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CARNIVAL WORLD CHAPTER 55

Daphne grabbed her computer and one science kit, then sprinted back towards the meal area. Big J had grabbed another shoulder strap video cam and was filming the west end from the east side. Gomez Reyes was snapping pics with the analog stills feature of his hybrid camera at the westend from the east end as well. Jose and Jorge were huddled near the porta-potty, whispering in Spanish.

“All right boys and girls,” shouted Bard, “the curtains have parted and the show begins!”

Maria Orsic Schmitt’s M24 continued to fire as fast as she could lever the bolt action. Long moments later, from time to time, Bard and Mystica loosed twanging arrows at the ever climbing wolfmen and sasquatch.

“Tied with you, Mystica!” shouted Ghordo.

“Not for long Green Meanie!” crowed Mystica.

After that, Ghordo rarely connected with his crossbow. Bard and Mystica never missed, although not all of their shots were kill shots, but the monsters just kept coming. None had breached the rim of the butte as of yet.

Anselm, arms raised, eyes opened to the heavens, stood near Padre, praying. Padre prayed as well, but while holding two potion bottles of the sky-blue Cryptid stun potions.

The sasquatches were in the lead, but fell back upon reaching the straight up rocks. Here the first group of wolfmen, started jumping, a third of the way up the rough rocky butte face that resembled petrified oak tree bark. Between Ranger Schmitty, Bard and Mystica, the groups of mostly wolfmen, were falling back into the other charging monsters, like bowling balls smashing long white wooden pins. As the wolfmen jumped up on the base, the thundering boom of Ranger Kai’s twelve gauge shotgun, joined the whistling and banging of gun and arrow shots.

It wasn’t long until Bard, Mystica, and Ghordo emptied their missile carriers of copper alloy Cryptid busters. Bard yelled, “Just keep shooting with standard ammo, Ghordo and Mystica. You may be able to stall them temporarily. When they fall, hopefully they will take a few of their monster men with them, forcing them to tumble down to the bottom of the valley. Then be ready to fight with your melee weapons when they return.

Maria shouted, “Kai, there’s a @#$% cluster of wolfmen and squatches at the base of the cliff. I @#$% gave you my two grenades. Got any left.”

“Last one, Schmitty! Just for you!” Kai lobbed the grenade. Following the blast several Cryptids tumbled down the mountain, a furry avalanche. Some wolfmen and squatches were sent back down the steep hill. Others just jumped over or leaped to the side and kept charging onward and upward.

“I may be slow,” shouted Bruce the Moose, “but I have three quarters of a box of copper alloy ammo left! If there is any positive spin in this scenario, we have, as one of my Ranger instructors liked to say, ‘a target rich environment!’”

“#(+^ and double #(+^!” yelled Schmitty. “I just loaded my last Cryptid Busters. I will only be able to #(+^’n stall them now.”

A wolfman leaped up over the rim. Kai blasted its chest with his Cryptid Buster slug. It screamed a long howl as it fell back, over the edge, bowling over a climbing wolfman and a sasquatch. Another leaped over the rim to the south of the fountain.

Ghordo bellowed a war cry and smacked the beast’s black toothy canine face with his Orc mace. The wolfman joined its brother in the roll down the cliff. Ghordo took out a few more and Kai blasted another.

One leaped over the font, then charged Bard. The black hairy wolfman possessed muscular dog legs, extra long human arms, and a bushy yard long tail that twitched behind it as if to balance his upright body.

Padre tossed a stunner potion, which burst across the snarling wolfman’s massive chest. Sky blue milky fluid slopped down to its belly and it slowed. Bard jumped in and cleaved the brute from head to neck and it fell dead at his feet.

“I am going to surpass your kill numbers in no time, Mystica!” shouted Ghordo. “You raw milk drinkers won’t stand a chance against me, now that I am using my meteor ore mace!”

Mystica put away her bow and pulled out her dual scimitars. “Uhhm, I have melee weapons, too, Ghordo!”

“They are good Elven steel, Little Dirt Troll, but they are not meteor ore steel like mine! Am I right or am I right!”

Mystica began to swear like Maria, but in a mix of slurred, mumbled High Elf verbiage.

Ghordo did a Russian kick dance that Maria had taught him, then crowed, “Two at once! Beat that.”

Mystica laughed, “One! Bard and I have already uhhm done that with our bows!”

“Doesn’t count, Princess Plain and Tall! I am talkin’ melee fightin’!” snapped Ghordo, jaws clenched, his head bouncing back and forth quickly.

“Stop arguing! Pay attention now,” yelled Bard.

Three wolfmen jumped Ghordo. Ghordo smashed one across the head, and bowled him over the cliff. The second claw slashed the Half-Orc again. The third raked the Half-Orc’s shoulder, but jumped forward towards Bard.

