Lore of the Fallen

By J.M. Eller

In Lore of the Fallen, Paradise and Tartarus war over the souls of Earth in the classic "good vs. evil" conflict. The Guardians, Michael and Christopher, must protect their Charges, the humans: Lore and James. The orphaned Heiress and the battle scarred Barron are forced to wed and chaos ensues. Striving to bring peace to their Charges, the Guardians, face intense opposition as they struggle to help their mortals resist temptation and fulfill their respective destinies...

... But the malevolent Traducers of Tartarus have other ideas for these two humans. The lethal Liakime and the lustful Legna manipulate time and space as they toy with Lore and James, in an attempt to thwart destiny. The two Traducers thrive on a constant uproar of conspiracies and intrigues with their fellow Tartaruchans, as they relentlessly pursue the mortal couple. Liakime and Legna will stop at nothing to achieve absolute power and turn Lore and James in to the Fallen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Dec 7, 2007
• ISBN: 9781425153335

J.M. Eller

J.M. Eller started writing at the tender age of five. The child of two minister-writers, it was only natural some of their awesome talent would be passed down. J.M.'s mother, Dr. Bonnie Eller, is author of the cherished children's book, Lots, and lots, of Little Lambpies, with her second book, Little Mocky, the Baby Bird, due out early 2008. The writing continues with J.M.'s daughters, who are trying their own wings as authors, with their upcoming first novel, The World of Dontria. J.M. resides in South Carolina with daughters Aly and Haley as well as Caleb, the service dog, and is currently working on the second book of the Guardian Trilogy.

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© Copyright 2007 J.M. Eller.

Cover & Art ©2007 by Jonathan Klein

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

Note for Librarians: A cataloguing record for this book is available from Library and Archives Canada at www.collectionscanada.ca/amicus/index-e.html

ISBN: 978-1-4251-5332-8

ISBN 978-1-4251-5333-5 (ebook)

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Epilogue

Pronunciation Key

Definitions of The Tartaruchan Underworld

Definitions of Paradise

Author’s Note

Acknowledgements

About the Author

To God, for helping me every step of the way;

To Aly, for her amazing faith, determination, and hot tea;

To Haley, for her endless encouragement, optimism, and coffee;

To Caleb, for his constant help and canine companionship;

To all of my adopted kids and family;

I lovingly dedicate this book.

Prologue

Before the Foundation of the World

A day…is as a thousand years; and a thousand years is as a day to the One Above. Time, as humans know it, is but a creation from the One Above. You see, mortals were meant to live, not to die. They were made to live…eternally. A woman’s deception and a man’s lust changed that forever. Snakes should never be listened to, let alone trusted; be they those that now slither on the ground, or those that reside within us. However, that is not the lesson for today, children", so I won’t bore you with details already widely known.

Our revelation today is time. It’s brilliant really the way the One Above designed it. You see on earth, or in the natural as the Ones We Hate call it, there is time: a beginning and an end. On Earth, all things start and all things end. Some of the Heirs’ pathetic dreamers calling themselves poets" claim life is much sweeter because it is so short. That is just the human way of whining for what they lost. For deep down, they know they caused their own deaths; though they have long since forgotten it.

The truth is time for humanity is a line. A straight line followed from birth until death, because the One Above proclaimed that once all men must die. On earth, we have a chance to steal them. They are mortal. They must choose the path of destiny or exercise their free will. Some become the Heirs and the others become the Fallen, doomed for all eternity. It is our fate to help humans decide where they shall go for we do not have a straight line of time. Ours is one of a circle around the line: constantly moving, all is at once and at once is yet far off. This motion allows us to play the line of time to our advantage and turn mortals forever into the Fallen…

-Liakime, to Lesser Spirits about Time

Chapter One

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The Wedding

March 31, 1003 AD

"AH WEDDING BELLS!"

Legna slid off the wings of the stone gargoyle and licked her lips in anticipation. Her blonde hair waved carelessly in the wind as she glided slowly to the ground in front of the church. Dressed completely in white, she did not look unlike a bride herself. Beautifully swathed in ethereal shimmers of light that clung to her curvaceous form like a second skin, she radiated femininity and sensuality. Her lovely, heart shaped face had full lips, an aristocratic nose, and perfectly set eyes. In fact, should one look upon her they would think her the most glorious woman they had ever seen…except for two things.

