The House Of Whoosher... ;-)

[TamiZ]

Malory picked at her food, ignoring the soft sounds of censure coming from her ageless companion to her right. The others sitting around the table were shielding themselves from her; though she possessed no skills of clairvoyance – an evident fact that resulted in many unfortunate incidents that led her from one pivotal moment to the next in her long existence. Tired of going over the story that led her to staging the House of Whoosher contest, she turned her eyes instead to the clock across the room. Centuries passed by as the seconds and the line of Eurayle revealed themselves to her in memories. Sighing, Malory leaned back and motioned to the servant girl at her back.

When the waif, not much more than a child, stepped to her side, Malory looked up at her with a gentle smile reserved for few but those that had been with her for so long despite the curse that they pursued. “Vera, please take my plate before I turn poor cook’s hard work into mush.”

The servant nodded curtly with a curtsey and claimed the plate. She rushed quietly from the dining hall, seeming to glide across the floor as her starched apron brushed against her modest cotton skirt. Malory watched her until she departed from the room; she turned to find Pavora studying her. Malory raised her brows in silent question. The witch looked at the clock, tapping her fork in time with the flat clicks of the passage of years. Malory closed her eyes as the clock began to chime three. Before the third bell rang, however, she opened them to find guests arriving. Great ladies and opulent gentlemen dressed in their finest gravitated to opposite ends of the room, forming circles of conversation. Closest to her end of the table, Malory overheard a group of young women discussing with unchecked excitement the planned séance for that evening.

With an effort to block them out, she focused once more on the group alive in the present realm, Malory saw that they had finished eating for the most part; she took a deep breath. Seated at the head of the table in a chair that was custom made for her long frame, Malory watched as one by one, they leaned back from their settings. She dropped all pretense of being like them, of being just another guest.

The hair on her arms stood on end when she pushed her chair back to stand. The wood upon marble was like a banshee foretelling doom. Malory mentally berated herself for allowing the darkness to crawl upon her flesh again. As she stood, she reached for the book. When she felt Pavora’s light touch of encouragement, she felt a warmth chase away the gnawing chill. The séance began on the edges of her vision, but she steeled herself for yet another confrontation replayed every century.

[TamiZ]

(or birth of a Sword-Weilding Maniac)

“I want to thank all of you for answering the call of the House of Whoosher. We have been trying to arrange this meeting, but something seems to happen to keep us all apart. So, while we are gathered at this moment, I would be most grateful if there would be no interruptions until I’m finished. I promise that by the end of my explanation of this ‘contest,’ you will have a better understanding of many things in your lives.” Taking a deep breath, Malory walked around to the back of her chair. She unconsciously rubbed the Celtic charms that had been carved cleverly into the dark, heavy wood.

“Some of this I know from the stories of bards, some I know from others that have dealt with this evil. Some,” Malory said as she paused to quickly look each guest in the eyes, “I know firsthand.”

When several guests inhaled as if to speak, Malory raised a hand. “Please, let me tell you the history of the sword wielding maniac that has been prowling these grounds. Some of you most likely remember seeing him at other times or in other places.”

Upon hearing the mention of the evil that plagued all gathered, a silence fell upon the room. It was like a heavy satin pall settling across the table. Sure that she had their attention now, Malory launched into her tale:

“His name is Ahriman. In his time, the Roman Empire was the present and not the past. Until he was 15, he was a child growing into a role that his father planned for him on the battlefield. When he was fifteen, he accompanied his father, a Persian general, into battle.”

“They traveled to Pelos to fight the Mycenaeans in an attempt to gain a foothold on that side of the Aegean. The battle was ill conceived by the Persians. They did not know of the unique dangers of Pelos; they were ignorant of the floods during the wet season. They were marching through the heart of the Nakopi valley when the floodwaters raced down from the mountain. Half of the Persian army was either wiped out or injured before they reached Pelos, but still they persisted in their campaign.”

“They met the Mycenaeans in battle upon a muddied field that crippled the Persian warhorses and left the Persians as easy targets for arrows and spears. Ahriman watched helplessly from a point above the field; while his father’s forces were slaughtered, he was bitten by something hidden in the grass.”

“Later, his cult followers preached that during the battle, Dahaka knowing of Ahriman’s growing desire for revenge and hatred, took the form of a serpent and bit him. The bite was supposedly a promise from Dahaka to Ahriman. Ahriman and his followers believed that if he destroyed in the name of Dahaka, he would become the most powerful being on the earth. The evil god forever poisoned the man-child Ahriman. The venom that stole through his veins carried an unholy ambition and the seeds of dark power.”

“The Persians lost the battle; every one of their soldiers found a final resting place on blood-soaked soil. Ahriman, however, was captured and sold into slavery. From that time of the battle, though, he knew a hunger for power and a thirst for death. He rose to his power slowly, as his masters over the years died mysteriously. He grew to manhood as a slave, but his reputation spread like a dark menace. Ruled by fear, his last master freed him when he turned twenty-five. It was that master’s dying wish, or so the other slaves swore.”

“It was then, free of the laws that restricted the slaves, that Ahriman journeyed the countryside, looking for the sources that would feed his dark passion. He eventually made a blood pact with a lesser daemon of deceit. His power grew, as the daemon gifted him with the skill of the incubus. He would steal into the dreams and beds of women of power. He would steal their secrets and their sanity while his seed grew within their bellies. His influence grew exponentially as he practiced his dark art of seduction. He reveled in the terror of nightly tortures, pain, and suffering. The children born of these unfortunate women and Ahriman were barbaric. They found each other in the untamed forests.”

Looking to Phalon, Malory explained even further. “The Greeks called that barbaric tribe the Horde.” Malory stopped to take another deep breath as the other guests took in the tense reaction of the Greek. After the dramatic pause, she continued. Her eyes became unfocused.

“Still, Ahriman hungered and thirsted for power, no matter how much he had. He eventually joined the Roman army, where he absorbed more power under the guise of legitimate warfare. It has been said that Dahaka’s venom made him mad for domination. He was on the verge of becoming a lesser deity when I met him, as the saying goes, ‘in a dark alley.’ At that time, we thought we recognized familiar desires in each other. But while he was a youth seeking power, I was on the verge of knowing too much time and life. I was arrogant and foolish. I wanted out of my earthly cage, but was not welcomed in either Heaven or Hell. In my own growing madness, I recklessly kept his company while seeking the one thing that could soothe my personal torment.”

[TamiZ]

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Once upon a time,
There was a garden,
A witch’s spot
Of root and bloom
And the Magik
She knew.

Once upon a time
There was a child
Poisoned by lust,
For power was
The greed that
He knew.

And they met
In the garden
And she touched him
With power.
He was met
With death.

-------------------------------

“It had been ages since I knew any peace of soul and mind. But right before I met Ahriman, I had found it in a woman. She was a seeress of incomparable abilities. Her beauty and compassion entranced me. My greatest mistake on any realm happened one night while accepting one drink after another from Ahriman. We were ensconced in a dark corner of a bar in the worst part of town. A fresh corpse had been positioned grotesquely along the wall for use as a knife target. The sounds of the crowd drowned out the morbid sounds of metal finding flesh and of vermin gnawing upon that same battered flesh once the soldiers became bored with that amusement.”

