Have you ever been totally obsessed with something? So obsessed it is as if you are possessed, your soul enmeshed with the spirit of what holds your interest, both trapped in a ceaseless cycle, winter followed by spring followed by summer. If it ever happens to you, you will learn to love the autumn, for it is only that bleakness that will momentarily free you from your painted, paper prison.

I can't recall who was the possessor or victim. It seems as if Piltjinaer has always been a part of me, although I know enough to jokingly refer to things as BP and AP - before or after Piljinaer. Things were normal in BP times, by normal, I think they were rational. Boring, uneventful, and fairly tedious, but safe. But now, in these dizzying AP times, I can be whisked away to a fairy's secret glen, be riding naked bareback in a sunlit mountain field or exploring the yawning chasms underneath a railway track.

But, per usual, I am getting ahead of myself - carried away by my daily adventures. This needs some explanation if I am to succeed in introducing you properly. Piltjinaer is my magical little friend. He is not a figment of my imagination, he is an element as real as you or I and he has found me, and I - him. When I first came across him I thought I had lost my mind (perhaps found it) but now, hazardous though it may be, we are inseparable.

In the 20th century, the old races of fairies, nixies, dryads and gnomes are dying out. They no longer exist or want to exist on large stretches of this dimension of Earth as there is simply no place for them. Their natural habitat is being destroyed and children are being horribly educated and told the old tales are nonsense. They don't feel needed. If they are only going to live in the dusty old pages of books in archives they feel much better off somewhere else. They're very sensitive and would rather dissipate than force people to believe in them.

However, Dr. Evolution is always hard at work and she's been working overtime trying to solve the problem. It may explode in her face as do many of her experiments, like the dinosaurs, or may need some fine-tuning (as did the shuffling in and out of water with dolphin prototypes before she made up her mind) but in the end it generally works - to a fashion. Presenting - Mod-Neo's. This is a general catch-all term to describe the new wave of elementals. The Midsummer Eve's fairies' dance has been replaced by club/rave fairies - modern little Nimfoyettes who ensure people have a great or bad time, look after those recovering from pills and try a little match-making while they're at it. They wear nifty little PVC hot-pants and big boots and scoff at the flowing robes of their predecessors. It doesn't stop there; there are gremlins for computers, fast-food fairies (presumably to prevent gut-ache) immaculate microwave fairies to look after the hearth, er, home and any other equivalent you can think of.

Piltjinaer himself is part of a new strain of muses. The old muses merely inspired and any ideas not picked up randomly floated. These randoms mutated and became Piltjinaer's clan. His approach is a lot less subtle and far more interactive. In a word: frightening. When your mind is going for a piggy-back through whirling vortexes astride a little blue, knobbly-kneed entity with peroxided hair, you often don't feel very settled. I hardly ever feel settled, that's because Piltjinaer is over-zealous and any thought that meanders into my head is immediately lassoed and taken for a joyride.

For this reason the fairy-tales I am about to tell you are fairly irregular. They are modern fairy-tales, they are from the very fabric of life - in these, the doddering old granny shoots the Big Bad Wolf with her .45, quotes a line from 'Natural Born Killers', then beats her granddaughter for being so stupid and dropping the Jack. They don't all end happily-ever-after, the prince doesn't always get the girl, and the wicked stepmother will probably start a successful franchise using her new brood as a DIY sweatshop. In short, life is a hound-dog called Fate, pissing on your leg or chasing away shadows.

Once upon a time, fairly recently in fact and mostly recurring, a cantankerous old troll dragged his rheumatoid ridden joints out from under the bridge of Story. Muttering under his fetid breath about 'the state of the youth nowadays' he affectionately (although he'd never admit it) booted the Billy Goats Gruff goodbye.

'Alright for them sort', his three-day-old-porridge voice grumped away after they had dissipated, 'they can go hangout in the Transkei and annoy motorists'. The littlest of the three, nose and lip delicately curled, carefully waxed bokkie quivering, piped up 'na-ah, we're gonna be rock stars' before they too zapped into the ether.

The four of them had been in partnership for aeons. Anytime a cranky troll was required to 'squat and stare' or a goat-cameo was needed, they'd recommend each other. Unfortunately, times have changed and their skills were somewhat redundant. Behind them, the bridge started to draw inside itself, like a shrinking stone caterpillar. The brooding green water glooped upward, in a thin green viscous stream of slime and disappeared with a gurgle into the plug-hole of history. With it, four moonlighters in Fairy lost their jobs.

As a result, the first four members of F*W*A*O*E (FWA for short) were born. FWA is a strongly militant anti-straights political grouping run by the diabolical (can you hear the devilish laughter?) Zazza. 'Fairies With Attitude (On Earth)' vehemently detest all straights: straights being any element containing a trace of human essence in its make-up. They mercilessly persecuted all changeling-children, eliminated any humanesque-elvish brood and committed genocide against any new evolutions such as the frisky Cencyclops. This was obviously before the new parties were developed, before the Feyhum Wars checked Zazza and his evil ways. Nowadays elementals can join the conservative FAHT (Fairies are Humans Too), or the right-wing FAF (Fuck all Fairies).

Although many straights are totally ignorant of the subtle daily dimensio-politico wheeling and dealing done around Earth, celebrations like 'Hump a Human Day' and 'Fairy Pride' show how things have opened up. Or have they? You may be wandering 'who are you?' or 'how do you know all this?' . That is not of importance.

Recent sensationalist headlines like: 'Billy Goats Gruff seen hobnobbing with Zazza and Evil Kaneevil's henchmen', 'Billy Goats Gruff have tea with Queen Cleo', and, 'Elvis and Evil Kaneevil in big deal'; may have been dismissed as tabloid trash for most straights; however, they of all things are of grave importance as the prophesied Final FeyHum Wars approach. Many years previously, a priest of the great god Defy had prophesied the Final FeyHum Wars as a time of peril…..

'Dimensions will intermingle and as essence becomes sullied and tainted so the infidel will die. A great leader will rise up from the ashes, a wise and wizened warrior who must be followed without question and obeyed always as he will be the Knight of Defy. All those who follow the will of Defy will find a land of purity, magick and mayhem - follow the rainbow.'

The Rainbow is obviously the symbol of Defy, a rumbling, thunderous and tyrannical god who demands sacrifice to its froth. Although totally androgenous due to its fat, square form, popular myth holds it as being female. This was based on four ten-year olds who ran off to taunt each other with the game 'Your mamma' near the shrine of Defy. Two returned in a highly hysterical state, bleating 'the washing machine ate Billy and Michael'. To this day their wives swear the two never go near a household appliance (their friends however claim this has nothing to do with Defy but characterises normal behaviour for male straights).

As soon as Defy's prophesy boozed its way through the grape-vine, a hundred other so-called prophets to various gods staked their claim on the vineyard of gullibility. Now that the initial stages of it had come true, the main protagonists in the public eye were: Zazza, as the leader of FWA; The Three Billy Goats Gruff, an apocalyptic thrash mind-trance band with great influence over the youth; and EvilKaneevil, leader of the FAF party. On a superficial level this would seem to make sense. A wise prophet always has sway with the crowds, anything rebellious is bound to attract a number of people and anything militant pulls the weak-minded. Look a little closer and you may detect the maggots in the meat of the matter.

• We'll trace the bitterest story
• of a twisted history and
• the end of fairy through
• a loss of glory.

Of a troll who, knowing nothing other than the role he had played his whole life in the dimension of Fairy, was uprooted and forced to move on or cease to exist. Hours of sitting under damp bridges had eroded his disposition. Water drops had furrowed and stained the plaster of his face and mildewed his joints. Hate filled the stagnant well of his frame as he entered his new dimension and encountered Kyle.

Kyle being one of the few pure straights who could detect the presence of any and all elementals and, due to horrific childhood experiences with certain mischievous nixies and grems hated them with a passion. With a few phrases Kyle had learnt from his vile Satanic grandfather, who was similarly inclined, he banished the weary little troll to the nearest dimension, which in this instance, happened to be the vortex at the back of his washing machine.

A Defy washing machine - which had been possessed by another crumbling goddess, Scylla. Rather than dissipate totally she re-aligned herself to an aspect most straights believed in whole-heartedly: technology. The downside of this meant that her previous man-pulling powers became redundant. This could explain the unfortunate incident with little Simon and Jimmy. Her feelings were hurt when she couldn't seduce them and by their insults to the archetypal mother goddess. In fact, her only consolation was keeping control over her own private whirlpool. It almost made her nostalgic for the days when Odysseus was in her clutches.

Once trapped in Defy, the poor troll, who for the time being will remain anonymous, was forced to work as her priest. Having just left one career of sitting in damp, dirty conditions he was loath to become a washer-troll but hardly had any choice in the matter. His job was to take all sacrifices and deliver them to the main essence of Defy, which haunted the anterior reaches of the machine.

You see, any appliance is not just a box-shaped piece of metal there to do your bidding. Most of them are possessed and looked after by any number of gods, goddesses, spirits and sprites who use this as their home and as a way to influence straights. You may have heard of hearth fairies or brownies that used to care for nuclear families in sleepy Welsh and Irish villages. People used to give them offerings (usually of cakes, milk and leftovers) to stop little Jonny from impregnating Susie, to prevent the hearth-fire from taking out the village and to stop the brownies from turning the milk sour. They lost their jobs, fat bellies and almost their existence with the advent of technology and thus decided to amalgamate with people's current belief structures. These being: fairies don't exist, my Defy, Hitachi, Sony (fill in the gap) is the top of the range, newest, bestest model and I will clinically and efficiently do what needs to be done with machines.