The first was her eyes. These darkling orbs held no light in them, refusing even the brightest refractions; showing no reflections. Blacker than the blackest hole in space, they absorbed all that Legna perused and never gave even the slightest warmth back. To look into their nothingness was to see a fate worse than death itself: they marked the path to the Fallen.

Secondly, no mere mortal could gaze on this cold yet wondrous creature. Why not? Because Legna was not a human therefore she could not be seen in the mortal world. Yet she appeared in many fantasies and led many a man astray but only in their hearts could she be seen. And even in that, the male must open his heart to her, he must allow her poignant darkness to infiltrate his being. Wonderful, terrible things would be his for granting her this right: pleasure mixed with pain; power showered with wealth; and wisdom sharpened with cunning. But there was a price for it. Oh yes! A penance must be paid to receive the gifts she bestowed. This path and all that came with it led to Tartarus. It was the way of the Fallen.

With amusement, Legna surveyed the crowd around her. Peasants, she muttered. So filthy, so utterly disgusting! I swear I can even hear their stench screeching at me! Curling her lip she turned toward the entrance of the church, and in one fluid motion, she walked through the closed doors instantly appearing on the other side. The chapel was full of nobility and gentry. Their quietly murmured prayers seemed to both annoy and amuse her at the same time. Slowly Legna begin to walk down the

main isle.

Using her pale fingers she touched every male she could as she walked by. Each reacted differently to her invasion. A distinguished knight felt a rush of forbidden desire flowing through his veins. In his mind’s eye was the loveliest dark haired creature he had ever seen. Her lovely form made his loins throb. He swallowed hard trying to rid himself of this vision, while his hand unconsciously slid between his legs, trying to assuage the sudden growth there. Then just as suddenly as he saw her, she was gone: leaving him empty, aching, and guilty. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind as he glanced at his wife’s tightly coiffed red hair, her head still bowed, beside him. Confused, he wondered silently, What happened to me?

Next she came to a Baron and his Baroness. The brown haired Baroness dabbed piteously at her nose with her handkerchief, trying to hide it when she brought it back down as she prayed, while the Baron feigned prayer beside her. Their finery of velvets and silk showed a couple of insurmountable wealth and prestige.

Oh what a distinguished look on such a cruel male soul, Legna tsked, as she lightly thrust her finger tips into the top of his head. She could see into his black heart. His love for violence coursed through him with blinding need. Easily she propelled him to the scene at dawn that morning. He stood gaping at the brown haired girl, bruised and bloodied. Her grey eyes pleading for mercy as blood dripped from her nose.

More, Legna whispered through the girl’s blood soaked mouth to the Baron, She needs more. She smiled at him licking her reddened lips.

Again, he struck her, as he had done so many times before. Her jaw snapped to the left and she fell at his feet unconscious. Desire, stronger than the sexual, stiffened his member as he watched her in fascinated disgust, and begin to move his hips slightly in the pew where he sat. Legna smiled and withdrew her hand.

I almost wish you were my Charge, she complimented him and caressed his brow with her invisible hand once more. His body grew taut under her touch and he let out a shuddering breath as she left him. Blinking, he looked at the grey eyed Baroness, chastely praying to his left. She lifted her handkerchief again to her nose. He was pleased to see the drops of blood from her nose on it this time as she brought it down.

Again and again, Legna repeated these scenes with each man she touched. Their inner most desires, dark and foreboding, called out to her. They enabled her to become each man’s lustful fantasy. Some were violent; others were unfulfilled sexually; a few were in need of the obscure; the remaining males were lost in the currents of loneliness. To each one, she was something different and she reveled in the knowledge that though they were not hers, she would leave them wishing that they were.

Amen. Said the priest, just as Legna reached the altar where the wedding couple still knelt.

The Archbishop of Canterbury paused.

Legna looked straight at him, into his eyes.

A chill of unease swept over Archbishop Alferic.

Legna smiled.

Though he could not see anything with his actual eyes, he could sense the spiritual entity. It was one of the seven deadly sins. In his opinion, this particular sin was one of the worst. He had become victorious over it but had lost more than one colleague to its vicious snares. Judging from the men in the audience, the spirit had already been at work here.

How many times before have we seen each other, Lust? Alferic wondered silently.