She watched the clock across the room as she mentally relived that first meeting. She still remembered the fetid stench of the alley, as it was a hovel for those without home or good purpose. She remembered the sound of the day’s rain dripping its last nourishment to waste in the putrid gutter. The tavern had been no better. The corpse from the day before had been thrown into a corner and flies swarmed along the mottled flesh. Unwashed bodies crowded too close to one another, resulting in fights that usually ended quickly and with much blood. In that tavern, one never knew who was stabbing whom in the back.

The great clock chimed the quarter hour and Malory blinked. She gathered herself back to the present. She cleared her throat and continued.

“It was during this time spent with Ahriman that I drunkenly told him of the seeress. If I had my wits about me then, I would have seen the light of ambition glowing in his eyes. I was, however, drunk on not only the port he bought for me, but also the possibility that I had finally found the road I sought to serenity. When he claimed that he could seduce the seeress and steal her power while in her dreams, I dared him to try.”

“I am the reason that the seeress Eurayle was drawn into his evil plot.”

Malory remembered the sight that greeted her when she went to visit Eurayle a few days later. She found the woman in her garden, surrounded by the herbs and vegetables that she loved to grow. Eurayle barely acknowledged her; the seeress was staring intently across the garden to the trellis upon which her prized flowers climbed. Impaled upon the supports had been Ahriman.

“Ahriman attempted to seduce Eurayle, but she was wise to his purpose. He became forceful and she unleashed the true power of her magik. I did not know of this until I came upon them in Eurayle’s garden.”

The cloth that covered his chest was soaked crimson dark. To Malory, it seemed as if the linen had been pounded into the man’s body, as there was the clear indent of a hand outlined. The intricately carved handle of Eurayle’s dagger protruded grotesquely from Ahriman’s abdomen. Fresh blood trickled from the corner of his mouth and his eyes blinked in disbelief. Eurayle gathered up her long skirt and strode slowly over to him.

Malory had never seen any mortal seem so confident and powerful. Pulling a vial from the collection at her waist, the seeress splashed it upon the four limbs and then the forehead of Ahriman. She loudly denounced his spirit and damned it to an eternity of unrest.

“She struck back at him in defense and defeated him easily. In her garden, there was no being with more power than she.”

Malory joined Eurayle and stood with her until the sun was high overhead and the last breath left the body that was once the man-child of a Persian general.

In the present, Malory looked down at the large tome of family history. She fought against the feelings of guilt that always left her helpless at times like this one. With a gentle pat upon the book, she looked up at her guests.

“Once she defeated him and cursed soul, she turned to me. I knew great shame and fear, like never before. I admitted that I was never more foolish, not even when I committed the sin that landed me on the earthly plane in the first place. She took pity on me and I vowed that I would be her servant for all eternity.”

“I also vowed that I would protect her line as best I could and fight at your sides as penance for my sins.”

Looking slowly around the room, Malory gauged their reactions thus far. There was disbelief, suspicion, and confusion. She quickly looked to Pavora for encouragement.

“In death, Ahriman found himself keeping company with Lucifer. It seemed that of all the Keepers of the Underworlds, Lucifer fought hardest to claim him. Together, they contrived a plot and struck a deal. Lucifer would get me and Ahriman would get the foul pleasure of killing off each member of the line of Eurayle when he or she found a great happiness in life. I soon became involved, doing what I could to protect them. Through the centuries, though, members of the line flourished and created one branch after another.”

Coming out from behind her chair, Malory stood to her full height. She suddenly found her purpose as she heard the faint buzzing of flies throwing them at the windows that framed the clock. She remembered the power she had.

“This gathering at this house has been prophesized by his priests as the final conflict. We must work together or else he will win again and his power will become too great, equaling Lucifer’s, and the line of Eurayle will die out.”

Moving away from her chair, Malory began to walk around the table. Her gaze rested on each person seated. “All of you are of the line of Eurayle, some from the distant, far-flung branches; some close enough to remember the sound of her laughter.”

Sending a mental image of Eurayle in her garden with the little girl Phalon to the adult woman at the end of the table, Malory allowed herself a ghost of a smile.

“You are all that is left of the Blooded Ones. You carry gifts that have been passed from generation to generation. Each of you carries one piece of the puzzle, or the weapon, if you will, against Ahriman. You must cast off the web of lies and deceit he has spun within your dreams. Your anger against each other and your fears of the darkness both real and imagined are his amusements until we are weak and divided. His victory will be uncontested and without Eurayle’s line as a checking force, he will set his dark desires upon the world.

Malory, after making the circuit of the table, sat down once more in her chair. “I am the reason you are here in this house. I personally invited you here under the pretense of a contest, an irresistible draw to most people, it seems.” Gripping the crafted arms of her chair, Malory centered herself. “This is my house. It was built over an altar erected by another of your line. Several of the Blooded Ones have visited here, not knowing why. But they were unable to pass by without stopping and recognizing its call. I built my house here because this has become a center of great power designed to be harnessed by only the line of Eurayle.”

Ready to take on the emotions that were emanating from her guests, Malory wrapped up her tale. “This ends here. You are the Ones. You must use your gifts, complimenting and strengthening each other beyond any experience you have ever had. Only then will you defeat him and banish him to Eternal Hell. And it will happen here, in this house. Only here with my knowledge of this portal’s power and your skills, will Ahriman’s soul be obliterated from every realm.”

[Phalon]

She finished. No one spoke; the silence that followed Malory’s speech was only broken by the sound of the clock. With each tick, Phalon looked at them, her eyes going from one face to the next of those gathered around the table…searching for a clue. Her gaze was met with a myriad of disconcerted emotion, each of them mulling the explanations offered by the woman seated at the head of the table. Phalon was confused herself, but for different reasons. Malory had spoken for a long time, and Phalon understood little of what she’d said - only bits and pieces as her comprehension of the language faded in and out. It was as if she were back in the bathing room where Mrs. Peacock had shown her earlier. After the servant – who was apparently not a servant at all – left, she’d played with the switch on the wall. The light came on; the light went out. Light, dark, light, dark….she must have flipped the switch a dozen times, testing to see if it ever failed. It didn’t. Each time she flipped it up, she was left in a room filled with light. But now she was in the dark.

And in here, it wasn't as easy as flipping a switch on the wall. The only way for light to be shed on the words she heard but didn't understand was to ask questions. She should have done so in the language that both only she and Malory understood. She should have asked in Greek. It would have saved herself a lot of embarrassment.

“So…we are the Bloody Huns? No, no, no Malory, you’ve got it all wrong. No Huns in my family history. Pfft. Barbarians – the lot of them.”

Scrappy, seated across from her, shook her head, rolling her eyes at Phalon as she had before Malory had entered the room. Ok…., Phalon thought, running her hand back through her hair, Let’s try this again…

“No?” She cleared her throat, and started over in a fresh direction, “The Honeyed Buns then? Sweet; yes, oh-so-very sweet and hot. Nothing like a nice round, hot sweet bun to get one’s mouth salivating. They are to die for, for sure….but literally?!”