If only they knew that each burned pot, arcing microwave, printer malfunction and overflowing washing machine is all to do with pixie petulance and that the right offerings and contriteness may just placate the relevant elemental or god. For this reason you'll find the best chefs are usually highly superstitious, at least part elemental and belong to the FAHT party. In the case of Defy, she was somewhat more malevolent than other entities. Having been a demi-god in Olympian times she had what might be termed, a chip, on her rather square shoulder. She wanted souls and sacrifice in order to function at optimum levels.

The troll's new job was to collect a tax of socks and bra underwires. This might seem somewhat obscure until viewed more closely. Any human, even those with trace elemental essence in them, drains of energy throughout the day. This flow goes from the topmost head chakra to the feet. Dirty socks would therefore be chi-chokablok and hence highly desirable to Defy. She would prefer to suck the human dry herself rather than resort to what she considers as scrap, however, due to the rather violent political struggles on Earth she is forced to keep a lowish profile.

Kittens however, being quite highly attuned to psychic phenomena and not technically 'animals' in the grander scheme of things are very aware of the dimensional playground lurking behind closed doors. They will often spend hours watching an appliance in a focused manner as if communing with the spirit within. Defy is a lot sneakier. Disguising her presence she attempts to lure them in, which is why so many cats meet the great Pussy-in-the-Sky inside the bellies of washing machines and tumble-dryers. Nine lives are no match for Defy. However, this counts as a big sacrifice and in return Defy will magically grant all unspoken wishes the bereaving owner has.

Underwires are a bit more difficult to explain but it appears that feminine energy is particularly strong, especially near the heart and belly chakras. This seems to be attracted to the cup-shaped curve of the wire, and is therefore attractive to Defy. But I digress. The troll worked faithfully at the shrine of Defy, mainly because he had zero choice in the matter. As he worked he built up a great resentment for all humans, whether straight or touched by elemental. Secretly, he got in contact with his old friends, the Billy Goat's Gruff. After much negotiating, wheedling and great sacrifice to Defy, she finally agreed to release him. It couple of factors worked in their favour: they now had more money than they quite knew what to do with, their fame assured their safety as any disappearances would be difficult to explain and they had also hired a tough team of bodyguards out of some of the displaced elementals in Fairy.

Defy, a hard-nosed businesswoman at heart, struck the following bargain: the troll was to deliver a prophesy from her to the world, he was then to form a political party which would help elementals gain autonomy on Earth, Defy was to be their official guardian and protector and finally, he was to change his name to Zazza and become 'the chosen one'. Zazza's years of being damp had finally rotted him to the core. As Defy possessed him more and more he became increasingly militant, paranoid and evil. The Billy Goats Gruff exploited every human they could, taking their money and often delivering young runaways to Defy as an offering and plea to help FWA.

As more elementals drifted to this world many of them, disillusioned with the destruction of their land due to human disbelief, joined Fairies with Attitude. Their ranks swelled and as they did so, some humans became aware of the movement and, led by EvilKaneevil (aka Kyle) on the advice of his necromancer grandfather, formed their own counter-party: Fuck All Fairies. The Feyhum Wars, although violent and catastrophic barely touched the psyches of most straights. The majority were oblivious to the daily dimension-wrenching designed to distort the prescience of both sides. Finally, amidst the aftermath the two parties agreed to co-exist amicably on Earth or rather, until one saw an opening to nuke the other with some diabolical spell.

And this is where we are at the moment. Except that most co-inhabitants of this Earth have no idea who is part-nixi, pixi, dryad or dragon. Even the soothsayers are confused as entire new races are created overnight. The FWA party is shrinking and entry requirements are becoming more stringent and in some cases torturous. Obviously if you don't make the grade you die. Assassinations are almost as frequent an occurrence as births, people are as unaware of them. FAF membership is also small as hardly any straights are left who are aware enough of elemental presence and the danger they are in. And there is a very real danger, not only for straights but for all of us.

Zazza is getting desperate. FAPT membership has grown as more people realise there is both fairy and human in and around them. People have become complacent and for those who were aware of them, the Feyhum Wars have faded from their minds. The Mod-Neos, as latter-day fairy-humans call themselves, are nervously awaiting the advent of the Awakening, when all straights will acknowledge the existence of the elementals and either embrace them or destroy them. Or so the prophecies say. And they don't all concur: some are ambiguous. Out of pure fey, mod-neos and straights one race will survive, one will be destroyed and one will be enslaved.

His public meetings with the Billy Goats Gruff and EvilKaneevil means he is growing careless. He must know the Awakening is coming. Defy is speaking through him and her breath is foul and hot. Make sure you're vigilant and not one of the straights oblivious to the other side or the elemental within you.

A strange new breed of Mod-Neo has recently arrived on the planet. Those in the know, who are on a constant lookout for such phenomena, call them Cencyclops. Those who aren't, see them as merely part of a quaint European tradition of cycling everywhere in an environmentally-friendly and idyllic manner.

Their habitat is mainly Europe and ironically enough their development is largely to do with toxic mutation from traffic pollution. The first Cencyclops was created by a freak combination of chemicals, elemental energy and bad luck. Having recently arrived in this dimension after her native Fey dimension had vanished, she was living out the last of her days with the energy generated by a few children who still believed.

Her time was mainly taken up by cycling as she loved the gigantic, old iron bicycle she had found in a winding, cobbled street. Sadly, as she was still rather disorientated by the trauma of losing everything she knew and shortly, her very life-essence, she forgot that iron is deadly to a pure-fey such as herself. Luckily, centuries previously, one of her ancestors had made Copenhagen a protectorate city of Fey, back in the days when elementals and humans had proper working relationships and therefore showed each other due respect.

The magick that had been woven then was still strong enough to save her life temporarily, however, due to the disruptions in her plane the molecular structure of the bicycle started to penetrate the very essence of her being. Although she noticed her skin taking on a slight greenish tinge and her legs feeling as if they were vibrating internally, she put this down to her weakened state and the exercise she was getting. At the end of the first week she took her first cycle down to the harbour. Languidly she cruised past all the other cyclists. There were unicycles, bicycles mounted by couples, tricycles and even cycles made for three. An intense loneliness welled up in her.

Suddenly, her gaze fell on a prostrate figure surrounded by seagulls. Joy and sorrow simultaneously jostled for primary position in her heart. Joy as she thought she recognised Miranda, a dear friend she had met on her travels. Sorrow as she was lying perfectly still, the waves (such as they were) lapping over her - no sign of her usual frolicking nature. Without a further thought, Tahni charged forward on her bicycle, using her last reserves of power to teleport the heavy contraption over the wall and into the ocean.

The bike sank pregnantly into the briny water. With horror she realised her friend was petrified here for eternity, woven into a mesh of myth and creation which would keep her locked in this state for as long as people believed she was a statue. As she slumped down she was aware of hundreds of people watching her with spectator-stretched eyes and tourist blankness. Her final thoughts were that at least she could keep vigilance with Miranda.

A beefy forearm wrestled its way through the crowd and tried to jerk her out of the water. Her torso moved but her legs were paralysed. Hesitatingly she tried to focus her mind on moving them and getting off the bicycle. In stilted, pain-filled moments she jerked to a sitting up position, her rescue ranger helping her. 'Don't you want to get off your bicycle?' he enquired in a concerned voice. In confusion and growing hysteria she looked down at her legs only to see a shimmering green coil wrapped around the crossbar. She had somehow merged with the bicycle.

Feeling like a trapped animal she looked around for an escape route. The tourist eyes bored into her curiously. She realised that out of all those people only one could see what had happened to her - a two year old boy who quite clearly had an element of fey in him, it was burning bright behind his eyes. The rest, with an almost unnerving short-sightedness insisted on seeing a girl who had lost control of her bicycle and bravely clung on even whilst in the water. They cheered. She bolted, fear giving her the confidence to try out her new appendages and leaving her benefactor behind.

Later, when back at her sanctuary she had the space and time to assess the situation. Although very shaky from the experience, she felt stronger and more powerful. Psychically analysing the alien elements in her, she realised a chemical reaction between her natural Fey energy, salt water, toxins from a recent oil spill and the deadly iron had created a mutation, a type of centaur. Instead of a man-horse, she was a fey-bicycle and as such, had been given a new lease on life.

How do I know all this? Her diary of course! It starts 'To all my descendants, my name is Tahni and my race, Fey. Or at least, it was.' As the first of a new race, she felt it was important to document this but only once she realised her capacity for breeding. Another odd side-effect she developed from her mutation was a splitting migraine every leap year. This would last for three days. In those three days her eyes would slowly merge until they formed one. All her power then focused through this and on the third day, whatever bicycle she honed in on would slowly animate and a new Cencyclops would be born.

It was as if the toxins built up in her and needed a release lest she be poisoned. For three days after that she would need to rest and gather her strength. It was this trait that originally gave us the name 'Cencyclops. Nowadays Cencyclops of every type and form exist. They mostly prefer to remain in cities such as Amsterdam, Copenhagen and parts of Sweden: any place where there is a large cycling culture and they can remain anonymous.

Mutations have developed tri-torsoed cencyclops and uni-cencyclops with heavy or light frames. Very few can now reproduce independently. I have inherited my great-great-great-grandmother's abilities. Hopefully, we will thrive for generations to come, as long as bicycles are still utilised by humans. Although, I have personally noticed that a minority of straights own bicycles. In fact, for many years now I have only seen us. Perhaps one day, humans will open their minds.