Not enough. Legna seethed.

Be gone, you are not welcome here.

Oh yes I am. I was invited, by my Charge. You cannot forbid me access.

But I can restrict it. The Archbishop closed his eyes and began a silent plea to the heavens.

Suddenly, a flash of brilliant light filled the room as two figures appeared. Both were clothed in dark, ashen gray and were tall. Each wore a dark cloak that scraped the stone floor of the church. They bore no ornamentation and were rather plain in their wear. Yet, though humble in appearance and invisible to the human eye, their radiance immediately warmed the cold room. Everyone felt like a breath of fresh air had swept into the chapel. And if they could have seen what had brought it, they would have been in awe.

The two figures were like tall, regal men. Humility was on their brow and a solemn joy in their faces that only the pure of heart would ever be able to behold, much less understand. The one on the left of the Bishop had raven hair and a chiseled jaw. His bright blue eyes were fixed on the woman in light. On the right of the Bishop a strawberry-blonde haired giant stood, square jawed with piercing green eyes. But most striking thing of all about these men was what they each bore in their hands, now aimed directly at Legna. Glistening swords, seemingly made of silver, that were as clear as glass. Their cut was of a smooth broad blade, thin and nearly transparent. They seemed to hum with an illuminating music and were almost as bright as the eyes of the warriors themselves.

The swords continued their gorgeous song, as a presence resonated from them. A standard between Legna and the Archbishop of Canterbury grew until it filled the entire front of the chapel, effectively severing Legna from everyone but the bridegroom.

You cannot pass. The raven haired protector swung his sword in an arc.

You do not scare me.

You are hereby restricted by He Who Reigns to your Charge and ONLY your Charge.

I will do whatever I wish and the One Above knows I am allowed…

You are not allowed to disrupt this service. What God has joined together, let not man put asunder.

Ah but I am not a man, therefore I may speak!

But you may not prevent what is to happen, that has already been. The red haired giant swung his sword in an arc as well.

But I am NOT A MERE MORTAL!!!!!

You shall not pass. The standard has arisen. Behold the Impassable Wall! Both warriors inclined their head toward the wall as if acknowledging a superior being.

Legna’s dark eyes smoldered, as she eyed the Impassable Wall. Yes, she sensed the One Above, knew this was all His doing, but she oh so wanted to defy him. She was blocked from everything and everyone…except the back of the groom. Jaw clenched, she walked over to his back as the Impassable Wall closed in around her even more. Glaring at the bishop, she placed her hand defiantly on her Charge.

The groom stirred as a spasm crossed his face: fear mixed with confusion. Even in the church, he could not get away from this burden he bore. It always reminded him of the atrocities he had committed in the name of God, on the battlefield. Never did it give him a moment’s peace, and the weight of it tore his soul. Such a civilized world it was on the outside, yet, rotten to its very core with deceit and lies, death and degradation. He was the perfect example of this in his own life. A man of honor and glory, he had helped to firmly establish the kingdom into the hands of the King. Oh but the price he had paid with his blood and the blood of soldiers. Their loss stained his soul.

Legna appeared in his mind’s eye in the middle of a conglomerate battlefield. She walked toward him, her arms outstretched. He longed to hold her; let her chase away all of the horrible nightmares he held within him. She reached up and touched his face, causing his body to react viscerally to her. Swallowing hard, he did his best to concentrate on the ceremony rather than his dream angel who soothed his mind and deliciously tormented his body.

Struggling, he managed to get control of his lust and clear his mind. Shifting quietly on his knees, he longed to stretch his cramped legs. Being just over six feet tall, the petit altar caused him quite a bit of discomfort. Ignoring the aggravation as best he could, he closed his dark blue eyes tightly. Thick light brown hair brushed his face as he bowed his head lower. His face was rugged and showed him to be much older than his twenty-eight years. Pain had forever scarred his visage and it made him a much harsher man than he had been in his youth. His wedding clothes were a tunic of black velvet, trimmed in the finest silver-fox fur and grey, silk hose. Marrying the beauty beside him was not out of love. She had been a gift from his new liege, King Ethelred, because of his loyalty and strength in battle. This was not what he had wanted.