Nothing but silence from those around the table.

“The Puns? Yes, it should have ended long ago. Those horrible, horrible puns. Very, very bad...bad enough to kill.”

A cricket chirped in a corner of the room.

She laid her head on the table, her arms crossed over her head – shielding out their stares and keeping her frustration tucked in close. The smooth wood felt good; it was cool against her cheek, burning bright red from shame. She closed her eyes, and willed herself somewhere else.

[Phalon]

Am I alone in here?

She felt alone; cut off again from the others. Alienated. In each direction she turned since she’d arrived in this place it seemed was another barrier, and all at once to Phalon they felt insurmountable. It wasn’t just her bumbling speech, it was everything. Everything from the people around her; the fight with Scrappy, her unreturned feelings for Guru - even the simplest things which they all took for granted to her were unfathomable. Things like the switches on the walls that lit rooms bright with fireless light were amazing to her; incomprehensionable mysteries. As she had done with her eyes, she now closed her mind, shutting it all out for the moment.

Am I alone in here?
Am I alone in here?

She had wished herself somewhere else….and when she closed her eyes, she was there. Her mind took her home.

And she wasn’t alone.

She was visited by faces from her life – faces of those she loved; her mother, her brother, the Amazons…and those who had left this world and moved on to the next, but who would always be a part of her – her father, Eurayle, Athan. Memories became moving pictures – a kaleidoscope of her life swirling in her mind until it all melded together to be become one strong emotion of home. It was the feeling of Greece itself that blotted out everything presently surrounding her – Greece and her life; Greece was where her life belonged. It was a life she loved, and one that had been stripped from her. A thing departed for which she’ been grieving. In her mind, it was not to herself, but to her life as an entity – a living being complete and whole – with whom she now spoke.

Knew you were here,

inside my head…inside my heart…always…

Where I hold you so close.

I’ll never let go of this.

Did you think I'd forget?
Couldn't be more of a mess,
For to breathe,
Used to be another way,
I'd take you in.

One figure emerged from the rest, draped in a gown woven of fine threads spun in hues of the earth: green, golden yellow, red, orange and brown; the colors of her garden. Waves of raven hair fell about her shoulders and Phalon wanted reach out and touch it. She wanted to bury her face in its softness; to let its sweet scent take her back to a garden that smelled the same. Oh, to be held by those comforting hands, soothing the harsh lesson that not all pretty things were benign; amongst the beauty in the garden there were thorns to be found. But the woman with the raven hair who stood in front of her was not the aunt in whose garden the child had played. The hair was streaked with bands of shining silver, and the hands that were held out to her were ones that showed age, rough and calloused like Phalon’s own.

Eurayle stood in front of her now….the Eurayle that Phalon knew when she was a young woman who’d lost her way. It was Eurayle the Savior, who’d pulled her back from the edge on which she had been teetering; Eurayle the Teacher, who’d taught her what it meant have the “sight”.

It was Eurayle the Seeress standing before her, waiting again to do the same.

The Seeress spoke. “I once knew a little girl, all smiles and hugs, who picked for me bouquets of flowers. I once had a pupil; a young woman who eagerly soaked up the knowledge I offered her; eagerly learning the secrets of her “gift”.

I watched my pupil turn into a strong and independent woman, learning secrets of the gift I kept from her….secrets she had to uncover on her own…..then there are those secrets whose answers still must be discovered. I’ve never left you, Phalon. I watched you after you left – even after I was gone from your world I watched the woman you’d become - a powerful mystic whose wisdom those around her sought. Where is that woman now?”

“She was left behind in Greece.”

“Then come; I will take you there. She needs to be found.”

Aged hands beckoned her to take them. “It’s time to wake up, Phalon.”

She hesitated; wary; before deciding whatever Eurayle had to show her was something that must be seen. She slipped her hands into Eurayale’s. They were comforting hands, soothing as they were when she was a little girl, and though she felt them only in her mind, there was warmth in them.

…it's time to wake up,
And separate feelings
That I keep falling into.
Each seem like good reasons.
I feel a break down,
I don't care if it shows up…

Phalon let Eurayle guide her once more, as she had so long ago when Phalon was so lost. As promised, the Seeress took her home to Greece. But it was not a Greece that Phalon knew; not the garden in which she played; not to the sea that she loved. The road they traveled was a cold, dark place: a garden filled with blood, demons, and ancient family curses.

And just when Phalon thought she could take no more; when she’d seen things more vile than she thought she could bear; the darkness lifted. Her teacher was gone. Phalon was alone in a place she knew well; a meadow whose brightness stood in warm contrast to the grotesqueness of where she’d just been. It was the meadow where she and her brother had laughed and played as children, and its solitary tree which she stood beneath now was the tree where she and her beloved Athan would steal moments together whenever they could. It was a place of great happiness for Phalon; one she felt for a moment was a place she’d never want to leave.

But even here, there was darkness.

She ran her hand over the rough bark of the oak, her fingers seeking something that was hers alone. She found it, and traced a smooth, raised scar; a wound long since healed. It was the outline of a heart that Athan had carved for her the day before he’d been murdered here, and she wondered now if the scar on her heart had healed as completely as the tree. She had thought it had, but even the tree’s wound after all these years was still there; still visible. She supposed hers was the same.

“Damn you, Eurayle,” she muttered to the breeze. “You never would simply tell me what to do; always teaching your lessons by making me figure out things on my own. Even as a child in your garden, you showed me the roses – how beautiful they were! But you left me to find the thorns by myself.”

Now it seems there's a choice,
That begins with a break,

She looked around the meadow one last time, soaking in all its glorious beauty, etching it in her mind just as the outline of a heart carved in the bark of a tree; a thing forever; permanent.

Then she whispered goodbye.

Today,
Know that never again,
May I know you this way.

…but you’ll always be mine.

It was time to leave.

…it's time to wake up,
And separate feelings
That I keep falling into.

It's time to get on with whatever lies ahead.

She closed her eyes against the sunshine, and again entered darkness.

Am I alone in here?
Am I alone in here?
Am I alone in here?
Am I alone in here?

She opened her eyes and slightly lifted her head. She was back in the dining room. Resting her chin on her arms crossed on the table, she looked at those around her. Again she realized she wasn’t alone; she never had been.

Guru sat next to her, and though he did not return the feelings she had for him, she knew he’d stand by her – as he’d stand by all of them – in whatever it was they were to face. Across the table was Dixie….and next to her, Scrappy…“ I need you to make her as strong as you….”. Joxie – Phalon smiled as she looked at her. Joxie, she thought, you are the most like me…neither of us chose to be here, we both want nothing to do with this place – but it seems we are stuck here....together. Then Mrs. Peacock – Pavora – Phalon had felt the woman knew much more than she let on, and she’d been correct. The twinkle in those iridescent eyes and smile that played around the corners of her mouth, told her that the same was true now. The woman nodded her head in Malory’s direction – imploring Phalon to turn to the one who’d brought her here.