'Excuse me, terribly sorry to bother you, I'm from flat no. 4 and I was just wondering if i could briefly borrow your C.A.T. You see, I'm going through a bit of an existential crisis and I need her advice.'

'See, that's how my dilemma started. All I wanted to do was make contact with a Control Activated Tranquiliser (C.A.T). It was part of my mission. C.A.T.s, or cats as they're known on Earth, were sent here by my planet for monitoring purposes. Earth is rather a squatter camp as far as other galaxies are concerned (and we're necessarily concerned). So much so, that other planets have also been using personal monitoring devices such as D.O.G.s. (Designated OrderGrams), F.I.S.H. (Fiscal Integrated Seeing Houses) and M.I.C.E. (Machine-like Isolated Chaos Energisers). Strictly, according to the MVXIII Galactic Convention Treaty, they're not allowed, however, these devices are so prolific amongst politicians and young alien hackers that they're now commonly known under a catch phrase of P.E.T.s (Personal Entertainment Transmitters) and ignored.

At least, that is what we were led to believe. I have now discovered shocking evidence to suggest an Intergalactic Plot using the Earth as a catalyst. Surprisingly, the evidence is all here, sneakily recorded in ancient literature and encoded as mythology. The story I am about to relate will join these archives. If I do not survive, hopefully someone in the future will read this and stop this diabolical plot, before it occurs (you have 10 Earth years, starting now).'

Following my request, the purple-haired crone focused short-sightedly on my eager face. A milli-second later, the door slammed closed with the force of a giant Snazzgrobbler's jaws on an abandoned space-craft. Taking a deep breath I restrained myself from telepathically 'persuading' her it was a good idea and smartly returned home, well, at least, to my temporary home. 'Damn ethical considerations.' I would have if it wasn't expressly forbidden in my contract. 'In fact', I thought vengefully, 'I would also have changed he purple rinse to glow-in-the-dark riza, a colour of such revolting scope it was banned as a health hazard on most planets.' On my home planet refusal of such a basic need was tantamount to quaintly sticking your middle finger into the air at someone waiting at an intersection. As I left, the cat winked. I caught a fragment of its thoughts, 'later'.

"Later' found me, Maia the Militant, Maia the courageous, who single-handedly conquered an entire planet of deadly midget Xzars, uncharacteristically blubbering into a cup of hot chocolate whilst being consoled and counseled to by Mitsy, the neighbour's cat. This was partly what initially made me smell a hover-rat. It's very complicated. I was actually having a crisis, but only because I felt content experiencing the general discontent Humans manifest daily. To make it simpler: Luallallalla bored me stiff. Floating around serenely was for me, the epitomy of dullness. I was finding Earth fun. Cats are supposed to respond to Human needs and in doing so, monitor them. I wasn't Human. Cats weren't supposed to respond to my needs. They were biologically engineered with a specific purpose in mind. They weren't supposed to have personalities.

Mitsy did. In fact, she had such a strong personality she was known as Mxona, High Priestess of Serenity. My head reeled one way. My soul (my usual form) reeled desperately in another direction. I was confused. A cat's main energy source should be a scrap of soul. One condemned Luallallallan would be shredded in the Screaming Pit of Desolation, the only punishment ever invoked on my planet. The resulting amorphous bits were used as a life-force in the creation of C.A.T.s. These were then sent to Earth to monitor Humans and their shocking habits. Cats were not supposed to be thinking, cognitive creatures. They were, to give an example, an advanced form of artificial intelligence. In fact, they were the best, and the creators, a pair who have subsequently disappeared, won the Pukcoc Award for their work.

I wanted to scream. I can still remember the brief I received 21 earth years ago as if it were yesterday (the ironic yet painful thing, that is yesterday in Luallallalla).

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** **************** **************** ********************** ********************** ********************* ******************** ******************

Sorry, translation:

INTERGALACTIC ARMY BRIEF:

Agent: Maiaiaiala, 3rd commander, Luallallalla division, Troop 6

Destination: Gauteng, South Africa, Africa, Earth, Galaxy 7

Mission: Solitary, undercover. Report back on the development (or deterioration) of the earthmen (Humans). C.A.T. reports distorting. Why? Does this correlate with the Marssslough observation.

Duration: As long as it takes (which will be by the next Intergalactic Pest Control Meeting)

Identity: Maia (our experts tell us the far less lyrically equipped earth types will be able to cope with that); a young, upwardly mobile black woman in Sandton. CAT statistics show this to be the most favourable location in the country. CAT statistics also show 'young, upwardly mobile-black-and-woman as being the preferred identity. (We felt this would make it easier for you).

If only it were that simple. I redoubled my efforts. I discovered from Mitsy, or Mixana, that C.A.T.s were not actually Control Activated Tranquilisers at all, but rather, Catalystic Animal Therapists. C.A.T.s were therefore cats, sentient beings meant to help Humans. They were not supposed to be monitoring and controlling, which is why there had been so many frequency disruptions of late. I should have been satisfied. My report should have been as follows (oddly enough, this is a giant question mark in Earth writing):

Human Status: Humans are still trashing the planet unashamedly. Would recommend InterGalactic Pest Control Team go ahead to avoid contamination.

C.A.T. Status: Have developed sentience, possibly due to high toxicity levels mutating them. Either create alternative function or remove from Earth.

Unfortunately, I'm as curious as a ...cat, and was rather enjoying the Earth experience. I set off in my little blue VW to see what I could see. Initially the Luallallallan Elders modified my craft to represent what they felt was the 'fastest, most accessible and indeed, most popular craft in Africa'. After 3 attempted hi-jacks (said hijackers swiftly disposed of), 6 attempts by civilians to board and 5 separate occasions of tyre-shooting (at which tyres disposed of, the assailants could only stare open-mouthed at the still speeding, now hovering craft), I realised I might be a little better informed myself. A mini-bus was not the most subtle disguise. I modified it the very next day into a small, friendly looking, soft-top VW beetle.

I read up on Classical Literature. I soaked in children's stories, nursery rhymes and folk tales of every description. I was fascinated. An entire planet's history was recorded as stories and allegory and as yet, the Universe was oblivious to this wealth of information. That is, the entire Universe, barring one planet, one malicious race intent on Universal and InterGalactic domination. My ether almost dispersed in scattered shock. Humans weren't just a sick, self-destructive race, they really were sick, desperately ill, one of the symptoms being mindless destruction.

I searched all my particles for fragments of InterGalactic History learnt in training. Slowly, with great effort on my part, the fragments seeped back to form a saturated whole. The people of my planet, the Luallallallans, a peace-loving, love-making, lyrical nation were clearly represented in Earth mythology as elementals. Another planet, populated by the violent, war-torn Fagsnakkers, were strangely enough shown to be inkubbi and sukkubi. I say strangely, because in that representation, the dual nature and tragic history of the Fagsnakkers is clearly shown. Many millenia ago (I use Earth terms for simplicity, if I were to translate mixtures of Luallalalla and Fagsnakker terminology, the result would fill the British Museum), Fagsnakkers were neither particularly peaceful nor war-torn. They were an average little planet on the outskirts of the Neithian Galaxy. Although an average planet, individually they were great adventurers, travellers and lovers.

Disaster struck when a young Fagsnakker and a young Luallallallan fell desperately in love. Unbelievably, this was the first such union ever made. Equally unbelievably, it was to precipitate universal chaos on an uncomprehensible scale. A virus was created that affected the entire Fagsnakker planet. Fagsnakkers became chaotic, destructive and malevolent. They blamed the Luallallallans for seducing one of them and causing this disease. Suspicion was rife and the Fagsnakkers were quarantined. And that, as far as InterGalactic history was concerned, was that.

According to Earth history, that was not, that. Or rather, that was precisely that, and that, was the problem! I shivered. I shuddered. I quivered at the magnitude of this discovery. Was I under observation? I checked for random P.E.T observation. Not even a roach. The dusty book on ancient Greek mythology flipped open. The metopes and friezes running across the Temple of Zeus told their own story. The centaurs attacking, raping and killing the Lapiths in a savage frenzy, the inkubbi and sukkubi wafting into Victorians while they slept, taunting them sexually: the pages all told a story, the same story repeated throughout the ages.

In a frenzy a renegade band of Fagsnakkers attacked a small colony of holidaying Luallallallans. The colony was based on Earth, a lush green wonderland of blue and green. The Fagsnakkers were determined to enact revenge by infecting every Luallallallan there. The plan worked, however, some survived, creating Humans. These Humans had this sickness in their soul, a self-destructive, all-consuming darkness. Earth was now monitored. Not, as I and the majority of the Universe had previously believed, because they were seen to be a disease causing and ecologically unstable planet but for a deeper reason known to very few.

Bright Mayan and Egyptian symbols and hieroglyphs suddenly made sense. They were the original holidaying Luallallallans. They brought cats with them as spiritual advisors and friends. They were warned. Some of them paid attention and fled, or took refuge. Others didn't. The elders on Luallallalla forced the cats to monitor and control the remaining Humans. A few Humans still retained Luallallallan abilities and traits, keeping up their sacred relationship with cats. It was on behalf of these few Humans cats were revolting.

I had to get back. It was obvious to me the Fagsnakkers were waiting for the destruction of the Earth. Poetic justice: the Luallallallans, whom they believed to be the cause of their suffering, annihilating the planet and thereby causing the spread of a long-forgotten, virulent disease. If they didn't, the Humans would do it themselves as a final effect of their sickness. I ran out of the library with the speed of a Grutzwarp. I leapt in my beetle, ignored all earth dimensional warp regulations and flew back to my little flat.