Kneeling next, to him was his ‘gift’. The bride was dressed in white. Her vintage gown, though out of style, was still rich for its simplicity. The white silk velvet was plain, but without visible seams in the belle of the skirt. The dress was trimmed in white ermine and a cloak hung from her throat pinned with a large diamond broach. A belt made of silver and pearls was fastened around her small waist. Her hair flowed down her back, a thick, curly dark blonde and framed her heart shaped face softly.

The bride was tall and her body strong from years of work and exercise. She kept her green eyes averted or on the Arch Bishop. Cold she was, yet beautiful. She dared not look at her husband for fear he would see the anger she fought so hard to hide. Her new king had commanded her step-father to give her hand in marriage in order for him to retain his title and lands. She was a sacrificial lamb. This was not what she had wanted.

The Arch Bishop continued the ceremony with ease. Legna seethed as the wedding drew to a close, eyeing the couple as they faced one another. It angered her greatly that her Charge was now joined to this…thing! Where was Liakime? Here Legna was faced with two of the Ones We Hate and Liakime was no where to be seen. She would get him for this. How dare he leave his new Charge! Liakime had promised to attend yet he was not even close to this age and time. This would have to be taken up with Nomed and Legin. She would not allow the pompous killjoy to get away with it. She, Nomed, and Legin had all worked endless ages for this moment and now it had been spoiled. This was not what they had wanted.

With the final blessing of the Archbishop, the union was sealed. Bride and Bridegroom rose and strode down the isle with Legna in tow. The twin warriors stayed with the Bishop, never taking their fiery eyes off of Legna. Feeling their heat on her back, Legna curled her lip and turned toward them momentarily to issue a threatening promise.

You’ve not heard or seen the last of me. We will meet again.

Yes, we will. Sooner than you think. The raven haired warrior stolidly promised.

Next time it will be on my terms. She instantly disappeared from the altar into thin air.

The warriors lowered their swords and inclined their heads to the Impassable Wall. This was exactly what they had wanted.

Chapter Two

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The Tower

LEGNA, you REALLY should do something about your temper.

A tall figure lounged at the head of the banqueting table that used to sit in the main hall. Long ago it had been moved to the far tower. Cracked and splintered it was an odd setting for such an elegant male. His long tapered fingers touching at the tips, he watched Legna with hooded eyes and a slanted smile on his face. It was obvious he was enjoying the other’s anger and distress.

Liakime, you have failed us all for the last time! I could have been fodder for the Ones We Hate thanks to you! The plan is in jeopardy and it is your fault, you insolent cad! Legna picked up the chair at the other end and threw it at him. What defied reason about this feat was that she did not move at all as the seat hurdled toward him. All she did was concentrate and the chair, as if with a mind of its own, went flying at Liakime.

Smirking, Liakime merely blinked a fraction of a second before the chair was to reach him. The chair spun around and landed in the middle of the room, never coming close to its intended target. The striking male stood up with eyes as black as Legna’s, skin pale, and black hair that was magnificently streaked with silvery gray on either side. It was impossible to tell his age for his square jawed face bore no wrinkles and his body was that of a graceful yet powerful athlete.

Walking toward Legna, he towered over her more so than mortal men did. Smartly dressed in a tailored black suit that was clearly not from this present century, he exuded unbridled passion and power. His body was as swathed in darkness as Legna’s was in light. To feel his presence was to know the end of life because his power was in speaking death, just as Legna’s power was in speaking lust. But even though he was obviously evil, he was devastatingly handsome. What is more, he knew it.

Fuming furiously, Legna screeched, At least tell me where in hell you were!

Slanting his smile he began to walk a bit slower. Well, my Angel, He purred. I wasn’t in hell. I was attending to some personal business…on earth as it were. But you, my dear, I never once thought of abandoning. She flashed him a contemptuous look and he lowered his eyelashes seductively with his voice. I knew a beauty like you could handle a couple of insignificant Guardians.

I am not your angel, Legna spat. And flattery will get you nothing from me. She was unimpressed with his attempt to seduce her through his voice and looks. Yet she could not deny how her spirit calmed when he drew near. She felt her defenses ebbing away with each step he took. Ill that he could have such an effect on her, she said, Should I applaud you as the female human does in her dreams when you have rescued her from one tragedy after another, which all along, you have created?

Smiling, Liakime looked down. I see you are finally running out of decent insults. Jealous, dear?