Looking at Malory, Phalon saw both determination and desperation in her face. It was plainly visible in her eyes and in the hard line in which her mouth was set. There’d be no miscommunication this time; Phalon spoke in Greek. “You brought me here for a reason; you asked me to stay and help. It seems I have no choice, do I?”

“I had no choice. I’ll explain in words you can understand if you give me a chance.”

She smiled at Malory; it was a genuine smile. “The Seeress who resides in both our memories has shown me what I need to know. You asked my forgiveness. You have that. And my help…” She chose English to speak her next words. “You have that too. Count me in….” She paused, glancing once more at those seated around the table…

“Am I alone in here?”


note: the words in italics in this post are based on the song, “One Lonely Visitor” by Chevelle.

[Freebird]

Freebird opens her eyes wondering how she got to the bedroom.
The last thing she rembered was that she was in the kitchen.
Going to find everyone she climbs out of bed and heads down the long hall towards the stairs, at least thats where she was headed but the hall looked very different than the last time she was here.
Rembering that things aren't always what they seem in this house, she goes back to the bedroom.. knowing that it will lead somewhere else but where she didn't know.

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee sat there listening to the lecture. Well, she was only half listening. Her mind raced through ideas for getting out of this house as quickly as possible. The contestants had special powers to use against the evil, she didn’t. Perhaps not having any powers was to her advantage. The evil wouldn’t have a reason to fear her, or for taking her out of ‘the game.’ Oh sure, the evil most likely enjoyed taunting and teasing her; using her to further it’s ‘little plan,’ but it had no expectations of her being able to defeat it. It didn’t view her as a threat. This fact could only keep her alive longer than the others, and her chances for survival would most likely be greater. Maybe she would be able to escape this vortex, or whatever force field was keeping everyone in this one area. What if it only had will over those with powers? What if she could just walk out without detection? That groundskeeper could have lied to her about there being no escape.

Wait, what if having powers isn’t what’s holding everyone here? What if it’s something else? Joxcee glanced about the room to see what everyone could possibly have in common besides powers. Hmmm . . . well, for one thing, they’re all weird. Yeah, well, I’m weird too, but I’m normal weird, and they’re abnormally weird. Okay, that’s another plus for me. Uh . . . those pluses won’t do me much good if someone has to be sacrificed for ‘the greater good.’ I’m totally expendable. Unless . . . what if we’re all related some how? Yeah, family loyalty just might save my sorry excuse for a human being. Wait. They can’t be human. I’ve never met humans with powers before. I have to be in a different dimension with a different species of beings. There’s no way we’re all related.

Wait . . . We’re all related? Did she just say we’re all related? Oh, great. Psycho-babble psychic-Barbie read my mind and stole my preposterous theory for herself. Well, what can you expect from a long dead ectoplasmic spewing entity? Okay, so how do I know she’s the walking dead? Well, the walls have ears and they don’t know the concept of keeping a secret. That can’t be good when plotting mutiny against the evil ones controlling the house. The longer I stay in this house, the more of an influence it has on me. It communicates with me without my permission, and I can’t seem to close it out. I need to leave soon, or become abnormally weird like the others. I don’t want powers, but the house doesn’t seem to care about what I want.

“The walls have ears,” My voice breaks the silence that has engulfed the room. “and often hears, things it should not know. So watch what you say, and don’t delay, for what I say is so.”

I freeze as all eyes are now on me. I wrote that poem years and years ago, and I’ve no idea why I felt compelled to recite it aloud for everyone. I’d always wondered where I was gonna use it, and this just seemed the perfect fit. Something tells me I just put a huge bull’s-eye on my forehead, as the evil ones are not gonna be too happy that I uttered that warning.



I did indeed write that poem ages ago, and wondered where it would come in handy.

[Scrappy Amazon]

Scrappy leaned back in her chair, propped her boots up on the table and tossed a half eaten chicken leg back onto the serving platter.

*burp*

"What's next?"

[TamiZ]

Mrs. Peacock, or Pavora - as the old witch was named on the day of her birth in the times that cooks were ever disrespectful to those that stirred the grand cauldrons - snapped her attention to the cocky warrior seer. She sighed in frustration, but not defeat.

"I told that cook to skip the radishes in the entree. He has no idea how difficult it is to cast a spell when it repeats on you." She looked over her shoulder to the kitchen, then to Malory. "I am turning him into a frog when this is over no matter what you say."

Allowing the comic moment to hold a bit longer, Malory nodded. "All right, you can turn him back to a frog. But," she said with an emphatic narrowing of her eyes, "I was not the one that tried to turn the frog into a prince in the first place, and one that knew how to cook, at that. Where did you ever get the idea that would be a possibility? He was an amphibian."

Malory shook her head one last time as she looked at each of the others. It was time to deal with them and the battle that was upon them. The closer it came with every second, the lower her brow fell and the heavier her heart beat in strangling fear of failure.

[Henrietta "India Ana" Jones]

India Ana took a walk along the wall’s ledge to get a different view of the mansion and grounds. In a far off corner, a graveyard fit snugly within joined walls set squarely to the north and west. South was to her back, and to her left was east. She would take that direction when she finished here.

“The graveyard faced east, with its tombstone’s backs to her prying eyes.” She glanced from marker to marker as she adjusted the mic closer to her mouth. “Oooh . . . all but one, which was facing towards her, but she couldn’t read the inscription because the stone was upside down and worn smooth.”

Hmmmm . . . . Were the grounds cursed too? Or was it just the mansion? None of the people she watched enter had come out, not for several days now. Perhaps she could investigate the grounds without fear of never returning. The one gravestone was too tempting to pass up on.

[Phalon]

Phalon tried to bite her tongue – really she did. She was sure Mrs. Peacock would say something about Scrappy’s lack of table manners; though it was Malory’s house, Mrs. Peacock owned the table, or so it seemed. Never would Phalon have thought that Scrappy’s belch would go unchastised. But Mrs. Peacock ignored it, instead discussing with Malory cooks, princes and frogs – and what was it exactly they were eating anyway?! Phalon didn’t want to know, and stopped trying to figure out what was being said.

She stopped trying also to bite her tongue. When Scrappy burped again, picked a bit of food (chicken, prince or frog?) from between her teeth, and flicked it from her finger, Phalon couldn’t help herself. “If the walls are listening….”, she said, borrowing from Joxie’s poem, “then they’re surely cringing in disgust. That was just rude; a gross display and a total lack of proper table etiquette. Why do you have to be so…so…”, she searched for a word that would adequately fit what she was trying to say, “so piggish.”

“Piggish?! Oh, so now you’re a mystic and an expert in manners?” She rolled her eyes. “Why did I come back just to subject myself to this?”

“I don’t know - why did you come back after you ran from here.”

“Hmph. It was certainly not to be anywhere near you. And I didn’t run away. I never run from anything.”

“No?” Phalon asked, raising her eyebrow. “You ran, Scrappy. You run from yourself every day .”

“F*ck off, Phalon. I don’t need this crap. And I don’t need your help. It was much better when you spoke words no one could understand.”

