you like I do and he can’t risk taking any chances. I mean,