He reached up to take one of her blonde curls in his fingers. Legna struggled against him with her mind. She would not suffer him to touch her. His hand drew ever nearer, feeding her disgust. It was one thing to feel the strength he gave, but his touch was loathsome beyond compare. Fight though she tried, he easily took hold of her lock of hair. Never giving in, she returned his gaze unflinchingly. She really did not know which was more irritating: the fact that she wanted him or the fact that he knew it.

Tell me my Angel, Liakime crooned softly, ignoring her blazing look at the endearment. Exactly what would you give for one night with me?

Legna’s eyes sliced into him. Only if I had no other choice than torture and torment would I choose that.

Liakime laughed all too knowingly. I’ll accept that condition. Of course, I think you already know you would never return to these mortals again after me.

And from the look of your current circumstances, ‘dear’, Legna retorted. You may never ‘return’ at all after Nomed gets through with you. Just wait until he finds out you weren’t with the bride. He will make you wish you had stayed at your post.

As if on cue, the door opened. Liakime lazily looked toward the door. Now what do we have here?

It was Legna’s turn to smile. She knew the human man who had entered. Oh, how she knew him! Her dear Charge, he was, and she knew this was an excellent opportunity to show the arrogant Liakime a thing or two about being a Traducer. In an instant, she channeled her anger and frustration at Liakime into insatiable lust. Liakime glanced down at her with mild curiosity, still holding on to her hair.

You know, Liakime, Legna chided. Humans do not have to be at rest for you to manipulate their minds. In fact, slipping into their conscious thought is one of the most exhilarating experiences Traducers, like us, can have. She licked her lips and slowly began backing away from him.

Watching the man enter and walk over to the middle of the room, Liakime let Legna’s hair slip through his fingers as she moved toward the human. So this is the great ‘project’ Nomed put you at eh?

Unaware that he was not alone, the man sat down in the same chair that Liakime had deflected and placed there only a moment before. Still dressed in wedding clothes of black and silver he placed his head in his hands, closing his dark blue eyes. He looked distressed and conflicted sitting there in the darkening room. It was obvious he was struggling against something inside.

He looks rather distraught. Liakime observed, with mock concern as he walked over and squatted down in front of the seated man.

Marriage will do that to a man, Legna purred, as she slid behind her Charge. He was not happy about the wedding at all. It wasn’t what he wanted. But I know exactly what I can do to…to help him.

Deftly, Legna slipped her fingers in the back of his head. He stiffened instantly. How could he have married her? He did not love her! It was not the way a marriage should be. She was so beautiful and sensual but so cold; a wench that would now be called wife. Closing his eyes he felt his anger being channeled as always into a sexual lust that was greater than anything he had ever felt. It was no use, marriage or not, wife or not, he wanted what he wanted. He wanted her.

Liakime watched in mild amusement as the myriad of emotions played across the young man’s face. It looks as though you have this one where you want him, my vixen.

Legna raised her eyebrows. Oh? She leaned forward and looked at the human’s face up turned awaiting ecstasy. Yes, he is getting there. But watch and learn Liakime. This is why human males are such easy prey; such fun! Legna winked at Liakime and straddled the man in the chair expertly. Reaching into the man’s arms on either side, Legna tied his spirit to the chair, binding it with a shiny black chain. She repeated this with his spirit at his throat, caressing his cheek as he visibly convulsed. Liakime stood up, leering at the scene before him.

Every time, the man thought. I try to get alone and think, but the pleasure clouds my mind no matter how hard I work against it. Up and down both of his arms he could feel her fingertips. It was painful, searing desire. He could feel the catch in his throat as he tried to swallow down the insane lust that welled up from with in his belly. Voluptuous forms floated in his mind of women he had known. Their skin tantalized him, their curves taunted him, but he never quite felt for them the way this bride had made him feel. She was walking toward him now. Her bridal gown was gone and she was clothed in an ethereal clear light. The dark blonde curls fell and kissed her hips causing him to groan, Lore…

Liakime stopped smirking. What did he say? His black eyes begin to smolder.

Shhh! Legna shook her head. I’ve almost gotten to his heart. She continued to weave the complex dream inside the man, ignoring everything but her Charge.