“See?” Phalon implored to Malory, “how do you expect me to teach this…ungrateful, spoiled…” She gestured in exaggerated frustration towards Scrappy, and threw up her hands in resignation. “She is nothing but an insolent child.”

“And you are nothing but a nagging, old woman”, came Scrappy’s retort.

“Old?! You dare to call me old?! I am old-er. Older and wiser. It would do you well to remember that, Scrappy.

“Go to hell, O Wise One…..” Scrappy’s voice was thick with sarcasm and Phalon glowered at her from across the table. “…or to Tartarus. Or wherever it is that people from your aged generation go. In fact, do us all a favor and just go back from where you came now.”

“HA! You people keep telling me that, and I’d love nothing better. But it seems as if you’re stuck with me…and I with you – at least for the time being.”

“Then God help us all.”

“Ladies”, Guru tried to step in and stop the bickering.

“Ladies? Pfft. Obviously, that term is used loosely where she is concerned”, Phalon interrupted, scowling at Scrappy. Scrappy scowled back.

Guru ignored the exchange, and continued. “This arguing is getting us nowhere. Now is the time we need to pull together, think, and set a logical plan in motion to defeat this thing.”

“Stay out of this, Guru. This is between the nagging hag and me.”

Phalon growled at Scrappy, before turning to Guru. “What you need to do, Guru”, she offered, trying to be helpful, “is go check your big equipment; it seems like a very long time since it’s been played with.” She paused, thoughtful for a moment; something just didn’t sound right with what she’d just said. No, she was sure those were the right words, and so continued, “it must sorely be in need of attention.”

Scrappy paused also, contemplating Phalon’s choice of words; how could someone screw up such a simple sentence and make it sound so wrong. “Phalon, you need to stop talking and just keep your mouth closed.”

“Go to hello to you too.” Phalon retorted, using Scrappy’s previous travel suggestion. “Say goodbye, and don’t forget to close the door on your way out.”

“Bite me.”

“Huh? Bite you. Now why would I want to do that?” A dawning revelation crossed her face. “Oh….I get it - you are calling me a Son-of-a-Bacchae. Pfft. I’ve no relation to those long-toothed, blood-sucking creatures at all.”

“What? It was Scrappy’s turn to push her plate from in front of her, and lay her head on the table in utter frustration.

Phalon sat back smugly in her chair, pleased with herself for having mastered this modern slang. Now if she could only figure out what those hand gestures meant – particularly the one Scrappy used when she’d offered her middle finger to Phalon to bite.

Guru looked disgusted at their exchange; Pavora’s face showed a mixture of exasperation and amusement, while Joxie fidgeted nervously in her seat. And Phalon was sure out of the corner of her eye – for just the briefest of moments - she caught Malory’s eyes flash red, her mouth twisted in a snarl that quickly disappeared. She was also sure that in the snarl, now concealed behind lips set in a grim line, were teeth that were more a beast’s than human.

“The walls have ears, and often hears, things it should not know.”


As was the degeneration of Phalon’s language, the degeneration of the group was apparent as the bickering had continued. The walls were listening….and they were pleased by what they heard.

[Henrietta "India Ana" Jones]

India Ana debated whether she should stay on the wall or take a chance on walking among the gravestones. The one headstone drew her like ants to sugar and she was on the ground and in front of it before she was even aware she had moved. The markings were faint, and barely indented. The stone appeared to be the oldest marker in the whole graveyard. Whatever was written there was unreadable, as it blended in with the rest of the surface; perfectly camouflaged.

“The old graveyard was kept trim and tidy. Someone was taking care of it quite nicely.” Her voice sounded hollow, as though it were being sucked from the air before it could travel beyond her face. Perhaps getting off the wall had been a huge mistake. India glanced about for signs of life. No bees buzzed. No butterflies flitted about. No birds chirped. Other than the noises she was making, none else were heard.

[Henrietta "India Ana" Jones]

India Ana pulled her camera from her backpack and began taking photos of the headstones around her. She paid little attention to the engravings while she went about her business. She would go over them later when she had time to load them onto her laptop and then browse and sort the images. The pictures would make a great addition to her book and help her with any fake details of her non-fiction.

“The quiet stillness was broken by the humming and clicking of her digital camera. No faint forms of the long dead showed up to the naked eye or in the camera’s viewing window. And so the adventure of the mysterious Whoosher House began as a boring, uneventful stroll in the estate’s graveyard."

India Ana finished taking pictures and climbed back atop the ledge of the wall. She continued her walk toward the east, hoping to find something more exciting than what had awaited her in the cemetery. So far her visit had been a complete waste of her time.

[Mini Mia]

Mia materialized before the upside down tombstone and placed flowers at its base. She ran her long, slender fingers across the worn, rugged surface until the faint words stood out in full view:

Baby Boy
Born & Died 1880
Parents Unknown

‘Baby Boy’ was found dead
on the grounds of Whoosher Estate
in the autumn of 1880. It is
believed that he is a bastard child
that was conceived in sin and discarded,
and is therefore a demon spawn.
May he return to hell
from whence he came. Amen.

Mia wept for the sweet soul condemned to hell for the sins of his unknown parents.

“May you one day be granted the peace you deserve, dear, sweet, precious child.”

The snapping of twigs alerted Mia to someone’s approach, and she vanished before the person could get sight of her.

Whoosher Graveyard

[Mini Mia]

Mia marched into the dining hall and helped clear away empty platters, bowls, and discarded plates. This little get-together had been going on for quite some time, and she prayed the living would realize they were strongest when all were together. She would warn them herself, but then she would be punished. She glanced up at the moving eyes of the portraits. She wished she could speak out . . . .

“The walls have ears, and often hears, things it should not know. So watch what you say, and don’t delay, for what I say is so.”

Mia faded out of fright and quickly returned to solid form. For one brief moment she thought she had spoken out loud. She looked from the woman who had spoken and then up at the portraits. The moving eyes vanished and were replaced by still ones. Would she be punished? She had inadvertently made a connection with the woman who had spoken her warning out loud. If they discovered this she would be in big trouble, but if they were unaware she could use this connection to help free them all.

[moonglum]

Jason walked between the graves and stopped before the tombstone. He thought he had seen her kneeling here, but when he cleared the trees she was gone. The flowers bore witness to her visit and as he knelt to read the inscription he noticed the earth damp from her tears. 'May he return to hell from whence he came'. "Amen, indeed," thought Jason and smiled as he rose and looked towards the house.

It had been a long journey and he had wearied many times, the 'call' however, had sustained him, nourished him and kept him strong. He felt the sword hilt in his hand vibrating, screaming even, for blood as he walked forward to what was either his doom or his salvation.

[moonglum]

He followed the wall along the edge of the cemetry and stopped behind a hedge of conifers. Jason looked across the remaining grounds towards the house and felt the pull the building exerted on his soul. It hadn't changed, his family home. True some things were different, the cemetry, for one thing, was on the other side of the wood last time. The building itself however was identical. It existed in many of the realms, went by many names but was always, infuriatingly.......the same!