It had taken me 21 years to find this, 21 years of research on Earth to discover it wasn't actually an alien planet after all but descended from my planet. Mxona was curled up on my window-sill, basking in the afternoon sun. I frantically told her my discoveries, my decision, the urgent nature of my return. She looked at me sagely and told me I couldn't go back. That made me stop all preparations. I felt the same discomforting ricochet of unease as when I first met her.

'You're Human. Didn't you realise.' I gasped, floundered, almost fell over. I personally would have thought that travelling from one home planet to another would pretty much put me out of the running for Human status. 'You were one of the offspring of the infected brought back to Luallallalla for observation and information. You're a secret weapon. You were the only one they could send here due to your immunity, but you can't go back. You would carry the disease.'

The barrage of 'you's' were making me dizzy. I wished she would refer to someone else. Finally, she did. 'We need you. This planet needs you. A new consciousness is beginning, a new hope. We don't have to be war-like and self-destructive. Help is to be found in healing. Healing is a result of greater consciousness. Stay.'

I had discovered a plot to destroy the known Universe and was powerless to prevent it directly. I couldn't go back to warn my people for fear of contaminating them. The Elders were obviously keeping this under wraps as tight as space-soot repellant. The Fagsnakkers were stuck on an isolated, quarantined world, bitter and hungry for revenge. Their orchestration was superb. A sense of impotence filled me.

I have subsequently learnt to fight in a new way. To foil both Fagsnakkers and Luallallallans I must help the cats in their struggle to raise consciousness. I will do this by adding to the annals of history on Earth. If enough people read and understand, something can be done in time. I can only hope.

Destiny & Decline

 

Sophie stared at the mannequin in the corner of her room. She had never truly believed that evil existed in the world - bad things, yes, but not true evil. And now, she was a part of that evil.

'Rev, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. You were right, right about absolutely everything and nothing. I guess its too late for all of this now. I fucked up - bigtime! I wasn't the wild child I always pretended to be. You saw straight through that, but then .. you always did. And I destroyed you. I don't know what I am now but it scares me.'

Sophie flipped over onto her back with a sigh, a solitary tear trickling down her face. The mannequin seemed to stare at her silently, fixedly. It was a beautiful work of art. The girl it represented had the best of three "p's": she was petite, punky and pretty. If you looked closer you could detect a faint marbling through the cobwebby shroud - swirls of bluish-grey patterned the figure. 'You were right about Marina too, but dammit you were wrong about this world. Its not what you thought it was. I wish you could see all I can see - but you can't, can you? I'm so sorry, I love you.' Once upon a time a girl called Rev had existed and shared Sophie's life completely. The two of them had indulged each other's petulances, lived and laughed together and generally done a relay race through hell as a team.

'So, basically, the 15th century convents were all full of lesbian nuns. The isolation and the feeling of ecstasy led to a union with God, and because they had undertaken a vow of silence, they couldn't speak about it.' Rev soberly levelled her vision on Sophie who responded with a vehement 'I think you made that up! What about the bible and Adam and Eve? Isn't lesbianism against your religion sweetpea?' This heralded the beginning of a well-rehearsed skit the two often performed when together.

'Sophie! I'm shocked.' Rev's deer-in-headlights look failed dismally. 'Are you telling me you don't find God when I'm with you? Anyway, the Bible can be interpreted in any way you please. I'm strong in my faith.' 'You sound like a zealot now. You're so funny when I tease you.' 'Yeah, funny, funny ha ha. Just wait till I start teasing you' she retorted. 'Threat or promise?' Sophie smiled knowingly. 'Both - take it how you want to' was Rev's petulant reply.

When Sophie started working, she couldn't have realised how far it would go.. how she would change. Yawning, she looked through her tiny glass booth at the Italian pizzeria with its smirking waiters before idly playing with the ring on the middle finger of her left hand. It was a gift from her grandmother. Vaguely she wondered how her Nan was doing.

'This doesn't seem too bad so far. Hmph, trust Rev to exaggerate. Tied and trussed indeed - this is boring, not dodgy.' A glance at her surroundings explained Rev's concern. Sophie was sprawled in front of an old metal cashier, platform shoes impatiently tapping the lower rungs of her stool. The fragile-looking glass afforded little protection from the lecherous views cast at her tiny little lace dress. An obnoxious, fat, red sign above her flashed the words: ' LIVE SHOW, SEXY GIRLS.'

However, before long she started sensing something was wrong. Visions would flash in and out of her head, like she was tuned into some faraway dodgy porn-channel without sub-titles. Flashes of bodies entwined in her mind, charcoal yin on ebony yang - backdrop of blood. She started at the smirking demon pressed against the glass before recognising it as that of a customer, mainly due to the fact he was leering at her breasts. 'So luv, how much?' He managed to make an overtly simple question sound like a come-on. Sophie, taken by surprise stuttered, 'uh, three pounds to see the show' just as she had been instructed to. 'Are you in it?' 'No! Here's your ticket.'

'I'm glad you're getting ripped off ' she thought as she watched his tail flick down the gloomy stairs. He swivelled his head and smirked, rolling his tongue around suggestively as if she'd actually want the fur-coated little piece of meat in her mouth. She grimaced in distaste at the thought, her overactive imagination working overtime.

The men came in droves: yuppies, tramps or foreigners, they were all lured to the tiny club in search of…not even they knew. They were soon to find that the id could be a monster that was dominated for a reason.

Downstairs two men eyed a stripper discarding her clothes like a wilting flower does its petals. The music blared out harshly in sharp contrast to her graceful movements. Alethea, seemingly oblivious to this, chatted amicably to the men. She questioned them inanely about their lives, wives and business. When she got bored she rolled her eyes delicately in the direction of a large, dreadlocked black man in a suit. Oblivious to the signals, they watched a tall, slender girl approach them in a curiously scuttling manner. She presented the eldest of the two with a thin slip of paper. After glancing at it, he jumped to his feet, shiftily looking for the nearest exit. The other one followed suit.

Tony stepped forward, barring the way. 'Is there a problem with the bill gentlemen?' His tone was polite, modulated and extremely threatening. Trapped like a passerby in a gang war he stared at him wildly and panted, 'This is against the law man, I'm going to go to the police with you. I'm not paying this extortionate amount.' After a brief discussion the matter was settled by Tony frisking the man, relieving him of all his cash. Alethea, a slight frown on her otherwise almost unnaturally smooth face, observed the proceedings keenly. She leaned back slightly when a rosette of blood tattooed itself on her vanilla thigh. Her customer bolted up the stairs, leaving a trail of red breadcrumbs for his friend to follow. He ran straight into an iron keg by the name of Peter. Oddly enough he so closely resembled Tony that the man just stared at him, bemused, before a cartoon-sized fist crunched his cartilage into his brain.

Attracted by the frenzied, pig-like squealing, Alethea swivelled on her broken stool. She felt like she was in a 3D movie, each glass wall reflecting a new scene. Camera 1 - the streets of Soho, camera 2 - a pale girl sitting in a little booth, 3 - Tony/Peter carrying a slumped man over each shoulder, 4 - the outline of a naked woman sketched in neon lights on an otherwise blank and dingy wall. She spun faster and faster before stopping in front of the pale girl.

'What have I got myself into?' she asked her reflection in the mirror. 'It is a nice show, yes?' Sophie jumped, startled to see a tall, skinhead woman standing outside the booth. She was wearing a blue sari which matched the icy fire of her eyes. Her gaunt cheeks highlighted the effect, as did the intricate tattoos running over each jugular. The aesthetic in Sophie appreciated the potential of the woman. Thinking she must be gay or at least bi, she cheekily buzzed her down. Once past the entrance the woman charged awkwardly down the stairs screaming, 'Followers of Zethaba, I have you now! Aieeee…' Without turning Sophie could see her sari billowing behind her, could feel the blur of colours as something appeared, attacked and disappeared. The woman crumpled, impaling her third eye on the jagged, curved knife she had wielded.

With apprehension she anticipated the call. 'Sophie, could you come downstairs a minute'. It was clearly an order more than a request. 'Play it cool', she thought to herself, every psi-sensor tingling a warning. 'Sure, is everything okay? I heard some scary noises, it sounded like..' 'Yes, just come down - now!' The voice thickened with annoyance. That was the day she was allowed into the showroom downstairs. Nervously playing with her grandmother's ring she pushed her way through the trails of misty smoke into another world.

The room gave off an aura of antiquity. It wasn't dirty, it just gave an impression of faded opulence, an opium den that had left China one day on a whim and never quite found its way back. Beautiful, groomed girls in fishnet stockings, stilettos and wisps of lingerie lay on the burgundy velvet couches like a pride of great cats, purring predatorily. A small bar was dwarfed by an obvious relation of Tony and Peter's. Something about them jarred. If she looked at each separately, they were clearly different men, yet as soon as she turned away their features melted into one. They seemed to absorb darkness, internalising it whereas the girls' skin shimmered luminescently. Marbled, leather-clad mannequins dominated the décor, artfully arranged in scenes of torment and despair.

A hollow voice intoned 'Sophie - come here, we need to have a little chat.' 'Don't worry, you won't get sacked, I think he just wants to go over some rules and stuff with you. Didn't you know women weren't allowed in?' This reassurance was offered by Sophie's friend; an Italian-looking Amazon with braids. The light made her skin vibrate whitely against her space-black hair and eyes.