The man’s eyes opened unfocused and again he spoke in a ragged breath, Lore, my love. My. beautiful…Lore…such a gorgeous bride…

Liakime’s visage reacted violently a mere second before he regained control of it. Tell me this fool doesn’t think himself in love with my Charge?

Legna didn’t respond, being too engrossed in her dream weaving.

Legna, Liakime labored out, in a deceptively calm voice, tell me he is not in love with Lore.

Annoyed, Legna spat, without looking back, So what if he is?

Gritting his teeth, Liakime’s face was the image of rage personified. His fist clenched at his side. He struggled with the truth as the full realization hit him that this was the man. Liakime had not bothered to actually find this despicable mortal; he had other more effective methods of dealing with humans. One of his favorites was burning in his hands right now.

He had tried to put it out of his mind for days: Lore’s marriage. In an effort to stop the wedding, he had gone back in time, thwarted destiny, and still she married a mortal. Liakime didn’t know why her marriage angered him or why the rage was almost more than he could stand. All he knew was that this pathetic excuse for a human man was not going to fancy himself in love with the Charge that was rightfully his own.

Unperturbed, Legna waved Liakime away. No disruptions or this will not go well.

The man groaned softly as he began to see Lore not only in his mind but he swore with his waking eyes. She was now gloriously naked at his feet. Looking deep into his eyes, she slowly began to run her hands up his silk encased legs. Shuddering the man watched as her hands moved over his knees and thighs.

Legna licked her lips and felt a shiver of delight at the man’s reaction to her. For some reason, being the pathetic Lore was more fun tonight now that she had Liakime for an audience. She knew that she had the complete attention of both Traducer and human as she began to lower her head into the man’s lap.

Liakime forgot his fury for a moment and stared at the Legna/Lore. His breathing became uneven as foreign sensations began to infiltrate his being. He was mesmerized by the sight of her head in the human’s lap. The man was straining against the restraints that Legna had made for him in an effort to thrust his engorged groin into her face. Liakime felt an overwhelming desire to take the man’s place. What would it be like to feel the blinding desire only Legna could create but with Lore’s sweet lips wrapped around his…

Yes, oh God! Lore.don’t stop! The man gasped, as Legna/Lore licked his swollen rod through his hose and settled her lips around the tip.

A roar escaped the man in black. Tearing Legna off the man’s body, he threw her across the room into the far wall. Instantly in a flash of light, Liakime appeared at the back of the chair his hand grabbing the human’s hair. His other hand went to the man’s throat. How dare you! Liakime’s fury was unchecked as he forced the man’s head upward, gazing into his eyes with his black ones.

Death. Liakime declared over the man.

Gasping the man clutched the chair, the spasm in his neck would not stop and he felt as though he could not breathe. Panic screamed through his body as he writhed in the chair, seemingly held in place by fear. Sweat poured from his face as his lips turned blue and his eyes became bloodshot.

For a moment, Legna was too dazed to realize what was happening. Shaking her head she saw her Charge in the very throes of death. STOP! Legna screeched. If you kill him he is of no use to us!

The iron like grip Liakime had on the man did not loosen. This was power. In his hand, Liakime held this man’s life, literally. All he must do is squeeze and Lore need never be troubled by him again. The man was almost gone. Feeling his life slipping into his hand, Liakime reveled in the glorious sensation of mortality. In these few moments before actual death occurred, he could taste what it was to be mortal. Painful, erratic but it was life as Liakime had never known it. Coursing through his hand, the sensation raced through him firing pain deep within his being. Memories long repressed surfaced briefly. Light, it was always the Light…feelings foreign to him with a fluttering like high musical notes…pictures of a child, a woman, people.and finally loss, deep loss. His eyes closed for a few fleeting seconds as his thoughts splintered in an array of pictures, flashes too quick even for the immortal mind to grasp. Each focusing on the most painful one of all: the loss.

Struggling to her feet, Legna appeared beside the chair in a yellow flash of light. Grabbing frantically at the entranced Liakime, she tried to break his hold on the man’s throat. His strength was unmatched and she knew unless she had help, her Charge would soon be dead. Pushing away from the chair, Legna sent out a message in her mind. Help! Quickly or our plan is ruined!

Suddenly, a masculine voice spoke behind Liakime. Well, you could kill him but then Nomed would probably banish you to the lower levels, he paused to look around Liakime and Legna at the dying human, then said with a dismissive shrug, If I were you, I’d let go. He’s not worth it.