The wizards, warlocks, seers, seeress's, prophets, sages...............hell, even the newspaper vendor on the corner, knew the history. It was said that when the multiverse was formed, the five most powerful realms each elected a tribe to form the cornerstones of the Arch of Time. Through countless aeons the arch had endured until, one day............Jason Korde.........broke it!
He hadn't meant to, of course, but you know how it is. If you pick and prod at something hard enough and long enough, it'll go bad. Or in this case, fall down! No, that's a bit unfair, thought Jason. It hadn't actually come crashing down, just tilted a bit. However that 'bit' was enough to shift the balance, enough to send him to.......'that place', enough to damn him forever!

He stirred from his thoughts and looked, once more, at the house, sighed, and checked his armoury. Soulrazor hung, quietly now, in it's scabbard on his hip. His two needle guns in their shoulder holsters. He pulled the edges of his long white trenchcoat together, shoved his hands in his pockets and, his long white hair blowing behind him, strode off across the grounds towards the main door.

[moonglum]

The newspaper vendor and the others were not quite there, with their theories, but close. Many, many, millennia ago the gods became bored and left the realms, or planes as they are known. Before they went, however, they appointed five 'families' to maintain the balance between Order and Chaos. To this end they forged the Arch of Time, to hold the centre-point of this balance. The Arch and ultimately, the Balance therefore, were dependant on the continuance and allegiances of all five families

The Athgorans ruled over the Upper Planes, the Gothmir's over the Lower Planes. The Middle Planes however were deemed to be too volatile and fickle for one family to control. Here the gods let three families rule in their stead, the Angeline's, the Courdes and the Vanhellenes. Allegiances changed quickly and often in the Middle Planes, and the Courdes, nowadays known as Korde, saw themselves as brokers of peace, or conflict, swaying with the winds of change. Those winds changed however, when Jason returned from travelling to another plane and found his entire family had been slaughtered.

Jason stopped before the door. It was a large oak door set in a huge, grey stone portal. He touched the stone to one side and the whole house pulsed and sang, vibrations so highly pitched, it made his bones itch. He grasped the handle, turned it, and ................... nothing! The door stayed stubbornly, shut. Strange, thought Jason, and pounded on the door.

[moonglum]

Jason was weary, no, bone-weary. His arm was getting heavier as he knocked. The drugs and herbs he used to sustain his body, until the next 'call', were losing their effect. A wave of extreme fatigue swept over him and his arms dropped to his sides. He slowly reached for the door to steady himself but his legs buckled and he slumped to his knees.'Elysha', the name escaped through his dry, white lips, as he sank further into unconciousness and slowly sank to the stone floor.

[moonglum]

She called to him, woke him, after what seemed like hours but was only minutes, she trembled. His hand, never far from her hilt, tingled with enough energy to wake him from his involuntary slumber. Slowly opening his eyes he saw, what?.........a statue........no.........a gargoyle! It was hovering, about to land on the driveway in front of the door. He pulled himself up into a kneeling position and glared at it, as well as any exhausted face could glare. It hissed right back at him. 'Sweet Letitia, would they never leave him alone?' It spread it's wings again and rose from the ground, this time it flew straight at him, he ducked its talons and swung up and round. His sword bit deep into the stone, a lucky blow, in his weakened state she did most of the work. The gargoyle fell to the ground, dragging his sword arm with it. Writhing and screeching, it's howls turning slowly to screams as it's body flickered and changed. Shadows swirled assuming shapes of animals, humans; and all the while 'she' sang and changed her colour. The normal azure changing slowly to a deep crimson. Jason's body slowly lost some of it's skeletal appearance and he watched, pushing 'her' deeper into the stone, as the gargoyle's screams slowly subsided into the, now, jet of his sword. Stone petrified further, until motes of dust were all that remained, and these too, vanished with the breeze.

[moonglum]

The lifeforce of the Lurker would sustain him for a short while only, until he found something stronger. He still desperately needed to sleep, if only for a few hours. The sounds of the door being unbolted made him turn and on trembling legs he stepped forward. A maid opened the door, looked upon this wraith-like figure and screamed. Jason staggered the few steps needed to cross the threshold as the frightened maid ran back into the house. He stopped just inside the entrance hall and once more, exhaustion getting the better part of valor, he slumped to the marble floor. The maid had disappeared into a large room off the hall and soon was joined by an elderly woman dressed like a housekeeper. Two man-servants were summoned and under the watchful eye of the housekeeper, they carried Jason into the library and sat him in one of the chairs. Jason's head lolled back lifting his face to the room and Mrs. Peacock froze! Icy fingers of fear gripped her heart and she felt emotions she had not felt for centuries, emotions she thought she would never feel again. She slowly moved forward and lifted the edge of Jason's coat, just enough to see the blood-red jewel on the pommel of his sword. Soulrazor murmured softly and she hastily dropped the coat. "Get out", she snapped at the sevants. Outside, she pulled the door closed and turning to one of the servants, she said. "Stay here, no-one goes inside, no-one! Do you understand?"

Inside the room Jason's coat moved slowly back and Soulrazor slid easily out of her sheath. She floated up until she was just above his head and, turning her tip towards the door, she silently waited while her master slept.

[moonglum]

He slept and as he slept, he dreamed.....................................................

They had found him amongst the ruins. The few retainers that had escaped the slaughter, had hidden in the woods for weeks before venturing back to the house. They found a burnt out shell and a wild-man. At first he had gibbered and shouted at them, throwing stones at them and whenever they came too close, chasing after them. Eventually they gained his trust, enough to let them offer him food.They fed him and watched his spirit slowly die until he was no more than a shell. One of the villagers knew of a witch-woman who lived on the far side of the mountains and they took him to her. There, in her caves, she tended him. A long time spent gently talking to him, touching him as she spoke and weaving her charms. Slowly he responded and eventually he spoke with her. His nightmares had told her the story, how his father had sent his eldest son to negotiate a peaceful resolution between neighbouring realms, how Jerek Courdes had returned to find every member of his family dead. The women and children violated and mutilated, the menfolk beheaded and paraded on poles. How he had buried them all with his bare hands in the blood-soaked soil where they lay. He had wept enough tears to bathe an army and, in the process, had degenerated into madness.

Her name was Elysha. She was as beautiful as any goddess should be, for she was, in fact, a goddess. Her love for mortals and earthly creatures had seen her banished to this plane and as the weeks went by she told him as much about herself as she now knew about him. Then as the months went by they grew to love each other with a passion only the gods can know................

Jason stirred in his sleep, Soulrazor twitched. Something this way comes!

[Joxcenia]

Joxcee glanced over at the gypsy from time to time. What was it about that Fallin’ Woman that seemed so familiar? Had they met before? Or did she simply remind her of someone from her past? Just like a friend of her mother’s whom she had taken an instant liking to. This new friend too had seemed familiar to her, and Joxcee had felt a connection to her, as though she had known her for a long time. Then years later, the family had taken a trip to Michigan to see how much things had changed since we last lived there many years before. We visited homes where we had stayed, and people we had known. And there it was! One landlord looked enough like mom’s friend from back home to be sisters. They weren’t identical, but perhaps fraternal twins born miles a part from each other. The gypsy woman must remind her of someone from her childhood. Someone only her subconscious remembers.