Another two wolfmen jumped to the north of the fountain. “E komo mai! (eh-komo-my) wolfmen! How’s that for a Maui greeting?” Double bang and Kai blew giant holes from the back of their snarling, howling heads. “You can’t drive a Mack truck through those holes, but, oh man was that was good! A hui hou, (ah hoo-ee ho) dark wolf twins! Forgive me man-pups, if I really don’t want to see you later!”

Padre threw both of his potions. One at the wolfman attacking Bard and the other at Ghordo’s monster. Both vials hit, but Ghordo’s wolfman was only barely hit with the potion and slowed down very little. And not soon enough. The wolf raked Ghordo again with a paw swipe. Ghordo blocked it, backed up and swung from his left into the head of the wolfman. As the potion slowed it, Ghordo attacked with a two-handed overhand blow at the wolfman’s head and crushed it. However, the first sasquatch climbed over the rim and jumped up from all fours, and smashed the side of Ghordo’s head with a mighty blow. The golden Spartan helm stopped the massive blow from crushing his skull, but noisily dented the casque. Ghordo flew back several feet, the sound of his leather scraping the tiles, drowning out the tinkling of the fountain.

Bard yelled, “NO!” as he quickly decapitated his stunned wolfman, and jumped over Ghordo’s prone body. He could hear Ghordo’s heart beating, but the Half Orc neither moved nor groaned. Meanwhile, snarling and whooping, the Sabe renegade charged Bard, and lost an arm from an over hand angled swing of the meteor ore axe. Most of the tall, thick sasquatch, both black and brown furred, were very ape-like with flat snouts. A small percentage of the sasquatch, the Sabe, sharing a muted, yet offensive woodbooger stink, had very human, but oversized, Neanderthal faces. When the sasquatch stopped, stunned, and then screamed, Bard fought the stench and audio fear attack, and swung back and then upward, at an angle, decapitating the beast.

Suddenly two more wolfmen leaped over the rim near Mystica and Maria. Maria grabbed her rifle, jumped up and shot one of them at point-blank range in the chest. She bolted another shell into the chamber, and shot it in the head. It tumbled over the edge and rolled back down to the bottom, regenerative abilities thrusting into overdrive.

Mystica suddenly blurred as she shifted momentarily into super soldier mode. She swung her body, a swift and slender blur. Mystica spun behind the wolfman and knifed it with both blades, which sliced precisely between its ribs. As it fell forward, she quickly drew out her blades, and crossed her wrists, blades angled in front of her, as the beast fell forward. She scissored her legs around its waist and fell forward with it. Mystica, wrists still crossed, suddenly snapped and reverse crossed her wrists in opposite directions. The crossed blades expertly detached the wolfman’s head from its shoulders, which rolled over the cliff.

“Uhhm. Ha! Basically! One! The right technique still works, with good steel Ghordo!” yelled Mystica. When she turned to see Ghordo’s reaction, Mystica stopped cold. He was laying- unmoving and bleeding – on the temple floor.

Bard was taking down the sasquatch that was nearest to the prone Half Orc.

One lone tear rolled down her cheek. Sounding like her grandfather, but without the superb princely oratorical style, Mystica yelled, “Yous effen wolfies and squatchies! You can’t punch and rake your claws at people! Uhhm. I want to effin strangle you!”

Mystica was so angry and shocked, that she had fallen into the Carnival City Carny’s street talk, full of bad grammar and secret thieves cant jargon. Yous, instead of you, was a common word used by the Carny’s, where Mystica was sometimes on-loan, from the Bounty Hunters guild, performing many tasks from operating rides to cleaning, lawn mowing, security, and skill game management.

Suddenly two wolfmen appeared from over the rim. Mystica’s super soldier speed mode did not reactivate. One wolfman feinted a charge. The other spun around behind the other like a ballet dancer, then rushed her from the side. Mystica screamed and cursed as the charging wolfman body-slammed her shoulder. She sailed in a great arc, spinning over twenty feet passed the edge of the temple. Screaming and cursing, knowing she did not have a super regeneration ability, Mystica began to plummet like a comet-strike, downward, toward the grassy slope of the hillside, far, far below.

Bard did not have time to yell or grieve. Ghordo was down, and slowly bleeding from multiple wolf claw scrapes. Mystica was gone, and, Orlando posited, that when at last, she came to a sudden jarring stop, it would be splat and game over. Suddenly several wolfmen and two squatches scrambled over the western rim.

Carnival World Chapter 56

Once Mystica flew, spinning out, over the edge of the cliff, literally all hell busted loose on the ancient temple top. Pandemonium reigned as the northeastern wind blew taints of blood, sweat, and skunk ape stench. The new odors of the suddenly stiff breeze overwhelmed the former scents of old dust, sea shells and ozone as it fanned out over the southeastern rim.