Liakime paused but did not release his hold on the man.

Legin! About time I had some help, said Legna, as she let go of Liakime and stepped back flustered.

Laughing, Legin walked toward the table. Men you handle with the ease of a dog, but one little out of control Traducer and you need my help? Eyes twinkling with malice, he taunted, Come now Legna, he is male…err…aren’t you Liakime?

Legna ignored Legin’s barb. She looked to Liakime, her eyes pleading with him. Ever so subtly she began to change the color of her eyes to the lovely clear green of Lore’s. Liakime’s eyes slanted at her even more…but it worked.

Liakime loosened his grip slightly. The man convulsed, coughing, and air rushed back into his starved lungs. As the man sputtered back into the living, Liakime cut his eyes over at the newcomer. He was torn between holding on to the mortal’s life and curiosity as to why he could be banished for killing this human. He had killed more mortals than any other Traducer, yet this man could send him to the bowels of Sheol with his death? For the moment, curiosity won out. Liakime dropped the man and turned to face Legin. To find out what he wanted to know he would play the other’s game.

Instantly, Liakime’s former cool resolve masked his elegant face as if he had never been angry at

all.

Oh come now, Legin, you of all the spirits should know we are neither male nor female. Liakime smirked.

Legin kicked back in the chair placing his booted feet on the table. No matter how many times Liakime saw him he never could quite get over the contrast between himself and Legin. Liakime could fit him under his chin, he was so short. Legin was not a striking figure at all. His face was as plain as Liakime’s was handsome. Unkempt, long dark blonde hair framed his severely squared jaw as it parted down the middle of his greasy head. Legin’s eyes matched his tunic and hose: both were an eerie midnight blue that seemed to constantly be in motion. Unlike his or Legna’s eyes, Legin’s could be looked into. But what a person would see, was worse than the blackness of the other two combined.

Legin adjusted his dark cloak. Proceed, Legna. I believe you were about to show us all the proper way to lead astray a human male. Not that I’ve ever had the appetite for men the way you do, love, but I do so enjoy watching you work. He smiled, in a faux affectionate way, at her.

Legna was not amused. Death and bliss do not mix well and you know it.

On the contrary, Legin chided, "They walk hand in hand…the human’s death is our bliss. And seeing as unfortunately we can not allow Liakime to send this pathetic male to his doom today, we might as well be gifted in watching his tormented bliss. Come, my dear, you do such a magnificent

job. She has such a flair for the dramatic, don’t you think Liakime?"

Liakime had quietly moved over to the table, and was seating him self to the right of Legin. He looked coldly at Legna, but his voice was mild and charming. Yes, she seems to have a certain savoir-faire in the arts of lust. Riveting to watch.

Legin nodded. I’m sure you heard about the wedding, which you failed to attend I might add, he chuckled gleefully. Nomed will be looking for a good excuse on that one, Liakime. Anyway, Legna, caused such a stir at the ceremony, the Ones We Hate made a show of it to stop her. Clicking his tongue, he admonished, Really Legna, a church and what’s more Arch Bishop Alferic? Aiming bit high aren’t we love? Who’s next? Pope Sylvester the II?

I believe he is on Liakime’s list, Legna replied sweetly, refusing to allow them to get the best of her. That is, if he still has a list, after Nomed gets through with him. Liakime shot her malevolent look.

Ignoring Liakime, Legna slid back on top of the man in the chair, she caressed his cheek, and his labored breathing lessened. The males at the table watch in rapt fascination, as she transformed her appearance into a lovely naked female. Liakime smiled, in spite of himself, as he watched Legna penetrate the man’s brain, and then, his heart. Legin was correct: she most certainly knew what she was doing.

Never taking his eyes off Legna, Liakime said casually to Legin, I see you are fashionably late as usual.

Leaning back in his chair, Legin replied silkily, Punctuality, Liakime, is not one of your traits either from what I have seen.

Yes, but at least I have a reason for my absence and tardiness. Liakime retorted. I had a death to attend to, and that is why I could not make the wedding.

"That wedding thing is a dead issue with me, my lowly Traducer," Legin chuckled at his own play on words.

Sucking his teeth, Liakime tried to let the