'Nope - no-one told me, its just a show afterall. What's the difference?' She frowned petulantly, not quite sure what to expect next. Marina leaned forward slowly, brushing her lips against Sophie's ear. Her tongue flicked out sinuously as she breathed, 'You don't really believe that, do you?' Before she could reply Sophie was summoned before Flint. The interview was conducted in a cramped enclosure separated from the rest of the club by beaded curtains. She perched cross-legged on a large barstool, Flint looming over her with a fat Cuban in his lips. The conversation went as follows: 'We think its time you took a look down here and learnt a bit more about what's going on. Especially after our little incident. Would you like another drink?' She refused a second venom-coloured cocktail, confused and expecting more information. Flint's gold tooth flashed expectantly. Flint muttered, as if to himself, 'No, I don't think you do understand, but you will' before sharply adding 'Come with me'.

He took her into an even smaller and dingier room. An erotic show was taking place that reminded her of her earlier premonitions A strange scent permeated the air, making her light-headed. It smelt of sex and blood and danger. It excited her and she didn't want to know why. 'Flint, what's that smell' she queried. He threw back his head, revealing large, chisel-shaped teeth. His gold one caught the lights and glittered wickedly. 'Which one? Opium, sex, hashish, or the other smells, little one.' He laid a curious inflection on the word 'other' as if expecting recognition and then asked her 'Have you ever considered working down here? It pays well.'

Sophie looked at him suspiciously saying, 'I wouldn't know what to do. I've never tried it before.' However, a voice inside her head said 'I'm sure it wouldn't be too bad, I do need money for college.' As if reading her mind Flint said reassuringly, 'Think about it. I'll see you tomorrow.'

At college, the conversation was on permanent playback in her head. 'I don't know if I should do it or not. Rents due, my grant's almost run out, fuck, I think I might have to.' She nestled the violin closer to her neck, as if for comfort. Her crimson braids and retro style contrasted sharply with her plaid and dowdy classmates. She bit her lip delicately as she wrestled it out in her head.

'I refuse to give up my music. Rev's going to go spare, but actually, she's been saying I should do something about getting more money. She's sick of paying for everything. I guess I'll speak to her when I get home. Better idea, I'll visit Nan, she'll know. She was right about Rev too. No-one else understands.' As she played her thoughts returned to the night she and Rev met.

The club was filled with writhing, parakeet-people; fluffing, primping and scolding each other. Feather boas polished rubber bustiers as air kisses were exchanged. A seven foot transvestite started dancing next to Sophie. She looked at him appraisingly. Her huge platforms were no match for his 10-inch stilettos. He grinned engagingly at her before flouncing through the crowd. She carried on dancing. Her cropped black basque highlighted her fairly impressive cleavage while her tight pillarbox PVC trousers perfectly matched her hair. Lost in the music, she was oblivious to all else. Four pairs of eyes were narrowed in concentration as they watched her every move.

Exhausted, she pushed her way to the bar. A petite, pretty girl with shorn, spiky hair bounced up to her. ' So, what are you drinking?' Sophie, in a flirtatious, frivolous mood answered 'Whatever you're buying me.' And their relationship began over tequila slammers. To their left, a tall, haughty looking blonde chatted intensely to a dark, braided girl. Their bodyguard, a well-oiled black man, stood behind them impassively. They alternately fixed smouldering looks on her.

'I don't like this one little bit.' The blonde swore viciously. 'We can't get close to her if there's someone else in the way. It'll be hard enough with the protection she's under.' 'Chill, baby.' Marina replied. 'She's not even strictly gay. If anything it'll be a one nighter, no worries.'

Meanwhile, Rev and Sophie were still exchanging secrets. 'What!' Rev exclaimed.' You play the cello - I don't believe you. How dull!' 'And the violin.' Sophie added. 'It is not dull. It excites deeper passion than this mechanical noise.' Rev snorted sceptically. 'Oh yeah, prove it.' 'My pleasure. Follow me.' They ended up at Sophie's tiny counsel flat with her bare legs wrapped around a cello with more generous curves than a Brazilian. Rev lay on the floor watching her. Before long, the cello lay on the floor watching them in the reflection of the frosted window as they made a music of their own.

Remembering this made Sophie smile, even as she approached the forbidding, Victorian mansion her grandmother lived in. She sobered up somewhat when she walked through the rusting wrought-iron gate reading: LIVINGSTON MENTAL HOSPITAL - WELCOME. 'God, I hate this place. Why do you hide here Nan?' she thought to herself as she was confronted by an hyper-efficient, bitchy, peroxide blonde with attitude.

'Look, finding her levitating 3 feet above her bed is NOT what I'd class a relapse. I demand to see my grandmother, and now!' In frustration she vaguely heard Ms Lana Turnpall's yapping; 'Ms Angelez, your grandmother's pscychosis is a serious one and as such her mind will cause her body to do unnatural things. She is delirious and delusional and I must caution against seeing her in this state' as she marched past the orderly guarding Room 73. She was greeted by the sight of an elderly, frail woman in regulation white hospital nightgown sitting yoga-style, clearly hovering above the bed.

'Nan! What are you doing?' Her grandmother lowered herself slowly as Sophie came in. 'Oh hello dear.' She said this in a surprisingly strong voice that belied her years. 'It gets so frightfully dull in here. I'm so glad you've come to visit. I've been feeling very strange of late.' Sophie started with her usual chidhing. 'Nan, I'm so worried about you. This place is awful - I can't understand why you're in here. You know you're not nuts, why do you pretend to be.'

'I'm tired darling. I don't have the strength to hold them off any longer, you know that. Its safer in here, at least, for a while. There are too many other lost energies trapped in this place for them to feel me here.' She sighed, as if truly old. 'You've never told me who they are Nan. You've told me about them but very generally. How can I be careful of something when I don't know what it is?' 'It was a long time ago, Sophie dear, too long ago for you to ever remember. Hopefully they will have forgotten too, but then again, a Bayou crocodile will always reclaim the corpse once it has rotted enough to be tender.' 'You're scaring me, what are you on about.'

Her blue eyes rested on Sophie's face before she replied 'Nothing, nothing - just the ramblings of an old mind. Walk softly love, you're safe while I'm alive.' Realising the time, Sophie prepared to leave. 'I'll see you soon Nan. Look after yourself, and stop scaring the orderlies.' Her grandmother waved while singing softly to herself, turning the wave into an intricate hand patterning that seemed to hover and glow in the air.

Once home, Sophie had a lot more to deal with than singing levitating grannies. Rev was furious and stood petulantly gesticulating. 'Thats the stupidest idea I've ever heard of. You working in that joint as a doorgirl is bad enough but you are not working downstairs.' Angrily, Sophie yelled 'Who the hell do you think you are. You said yourself you're sick and tired of supporting me. Its not like I'll be fucking anyone.'

'So you claim.' The bitterness and hurt was evident in her voice. 'Why else do you want to be there? I bet its Marina. She got you into this.' With tears of frustration in her eyes Sophie turned to leave saying, 'I'm not having this conversation anymore. I've got to get to work.' 'Don't bother waking me when you get back. And whatever you do, don't bother me with that infernal noise.' Rev knew how to hit her where it hurt. 'My music is not noise - it's art.' She slammed the door behind her as Rev burst into tears.

Sophie stormed into the showroom, a flushed, yet grim look on her face. Flint's square back flexed in apprehension as he said 'Well'. He knew they would be displeased if he had to force her. 'I've decided, I'll do it. Where do I start?' A broad relieved smile spread across his face. Turning, he gently led her to a little-used and heavily guarded room with an open cellar door. Sophie carefully clambered down the ladder to be greeted by yet another world.

Three of the catlike women from upstairs were lovingly stalking a plump, pasty man who was stretched out on a rack. Blood seeped from his fresh whip wounds as he groaned in ecstasy. He was paying good money for this and loving every moment of his pain. They had discarded the lacy lingerie for PVC and leatherwear. There was an aura of decay surrounding the dungeon. She could almost believe it was an original and had somehow survived through the centuries till now. Her grandmother's ring glowed softly on her finger and she felt a whispering around her more powerful than the screams echoing from below. The ancients were here and subconsciously she acknowledged them.

As she turned around the scene before her so resembled an earlier one in her life, that her mind whisked her back to her first meeting with Marina at a fetish club called Spiky. That night was a lot brighter and less sinister. A carnival atmosphere permeated the air. Fat politicians similar to this one bounced around in chainmail g-strings while young, alternative types scowled coolley in corners. Sophie, Rev and Marina made up one such group.

'God - look at that one. Yeeuch, he looks like it took him all night to squeeze into that.' She exclaimed. 'Tell me about it.' Rev agreed. 'She's hot though.' She added, pointing out a silver-blonde in a bronzed corset and thigh-high boots. 'Hey, thats Alethea, I work with her. Alethea - Alethea, babe, get that sweet butt over here.' Marina shouted hoarsely. 'I'm sure I recognise her. Come to think of it I recognised you too. Its always the way when you're involved in a certain scene, isn't it?' 'Something like that.' Alethea looked bored. In a good mood, Sophie wasn't going to be put off. 'What do you do anyway? Any places for me?' She laughed amicably. Marina started, as if surprised. 'Funny you should say that. There's actually a vacancy at the club for a doorgirl at the moment. Alethea, Sophie wants to come work with us.' 'Really, does she indeed. I presume she'll be on the door and not downstairs.' She scanned Sophie aloofly. 'What - in Soho, I don't think you'd do that, would you Sophie?' Rev interjected. 'Come on, its not dodgy.' Marina cut in. 'It'll be a laugh. You're pretty, you'll make tons of dosh. Its tame compared to this place.' Sophie squidged her nose up in confusion. 'Um, okay - I might as well try, it can't hurt.'