Joxcee snapped out of her thoughts. The room was silent. Deadly silent. Had someone said something to her and now they were all expecting a reply? Had she talked out loud any of the thoughts that went through her head? She froze for a brief second, but relaxed as she noticed everyone looking at the Psycho-babble psychic-Barbie who had called this meeting. Something was not right with her. Her face pale, her mouth agape . . . could she be having a heart attack? Mrs. Peacock reached out to touch her, but her hand was knocked away. She stepped back as though struck across one cheek and fled from the room.

We waited for what was to happen next. Fish in a small bowl is what we are. Trapped, and wondering when our air supply would run out. Servants cleared the tables and brought in fresh food and placed it on the buffet table. We may run out of oxygen, but we’re well fed; fattened for the slaughter. Do ghosts even eat? And if so, did they eat the living? Were these servants zombies that could look and act normal; or abnormally normal? Oh, good heavens, someone speak and distract me from my thoughts. What is wrong with me? Put me in a room alone, and I thrive, put me in a room full of people and I go insane. I came, I saw, and I desperately want, no, need, to go home now.

[moonglum]

Jason stirred in his dreams.........................................................................

As the months turned to years Elysha told him she was with child. At first Jerek was amazed, not believing this possible between a goddess and a mortal. She reassured him and explained about the close affinity between his family and the gods. 'My people must like you' she had told him.

She bore him a son, Taiman, who grew into a handsome young boy. They laughed and played the days away. Life was good.................................................

[moonglum]

......................It was a happiness that would not, could not last.

They raided during the night, burning the villages and murdering the villagers. Jerek rode down from the hills the next day and saw the carnage. He followed the tracks left by, what looked to be an army, for days until finally he found them encamped by the edge of the sea. 'Gothmiri' he breathed. Denizens of the Lower Planes and servants to the Lords of Chaos. He must return to warn Elysha. Riding hard he left the coast and rode towards the mountains.

Jerek had travelled no more than a day when he ran into them. A raiding party had discovered the caves and were returning with their prize. Strapped across two horses were his two loves. Jerek attacked them. He was no warrior, back then, wearing a sword more usually for ceremony, rather than combat. There were far too many of them and they cut him down easily. As he fell dying into the mud he heard Elysha call, "Sister, help him I implore you"...................................

He had felt like he was floating, he could see nothing and thought, 'I am dead, surely'!

"Open your eyes Jerek Courdes", the voice said. It was a womans voice, soft as a feather, yet sharp as a blade. Jerek opened his eys and his legs began to buckle. He was naked and standing atop a slender finger of solid rock. It stretched out at an angle from the clouds, it's tip under the clear blue sky and below, many miles below, boiled a sea of blood red molten lava. Jerek dropped to his knees, "Where am I", he gasped. "You are between the Planes, mortal". She was beautiful, a aphrodite' vision in an sky blue gown. She had crossed the plateau and was now helping him to his feet. As she did so she trailed her fingertips slowly down the side of his face, then his shoulder and across his chest. "My sister has chosen well, mortal", she sighed. "Who are you, am I dead", he replied. "We shall see. We shall see. As to who I am" she breathed, "I am Letitia, Goddess of Law and Queen of Swords.

..................In the library Jason stirred.

[moonglum]

Jason yawned and stretched his arms, his hand unconciously finding his sword. He hadn't slept long, he knew, in fact he'd hardly slept at all, but already the lifeforce of the Lurker was beginning to strengthen him. He rose from the chair, sheathed Soulrazor and looked around him. The house, of course, wasn't really 'his', but the bedrock on which it stood was one of the five 'cornerstones' that existed on every Plane in this universe. It was that bedrock he could feel, tingling through his feet, welcoming him home. He also felt something else, he was close, this time. He felt it in his heart that, Elysha was near, and so was 'he'. Jason had saved his son, now he'd come to save his woman.

[moonglum]

Walking over to the window, Jason looked out at the grounds. He had been to this plane before, many of their years ago. He vague'ly remembered a village, that was it. He'd heard of a witch-woman and he sought her out. He smiled as he remembered her face, she was terrified, kept calling him a thief...............a Soul-Taker, that's what she had called him. Well, he couldn't really blame her for that, it was partly true! He was thinking of Letitia and the 'bargain', when he heard the sounds outside the door.

[TamiZ]

She was moving with the pain of dusted screams that jarred her from her brooding thoughts. She barely felt Pavora’s attempt to stop her. She only knew that Orion was hurting, calling to her as a child would, and Calliope was gone.

She bounded up the stairs to the attic, where she threw open the dormer windows and searched the dragon beams that supported the heavy copper gutters. The guardians of the house were not at their perches. They were both gone. The reverberations of another wail rose to her from the stones below; it crawled upon her skin shuddering with absolute anguish. At the edge of the fountain that was at that moment, a decrepit pile of stone slick with green slime, Orion raged.

His wings were spread wide with claws extended. His fangs were dry as a cruel wind laughed gleefully at his suffering. Even from the height of the old house, Malory could see the pale stone dust that had gathered at the fountain directly below the screeching lone mate of the pair. She found herself drawn to the rage. The tenuous grip she had barely maintained over her control shattered with each wailed note of agonized loss.

Her failures flashed repeatedly to her in the mist that began to bleed from the house. Before the first swollen tears could fall from her eyes, she let loose her own scream. The sill that she gripped groaned in protest. Her heart’s grief was soon joined by a razor-edge twinge that rose to a keening along the edges of her being until her skull exploded with a surreal blast of hellish recreation. She fell to the dusty attic floor as she fought to gasp and howl on breath that was stolen with the transformation she could not control. The physical pain brought on an evil pleasure that was barely tempered to malfeasance by the continued cries from below.

Vengeance began to sing through her veins. The house laughed with her as she tore through the attic, searching. Claws dug through trunks that had kept ages of secrets safe; stories and histories of cloth and photo were rendered a hopeless shredded mass of memories. Finally, in a plain pine crate, darkened with centuries of age, she found what she needed. A chuckle rumbled past lengthened fangs newly moistened by a calculating tongue. A blade still sharp found its home in the curl of her right palm.

She closed her eyes in pleasure as the pain continued to course through her body. Blood dripped from her left hand where she had dug her own claws deep with her loss of control. She laughed insanely as a cacophonous clamor of demon song echoed in the room furthest from the hearthstone blessed to keep her empowered.

Out of control, she raised a cloud of dust and spread the mist wide as she spun to face the cries that continued from below. With a snarl, she lowered slightly to a crouch before springing forward to charge the open portal. With a leap, she escaped the crowd demons to find a wicked peace of her own. She had forgotten the freedom of being loose upon the wind. With a few sharp snaps of her the unfurled wings that found renewed life in her transformation, she lowered herself to Orion’s side.