She re-focused, realising she wasn't at Spiky and was actually in the present. Flint's soft voice whispered behind her 'Do you think you can do this? ' Sophie gulped, thinking, 'I don't want to know what will happen if I say no.' but said instead 'Got a spare whip?' As she brought the whip down she could feel something tangible shimmering in the air. The man seemed mesmerised. With a flash of clarity she realised why women couldn't come here. They had no power over them. She was aware of the cat-like stares of the rubber-clad women and could sense their heat and excitement. Focusing on thoughts of Rev didn't help, it only made her take out her anger on the man who yelped piteously in pleasure.

As if one the three leapt on him and started lapping at the blood running down his sweaty, blubbery flesh. She was pulled along by their momentum and soon found herself tangled in a heap below the wrack, licking and sucking on female sweat and blood. She didn't see the man twitch until he jerked to a halt and stiffened. She didn't feel her blood being langurously sucked from her mouth and tongue, thinking it was just the sticky sweetness of mingled juices. She crept in quietly that night and went to sleep curled up behind Rev, tired and confused by the evening's events. The man, left on the rack, stiffened, his skin taking on a marbled blue hue.

The next morning they met up with their usual group at Afrique Café, a slightly pretentious but convenient caffeine watering hole. Rev and Sophie spent most of the time glowering at each other. Sophie was paler than ever, her hue accentuated by the sun on her hair and the film star dark glasses she wore. Everyone else chattered, seemingly oblivious to the vibe between them. 'Are you okay Soph? You look ill; too many pills huh?' Rico, a stocky, camp designer with an Afro inquired. 'No, you know I don't do any of that shit.' She retorted automatically with none of the vehemence she usually contested drugs with. 'Who are you kidding?' Emma jumped in. 'We're worried about you babe. You may think we don't notice, but we do. You've lost weight, you're always wearing shades and you are soooo pale.' 'Yeah - Rev, is she mainlining? I havn't seen you eat the whole day Sophie. Let me look at your arms.' Rico was clearly the drug-fiend of the group. 'Look, I told you I'm not doing anything - chill, okay. Maybe I'm just coming down with something. ' 'Coming down being the appropriate term.' Emma cheekily added. Rev sighed. 'Just leave it. I can't get through to her either.' A chair ricocheted off the pavement as Sophie stalked off with her violin in her hand.

'I don't have to listen to this shit. I've got practising to do.' They all looked shocked, except for Rev, who just looked sad. That afternoon she sat backwards on an old oak chair practising the violin before she had to go to work. 'What is happening to me. They're right. I feel crappy. I'm having horrible dreams and can't sleep, I can't eat, the sun hurts my eyes. The only thing I can still do is play. Its all I live for. That, and work to pay for it.' Sophie hadn't been back down to the dungeon since the first time. She'd done a few boring shifts where she chatted inanely to lecherous businessmen, and done a few shows but nothing intense. There was a meeting now, to discuss 'dividends' or something dull. She wished she was home with Rev. They'd been fighting viciously recently and she wanted to kiss and caress her and make up for the fact she was working here. When she arrived she noticed that for the first time, everyone was there.

She was sitting inbetween Alethea and Marina on a broad, furry, floor covering. Flint called her saying, ' Come here Sophie. We havn't welcomed you properly.' He was at the front of the room with the other men. There were candles all around him. 'That's okay thanks, I'm fine here.' Sophie flippantly answered him. 'I insist.' She could see Flint's eyes glowing, even though his face was in shadow. He was holding a chalice towards her as she walked across the room in a tranced state. She could see the crude detail on the altar. A strangled black cock had been placed on it, along with the skull of a black goat. They were all symbols of Ezili.

The room breathed rythmically as she was drawn towards him. It was time for her to become one with them. They did not yet have someone of this generation and she would be perfect. 'I summon the lwa of Dahoney.' Flint intoned as he started the invocation for the ritual. Sophie's eyes were wide and rolling back. She looked decidedly possessed, her hair blowing in the strong wind blowing in the room. The cellar door flew open as she made a strange, unearthly keening sound.

As the spirits of Ezili and Gede took her, Sophie became something new. The initiation was a rebirth, and in order to achieve her transformation it was necessary for her to die first. Her mind was whisked away on the sea-winds, to the slave ships leaving Africa with their cargo, and her body remained to complete its trial. A disturbing orgy began to gain momentum as the women and men took on their true form. The reds, blacks and whites created a staccato violence of sex.

She saw a slave ship with many slaves crammed in its hull, bleeding and screaming in the appalling conditions. A lone figure stood imploring the sky with chained hands whilst being whipped with a cat-o-nine. The Yoruba, maddened with fear and despair, appealed to their priests to call the wrath of the spirits down upon their captors. With his dying breath the most powerful and ancient of them succeeded, and the ship was possesed by the spirits of Ezili and Gede. The resulting orgy of sex and violence succeeded in bonding those lwa with the slaves to create a terrifying new breed.

At first they did not realise their powers. The ship silently piloted them to a safe haven where they could recover and learn to balance the struggles of the lwa inside them. Many died out as they did not realise their need to feed, but they learnt quickly. A vision of Southern belles swinging on saloon chairs swam laughingly into her head. 'Brothels?' she thought in her half conscious state. Hundreds of years later they had integrated themselves into the society of the time effectively enough to remain undetected. Their webs were neatly spun and they had their own order set up. Each generation they would integrate one women of that time in order to keep the spirits happy. Men were the prey, to be drawn into their clutches and sucked dry of soul, wealth and blood. The only men escaping this fate were the original slaves from the ship. They were the priests, the ones who looked after and kept the order alive. praying to the lwa and setting up whatever enterprises were needed to protect their queens.

Another picture welled up. One of a modern, avant-garde loft. An installation exhibition was in progress. Marbled statues and portraits of beautiful women dotted the loft. She thought one resembled Alethea uncannily. An extremally dark-skinned black man was showing a small group of men around. As if a security measure, all had wine glasses clasped in their sweating hands.

They moved in all circles, there was more variety for the fickle palates of Elizi's chosen ones, and took advantage of all the discoveries they had made over the years. For instance, their victims, once drained, remained alive. Poisoned and paralysed, their vitality drained, their skin took on a delicate, blue, cobwebby hue. They went down wonderfully amongst the art critics in New York and Paris. The art critics and their parties went down even better with the vampires.

In honour of their original creation they named every base, every club, every underground den after the original slave-ship: 'The Paladena'. Sophie learnt all this as her body was raped, violated and her marriage to the lwa comsumated. Her skin glowed with a pale, spiritual light now that she was truly one of them. It contrasted with Flint, who would now be her personal priest, her black nemesis, her guide and protector to the death.

She sat, lotus-style, in the centre of the group, as they worshipped the newest addition to the colony. 'Go now. End all ties you must as you are not of that world anymore. You are one of us, one of the colony and we will wait your return. Hurry, you do not have much time as we will be leaving soon.' Flint's words echoed in her ears as she grinned maniacally at Rev.

'Rev, Rev - I'm so alive, I'm dead, no, I'm alive. You don't understand, but you must, you will. I'm sorry, I don't want to fight anymore. Come here, I want to love you.' 'What's come over you babe?' she said in surprise. 'You seem weird but hey, I don't want to fight anymore either.' Sophie started biting Rev's nipple-ring. As the blood began to flow shadow-forms of Ezili and Gede appeared behind them. 'Sophie, what are you doing, ow, thats hurting me.' Sophie, possessed by the spirits again, was unreachable. 'Sophie...' And so things end as they began, in a perpetual circle of life entering death and death entering life. 'Oh Christ, Rev, what have I done - what in the hell is going on.. What - in hell.' The marbled statue stared at her bleakly as she heard their calls twittering in her head. Finally, she knew what her grandmother had warned her about. Finally. now it was too late.

The Quest

 

< selection , celebration , instruction from the elders , the peat , prophecy , the new generations >

the selection

The Queen closed her crystal eyes while prisms of rainbow colour pulsated up and down her form in tubular bands, before reaching out to draw themselves along the ribbons of smoke drifting in the glade. In his vantage point high in the trees Dakkara shivered with excitement. Only every second generation of Grobbles saw the sacred Thimbla Ceremony, as it occurred once every 700 years, but all knew about it from the time they were released from their cocoons.

The sentient forest was buzzing with the sound of hushed silence. The tree-tops shimmered with the numbers of wraith-like Grobbles clustered in them. All watched in awe as the jewel-like colours arced around the cold, marbled eggs and surrounded them with glowing orbs of light. The Queen rose, delicately hovering in the air as she drew the energy from the cosmos and focused it into creating life. The entire glade was now ablaze in a riot of colour, the sound of husky whisperings and twitterings escalated. The sound was a good omen as it meant that those who had gone before were giving their approval. Each Grobble lived for centuries before they disappeared to become part of the magical smoke making up their land and these dissipates were an intrinsic part of any ceremony, their energy being used to start the cycle afresh.

There were only five pebble-like eggs at any one time, and these were now undergoing a transformation. Under the influence of the coloured energy they too were pulsating. Each one was now a translucent, pulsating membrane, filled with a haze of whisping smoke. Dakkara's attention was riveted by one smoky purple egg. A tiny chanting voice echoed through his head. He couldn't break the spell; it was calling him, drawing him, replacing his thoughts with its own. He tried to reject it but visions of sinking rapidly into a peat-like substance welled into his mind and he found himself floating through the air in a whirl of sound and smoke.

He awoke from his trance to find himself in the glade, sitting cross-legged with the purple egg that had originally attracted him on his lap, his fingers spread around it. An eerie keening filled the air. He felt dazed, yet instinctively knew what was happening. He was one of the chosen ones, one of the Guardians. Each new spirit would choose one whose soul would align with theirs, and that Grobble would be their Guardian, to aid them in their task of breaking free of the cocoon. Only three of the five would succeed. The other two would fall back into non-existence, their energy a part of the cosmos.

The Guardians would not know they were being chosen, but they could refuse to accept responsibility, instantly assigning the new Grobble to a non-existent status. Dakkara was scared. He had not anticipated this, but now that it had happened he felt he had to carry it through; difficult as it may prove to be. He could see the rest of the small but elite Grobble population perched in their vantage points, gaping down at him and the other Guardians; some in envy, some in surprise at those chosen. The Queen's eyes flickered open, the swarm of colours faded into the air, and her ruby mind stone dimmed in intensity. It was now only the delicate, membranous sacs that exuded an aura of colour. Dakkara glanced at the other Guardians, who all looked as bewildered as he was, except for one, Granath, whose air of smug satisfaction was clearly evident.

The egg in Dakkara's hand started to spin, with a curious frenetic energy, before the top popped open, like a seed-pod with an audible crack. Just as he started to think he had inadvertently broken it, a tiny, buzzing, coloured light shot out of the egg and planted a kiss on his nose before it was checked by the plume of smoke drawn behind it. Tinkling, musical laughter rang in his ears. This was his introduction to his ward, who wished to be called Tika. As the other eggs opened, the glade exploded in cheers and merriment. Now that the Thimbla Ceremony was completed, the festivities could begin.

the celebration

The Guardians were ushered into the Queen's glowing pavilion, followed by whooping, cavorting Grobbles. The festival area was seldom used and it now had a carnival atmosphere. Minute yellow and orange flowers were growing out of the purple boughs of the trees to provide light, and large flattened fungus sprang up sporadically as Grobbles required tables or chairs. There was nothing this haphazard where the Guardians were. Boughs of the trees had linked to form a triangular and solid foundation. Beautiful Orgistas created a living, enmeshed covering and curtain to decorate the pagoda and shield the Royal Company from prying eyes. The Orgista were the Queen's personal flower. Normally pale and shy, they would entwine, reproduce and glow ecstatically in the Queen's presence, forming large areas of pink and purple cover.

Delicate green, phosphorescent light peered into every crevice of the pagoda, that the Guardians nervously shuffled into. The eggs shyly nestled into the crooks of their necks, barring Dakkara's, which cheekily coiled its smoke cord around his neck and proceeded to nuzzle his cheek. The laughter and frivolity of the activity outside faded into an almost religious and peaceful series of chimes and soft sighs. The Queen was already seated at a burnished orange table, the fungus edge carefully fronded and furled at regular intervals. Her voice sifted into their minds, breathing a welcome, and bidding them to be seated, as there was much to be done. As they sat, the eggs instinctively nudged themselves into the orange indentation of the table directly to their Guardian's left, and the Fire-Tads emerged, waiting for instruction.

'So what happens now?' boomed Granath. Everyone froze. It was the height of bad manners to speak in the Queen's presence. Although mature Grobbles could verbally communicate and had beautiful, lilting voices, they usually communicated telepathically. As they grew older and solidified into translucent resinous crystal, they lost this ability, and their telepathic and magical powers grew stronger. The Queen was ancient, rumoured to be the oldest Grobble in existence - a translucent and shimmering blue crystal. Her hair was now a twisted horn of power on her head and her purple eyes shone with knowledge and wisdom. As Dakkara looked around at those seated the sharp contrast between their three forms was evident. The Fire-Tads were still little piercing orbs of light and colour. With the passing of time the smoke within their eggs that kept them alive would pass up the connecting plume and slowly engulf them until they became a mature Grobble - the mist-like, dewy form Dakkara himself had. As they grew older they would crystallise more, finally shattering, their smoke-like essence billowing out and dissipating to become part of their world again.

'Patience, Granath!' Although calm, the mind voice was a definite reprimand. Flickering shafts of red shot through his normal green mist showed Granath's acute embarrassment. 'You are now entering the Guild of Guardians. You have been chosen to guide the next generation of our living race - not by me, but by the Fire-Tads when they were still in the peat.' There was a pause to allow this to sink in. The initiates were dimly aware of a dull, roaring sound of cheering outside, against the soft chiming of the inner bough music.'As such, you have a great responsibility, as only three Fire-Tads will go on to become mature Grobbles. The rest will be returned to the peat. You will go with them, as by this stage your souls will be so intrinsically entwined that any separation, other than natural maturation, will result in catatonia.'

As Dakkara swore the sacred Thimbla Oath of secrecy with the other Guardians, he thought of all the Queen had told them. Her mind voice echoed dully in his head. Could he fulfill all his obligations? Could he ensure that his already mischevious and playful Fire-Tad would survive this mysterious task? He hoped so, for if not, he would doom not one existence, but two, as he would never cope with the failure. None of the celebrating Grobbles ever saw the Guardians exit the Queen's pavilion. How could they, when the Guardians were sucked into an internal xylem shute and whisked off to a secret location in the heart of an ancient Throak.

instruction from the elders

Whispering and twittering surrounded them, echoing back and forth in the cavernous space. It sounded like a mixture of dead, dry leaves being rubbed against each other, with the occasional grind of powdery resin. They could smell the peat, a rich, loamy scent assailing their senses. Here was the end and the beginning of the cycle. Luminous lichen gave sparse illumination - all was shadowy. A multi-faceted voice loomed out of the dark recesses of the hollowed tree.

'Be seated.' They became aware of vine-like leaves slowly drawing them down onto fleshy, star-shaped flowers. The voice continued, tinkling and rasping in turn. 'We are those who have gone before, dwelling in the peat as one, and the knowledge that is ours is now yours. All that you learn here must never be revealed, and once the Fire-Tads' task is fulfilled, they may never return here except at death. Two will never leave.' Dakkara noticed that the other Guardian's mind stones were glowing and rotating with a feverish intent and wondered if his own moonstone was doing so. With growing curiosity he realised that he was under the earth, in the peat, but protected by being inside the root of the throak.

The tiny Fire-Tads seemed on edge. Tika was twittering and buzzing in his head whilst darting in and out of her egg-sac which, he noticed, had grown ever so slightly smaller. Granath's Fire-Tad was dive-bombing him and the others seemed in a similar state of excitement. As the voice of voices continued Dakkara thought he understood. Although the Fire-Tads had been hatched at the Thimbla Ceremony, that was only so they could choose a Guardian. Before they could become a Grobble, a tree-dryad in their own right, they had to find their own mind stone, and this could only be done whilst they were still in a quasi-nutrient form so they could easily navigate the air-ways in the soil. Slowly recollection dawned on Dakkara. Memories flooded back of his own search for his moonstone and how, on completion of his task, he traded the memories for existence.

He truly understood his responsibility and with that, he extended his mind to wrap around Tika's energy and the two shot into the abyss, leaving his body with its winking mind stone holding the swirling, smoke-filled egg. The voices of those who had gone before swirled around the Guardians' forms, protecting them until their return and wondering which two would be welcomed into their world of whispers.

the peat

Tika darted in and out of tunnels stubbornly. She was confused, frightened and bewildered but didn't want to admit it. Dakkara could sense her inner turmoil through their mind-link and did not want to associate it with the chirpy little entity he had so far come to know. 'Slow down.' She merely speeded up. Dakkara sighed resignedly. So this was what being a Guardian was all about. Gently he slowed her speed.

'You have to visualise what you want so you don't get lost or hurt,' he reminded her. She vibrated in anger, trying hard to snap the unbreakable bond between them before fizzing down. He could smell and feel the dank earth surrounding them. Vague probes brought the faint presence of the other Guardians to him but he couldn't pinpoint their exact location. He tried to feel the energy of a mind stone pulsating beneath the earth. So far, nothing, but he knew that as they neared one his energy would trigger a response in one that was compatible with his own.

As they navigated the airways they became aware of a strange, shuffling sound and muffled voices. Tika rounded the corner at speed and flew straight into a large round object which she sank into without a trace. The two old gossipers didn't even notice the tiny gem and continued animatedly. 'So anyway Doris, he came to me and said Queen Txala required my presence immediately. I obviously told him it was out of the question, that I had work to do, but then those nasty little foot-soldiers started waving their spears and gibbering at me in that strange tongue - push harder Doris, I'm doing all the work here.' The other dung-beetle, who had admittedly had paused in the excitement of hearing this tale, resumed rolling with a frenzy whilst encouraging the other 'And then, what happened?'

'Well, what could I do? I put on a clean bonnet, stuck the stone in my basket and went along with them.' Dakkara and Tika listened flabbergasted as the tale unfolded. Although they couldn't understand some things and had never encountered anything the likes of which was conversing now, they still got the gist of the story and were amazed. It turned out that in the daily course of doing their work, which Dakkara and Tika gathered was clearing large quantities of the refuse they were rolling out of a queen's private tunnels, they had come across a curious stone, quite unlike any they had ever seen before.