She was unprepared for the gargoyle’s hissing response to her presence. She accepted the slashing claws that left her face wounded and bleeding. She could not fault him for finding her guilty. When the wind kissed the blood cold and dry after it dripped on her shoulder, she hissed back. “I promise revenge, sweetness. He will regret what he has done.”

A tear forgotten made its way down her cheek to mingle with the wounds that were healing at an accelerated pace. “I promise.”

Malfeasance spread open a red-scaled hand with its claws encrusted with a self-rage, and she spread it upon the pile of dust that was whirling in the wind. When it seemed about to be scattered, Orion sheltered it with his own wing.

With wide eyes seemingly out of place in on a demon’s face, Malfeasance rose and nodded. Orion would guard his mate until his own death from where he sat. She was on her own with the collection of progeny left in the house. She felt the fire of vengeance kiss her voided soul. She tested the edge of her blade before leaping to the thick wooden door that guarded the house. She studied the ancient grain for a moment as she cracked her neck. She spared a thought for the plan she did not have as she reversed her sword in a backward grip. With a howl that harmonized with the increased wind, she burst through the door, shattering its frame and sending it crashing against the fireplace and hearth across the room.

She, at that moment, forgot the reason why she swore to never relive her sins. Evil was good. It was fire that loved and kissed and caressed. It was going to be the end of a curse that she had carried like a cross for too long while avoiding the truth. She was a fallen angel. She was no longer Iustitia, Archangel of Justice. She was Malfeasance, Demon of Vengeance. And right now, she had a score to settle with the person that had spoiled her happiness after the fall.

She was after Ahriman…

…after she had a talk with the Soul-Taker that had a skewered sense of timing. He had been expected to join them before now.

She had to discuss the proper decorum with him about not killing the house owner’s pets. She would let him keep his skin for now, but when his use was over at the end of the battle, they would have a discussion of blades instead of words.

She needed him for the fight, but when the fight was over, she would not forget the injustice to Calliope. Orion would have his revenge.

[moonglum]

..........Jerek looked at the Queen of Swords and said, "Elysha......Taiman, are they safe? Help them, please".

Letitia studied him for a moment before speaking. "I have saved your life, mortal. I have granted what was asked of me, however......this, amuses me!" Jerek stared with amazement, then exploded. "Amuses you! What manner of creature are you, Elysha called you sister, they are in peril for god's sake".
With incredible speed and force, she gripped him by the throat, lifted him off the floor, and spat, "How dare you, a mere mortal, curse the gods. Choose, now, I will save one and one only........Choose mortal!" Jerek spluttered and struggled in her grip, he could not believe his ears. How could he choose between his love and his son. He tried to suck in air but could not breathe, tears streamed down his cheeks as he began to slip into unconciousness. Just before he blacked out he heard himself whisper, "Taiman".

Jerek awoke in his bed, in the caves. A dream, just a dream he thought. There was a weight across his legs that felt strangely, reassuringly, familiar. He rolled over and saw a sword lying on the bed...........................................

Jason turned from the window, as the main door crashed into the hall. As he turned both hands came out from under his coat. In one hand his sword, in the other a needle-gun. He moved sideways, so he had his back to the wall and one step away from the edge of the chair, to narrow the arc of attack. He had learnt a lot since his days at court.

Silence........then, voices. Two women, argueing...........silence.

A woman, aged somewhere in her thirties, entered the library. Through the open door, he saw the remains of the main door in the hall and, for a moment, an older woman. He scanned both women. He recognised the older woman, but not this one. She had long black hair and was dressed casually. The thing that drew his attention, however, were the blazing, green eyes. They were piercing, like twin drill bits boring their way through to the back of his skull. The set of her jaw and the sneer on her lips told him she was mad at something, or someone! As she moved into the room the tip of his sword followed her, whilst his gun never strayed from the doorway.
"You can put those away," she said. "You are not at risk here."
"The Lurker and that door say otherwise, " Jason replied.
He saw the venom flash in her eyes again, as she said through clenched teeth, "You are late, Soul-Taker".

[moonglum]

Late! He wasn't really sure he was expected. Jason watched her over the length of his blade. He had the strong impression she would tear down the walls to reach him. She moved like a predator, light on her feet and poised to spring at any instant. This made no sense! He didn't know her and he was damn sure she didn't know him, but he had felt the 'call'. Had she 'called' him? He had come to this Plane sure of himself. The sage had told him Namirah was here, and he had felt it, Namirah was holding Elysha here! This had to be the right place. Now, however, he was beginning to doubt. He shifted slightly to keep the doorway in his peripheral vision, there was movement out there. Yet more treachery, he thought...........

...................The sword was not heavy, it felt comfortable in his grip. It was forged in a metal, the colour of the sky itself. He hefted it, swung it. It felt almost as if it were an extension of his arm. His body felt joy, pleasure, as he toyed with it. It felt good! He lay the sword on the bed and dressed ..........and, for the first time, noticed the quiet. It was unusually quiet. The light streaming through the open cave mouth told him it was late morning. "Elysha, why didn't you wake me", he called. There was no reply. Picking up the sword Jerek walked from the cave and, there, on a small hilltop, he saw her standing with her back to him. "Elysha, this gift is wonderful", he said as he walked up to her. He placed his arm around her waist and turned her towards him. Jerek recoiled as he looked into the smiling face of....... Letitia. "What..........Where.....is she...? he stuttered.
"At last you are awake, Jerek, my love", the Queen of Swords crooned, as she assumed her usual appearance. He looked over her shoulder and his heart sank, his world collapsed. If he had entered madness when his family had been slaughtered then now, he passed into the realm of deep, dark, despair. Beyond the goddess, a short way down the other side of the hill, he saw two gravestones. "Did you think you could sport with a god, bear issue, and then......... live happily ever after", she hissed. "You offend us, mortal".
In that instant, Jerek's dark despair turned to bitter hatred. In that instant, he realised, there were no Gods of Law, no Gods of Chaos....................they were all the same!......... and mortals........just playthings, amusement for beings with nothing better to do with themselves!
His hatred turned to bile, it's venom building up in his body, until it burst forth as blind rage. The sword he had been carrying at his side, he now swung at her and.......... she flinched! Letitia actually stepped back in, what seemed to him, to be........fear! His rage carried him on as he swung at her again. This time he caught her arm. Blood.......... and she screamed. Do gods bleed he thought, as he lunged forward. His reach was too short and as he was about to stumble, he felt the sword pull him off balance and plunge itself through her heart.He staggered to keep upright, as her screams rose higher and higher, her face contorted with agony, then began to drain of all colour. He felt, rather than saw, a change occuring in the sword. His body felt electrified as the the blade slowly changed colour. Power surged through him, strength, so strong it made his head pound. The sword was singing, a sweet cantabile that rose and fell with, what sounded like, glee. He watched as the body of Letitia crumbled to dust as it slid from the black blade. He felt the earth tilt.....!
Jerek stood there on the hillside and stared, in awe of what he had done. He looked towards the gravestones and as he did so, they faded away, vanished. In their place stood a child. A young boy. "Taiman"......... Jerek shouted with joy as his son rushed into his arms...................