Through her spy network, Queen Txala had found out about this discovery and insisted on having it, claiming it was some ancient relic from the age of Dwyxada the Great. Doris, being rather a simple-minded character, gave it up in exchange for a personal termite servant and thought no more of the matter until today, when she was hauled in for an inquisition about the suddenly shining, purple stone. Dakkara was in a frenzy of excitement.

'That must be it - that's your mind stone.' It all added up. Tika's egg sac was purple, so an amethyst would be the perfect mind stone for her, especially if this stone was glowing in response to his moonstone's energy. Following his instructions, Tika rapidly burrowed out of the dung-ball they were in the middle of and presented herself to the two dung-beetles. Dakkara projected his voice to what he thought would be their level. Although he had never met any life-forms other than Grobbles and spirit-Grobbles, he was able to telepathically understand their thoughts and intents before they formulated them into the foreign - sounding clicks they communicated in.

It seemed to work to some extent. Doris keeled over in a dead faint whilst Conrad kept saying 'Doris, Doris - look - its a purple fire-fly and it talks!' to the inert form of his companion. It didn't take her long to recover and the two were persuaded to take them back to their burrow in a cosy, hollowed - out section of the earth. Dakkara found the entire situation very curious. Grobbles tended to live with the entities surrounding them and did not require anything extra that the trees did not provide. They sat and reclined on flowers or fungus that sprang up when required, drank and ate nectar or tree-dew, and cleaned themselves in blasts of air wafting past. They had no function other than to be a part of the cosmos.

They couldn't penetrate the mists high in the tree-tops with any of their forms other than as a Fire-Tad, and then only through the special xylem shutes to the roots of the trees and by express permission from the spirit-Grobbles. That is why it was so important to swear an oath of secrecy, lest the entire population be wiped out by unknown forces in the peat below. It was only by death that they could traverse these levels and see all. What he was seeing now was a dependency on strangely-shaped external objects. He and Tika shuddered in horror as Doris was fed segments of a slithering pink object by her doting partner whilst protesting that they should report this to Txala. He was sure he could read its pain in its final death-throes. Regularly shaped objects were scattered around the burrow. They appeared to have been made out of the same material they had been rolling earlier, and hardened by some process. Objects were placed upon them, as if in ornamentation, and both felt trapped in this unnatural, ordered place. Swallowing a new-found revulsion for the homely creatures, Dakkara tried again to communicate through Tika.

'We need your help. We have been sent from a land far beyond this one to find the stone you mentioned earlier.' Their faces scrunched up in confusion. Dakkara thought he heard one mutter something about a 'schizophrenic, radioactive fire-fly.' 'Maybe it's been used in a laboratory somewhere,' Conrad replied. Although he couldn't understand the terminology, he understood the thought in their minds of two being unable to represent one form. 'I do apologise for my manner of speech, but I must urge you to help us..me, as it is a matter of some urgency.' With much persuasion and hints of mystery and secrecy (he was starting to lock onto their thought-tracks) he managed to galvanise them into action, or at least extract a promise to get the two to show them where to go.

the prophecy

The interior of the termite tunnel was dark, gloomy and lined with a smooth, stony substance. Tika followed the speedy termite rushing ahead of them. Dakkara had been surprised to discover that Xavier was highly intelligent and also communicated telepathically in a form understandable, but alien, to Dakkara. He had already known that Dakkara was a Guardian-form directing Tika mentally, and was willing to assist them in their quest. This was only because termites swore unfailing loyalty to their masters, and in releasing him from her service, Txala had bound him to Doris and Conrad. He was able to fill them in on the legend of Dwyxada the Deadly but couldn't give them sufficient detail to satisfy Dakkara. Dwyxada was a termite queen who had apparently wielded great power due to a mysterious stone. The same stone Txala now had in her grasp. He did not know how this power was obtained, but that the stone heralded it, and as a warring species Dwyxada was able to dominate all other termite tribes beyond her domain and assimilate them with her own. Txala hoped for the same power but was apparently waiting for a sign.

At this point Xavier took the left fork of the tunnel, only to walk straight into a troupe of soldier-ants. Dakkara and Tika were engulfed in darkness as a leaf-net was thrown over Tika and drawn tight. During this time Dakkara too blacked out, as he was trapped in a frightening dream-like reality. He was taken away from Tika's light and became one with Lexi, Gadda's Fire-Tad. All the other Guardians seemed present as well and Dakkara found himself enmeshed in a silken, sticky thread, watching the approach of a bloated, cackling creature. He felt the fangs sinking into Lexi, the poison subdueing her radiant colour before she was tightly parcelled up in more of the mesh. As her energy subsided, Dakkara was released and awoke to Tika once more, who was shivering at the thought of being alone. Dakkara reassured her whilst mulling over the fact that one Fire-Tad had already failed in her quest. He also seemed to sense a strange darkening of one of the mind stones he couldn't quite fathom.

Tika was roughly rolled onto a cold, smooth surface. She looked up into the swirling, many-faceted eyes of a large termite with an obscenely swollen lower body. Dakkara could feel hysterical giggling welling up inside the infant Tika and frantically tried to project calming thoughts into her before she started spasming the length and breadth of the platform. He registered mania and insanity in every tiny facet of the eyes. He noted that all the soldiers had been dismissed save two he picked up as being a royal guard. The other termites surrounding them were all members of some bizarre advisory council who would help the queen in her decision - making. Although alien, he found the fact that the termites were naturally telepathic helped him understand their customs and rituals. He drew all this from one of the bodyguards without his even being aware of the intrusion. Even if he hadn't been able to, Queen Txala was going to ensure he knew exactly what Tika's fate was to be. Her High Priest began in a reedy, piping mind voice.

'The prophecy is to be fulfilled. It is time for the coming of the Great One. The Stone of Cold Fire has appeared and brings with it a sacred sacrifice for the new queen.' He paused, partly for effect and partly because Txala's shrieking cackles were drowning him out. 'Dwyxada the Great was the last to be fed a sacred sacrifice when her Queen first found the sacred lure-stone. This gave her untold mind power over all and her domain was vast. Let it be known that it is now Txala's line who will now carry this power as a gift from Her, and She will be known as the Sacred Mother.' He looked at Queen Txala as if for approval. Rivers of saliva were dripping from her powerful jaws in her excitement and frenzy.

Dakkara was still struggling to come to terms with the termite's strictly hierarchical system. He did not know of any Grobbles who aspired to power and control. Once again that vague, darkened mind stone crossed his mind. As far as he knew the concept was totally alien to any of the living Grobbles he knew. They all existed in harmony with the greater cosmos, their Queen generally being chosen by age and wisdom and replaced by one suitable when she dissipated. His musing was rudely interrupted by the High Priest announcing: 'Let the Feeding begin!' Tika was lifted off the table and borne to a pit where a fleshy, wiggling lump was writhing in expectation. From the expectant air and rapid mind links he knew that this was the new queen. Just as Tika was tossed to the larva he heard a Grobble frantically cry out. 'No, take me, take me!' Jindar flew across the room propelled by the mind of Granath.

Dakkar felt the rotten, negative energy of the clouded, blackened opal mind stone of Granath, destroyed by the lust for power. He felt himself and Tika falling into the pit and sacrificed part of his vital life-energy in order to propel Tika in a fluid reverse motion out of the pit. The hapless Jindar soared into the pit and Dakkara felt the larva feeding on Granath and Jindar's energy. However, instead of the surge of energy and subsequent power the new queen expected to have at its final feeding, it started to disintegrate from within. Granath's hopes of becoming part of a larger power and returning to control Grobland seemed doomed. Dakkara pulled himself out of the comatose dream-state he was starting to fall into. He did not want a repeat of feeling every nuance of a Grobble's death as he did with Lexi and the spider. As for Txala the Queen, he heard her shrieks of psychotic anger behind him as he and Tika fled, pausing only to grab the precious amethyst from its stand.

the new generation

Tika and Dakkara found themselves teleported to the sanctuary of the root as soon as they grasped hold of the amethyst. Dakkara thankfully slid his mind back into place in his body as Tika was reclaimed by her smoky essence. The other two Guardians and their wards were both already safely back and had been worriedly following events with a tentative mind link. He noticed that Tika's egg sac had shrunk considerably. If they had taken any more time her spirit would have had nothing more to grip onto, and she would have been left successful yet unable to enter her world as a Grobble. The Elders - those who had gone before - started to explain why the termite queen had wanted a Fire-Tad so badly.

'Generations ago, one had been found, and its positive energy fed to a new queen. This had given her considerable power, which she had used to the wrong ends, those of domination and fear. Granath had become aware of this and wanted to be fed to a queen so that he could take control of her numerous armies and use them to conquer Airia, the Grobbles' land. What he did not realise was that the negative energy he had started producing would destroy him and nullify the effect. The darker mind power you felt was him stalking you.' As the whisperings paused, Dakkara noticed that the smoke had almost totally engulfed Tika, who now resembled a mature Grobble. However, something was missing. With that, the smoke absorbed the amethyst, setting the mind stone firmly in her delicately shaped skull.

He gazed at her in pride. This was his ward, who he had helped fulfil her task. With a gasp she flew into his arms sobbing, and it was only then that he realised that with the sacrifice of much of his vital energy, he had aged and become more mercurial and resinous than before. He did not regret this, for he felt wise and powerful in the knowledge that he had sacrificed youth for the continuation of life and that his energy would continue to wheel and swirl in the greater cosmos.