Ranger Kai furiously pumped his shotgun whenever an enemy combatant appeared. Bruce Kai was the son of a former Hawaiian chief. Kai, not literally large as an ocean, his surname suited him amazingly well. His father had not been the chief of the main island, but a minor one. Kai had held championship titles in Underwater Spear Fishing and Field Range Shot Gun. He had won both local and state tournaments, for Submerged Spear Fishing and Trap, Skeet, 5-Stand and Sporting Clays. Bruce had planned on becoming a Navy Seal, but Zales, who had met Kai’s father on a chartered fishing trip in the waters of Kaua’i, (kah-wah…ee) talked him into signing NDA documents and the islander joined Alpha Team Rangers instead.

Maria Orsic Schmitt’s M24 rifle, swatted from her hands, spun towards the gurgling font. The sniper rifle had clattered across the tiles, once it ended its airborne journey. The weapon just missed the Rode camera tripod, which was still recording. Ranger Schmitty, as a result of her forceful disarming, by the wolfman, stood, cursing, blood dripping from her left forearm and wrist. The sharp edge of the M24 wide-angle, easy flip scope, had gouged her.

Maria had swiftly drawn her combat Bowie with her right hand. Her hand clenched tightly around the pommel, then her stance automatically braced into a defensive position. Ranger Schmitt bravely faced the snarling wolfman that towered over her a full two feet.

Foaming at the mouth, the great beast howled, gurgled and laughed at Maria, as she expertly sliced, diced and punctured his hairy flesh. Finally, tiring of his sport, the wolfman smashed the blade out of her hands. After that, with little effort expended, the brute, giggling and howling like an overly excited Hyenaman, slapped her, with an open palm, across her face. The blow that stung and gushed crimson, from her broken nose, bowled her head over tea kettle. The horrific werewolf leaned back, his intelligent brown eyes the epitome of domineering evil, and howled. Mangled slurred curses, akin to modern Earth French, burst from its frothing jaws. Dropping onto all fours, it prepared to leap forward, aiming for Maria’s delicate throat.

Padre scowled between Bard and Schmitty, anguished at his choice. Finally he threw his last Cryptid Stunner potion at the two wolfmen, and one rogue Sabe, that were surrounding Bard.

One solid thumping bang shattered the chaos between Kai’s shotgun blasts. The outhouse door slammed as Jose scrambled inside and locked the door.

Padre’s potion hit two out of three wolf monsters in front of Bard. While they were stunned, Bard dropped two of the beast men with one hard, wicked swing, decapitating them. But not before one of the wolfmen raked Bard twice, left and right, with long sharp claws. Those hands were large, but human, and not beast paws, but the long, hard nails sliced just as deeply. The monster wolfman followed the initial attack with a wolf-paw disemboweling kick.

Orlando dodged the wolfman’s kick. Bard felt himself bleeding heavily from the chin, throat, shoulders, chest and thighs. Minor wounds of former skirmishes, none seriously dysfunctional individually, but in combination, leaching his fortitude. He fell forward on his knees. The wolfman to his left howled and stuck out its massive chest, but did not immediately advance. The other wolfman leaned back, howled, then leaped, snout bared menacingly, slobber gushing through its jagged teeth, for Orlando’s throat.

Without warning, a blinding burst of golden light flashed over the entirety of Snake Butte Mountain’s temple top.

Memories from Bard’s past, childhood memories, memories of Cryptid Team Four missions, and his most recent adventures on Carnival World, zoomed by with breakneck speed. One memory of a movie scene dominated his mind, silencing all the other reckless, leaping, spinning thoughts. He remembered a poignant scene from the Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. Gandalf’s dramatic arrival, at sunrise, the powerful scene at Helm’s Deep, reminded him of the intense golden light that now flooded the Snake Butte Temple top.

Out of the intense golden shimmer stepped two glowing, beautiful, human entities, larger than Carnival World Barbarians, both easily surpassing seven feet in height. The first, a handsome man, possessed golden flowing hair, like a lion’s mane, that fell passed his broad, muscular shoulders. Jazz sported an oiled, dark gold van dyke. Gently and slowly, he sat Mystica Knorn onto the light gray, shell-imprinted, temple tiles. “Don’t be afraid, Mystica! I will not harm you.”

Jazz was wearing a scintillating mithril chainmail vest over a light purple sleeveless pullover shirt of fine silk, that displayed his smooth, sculpted, rock hard musculature. The Malek was attired in a royal purple leather cape, that draped down his broad, finely shaped back and shoulders, to mid-calf length. Jazz stood, with the powerful presence of a Scandinavian Warlord. The Malek, built like a granite cliff fortress, his long, strong legs were clad with master-crafted, knee-high, gold buckled and studded, buccaneer boots.

When Malek Jazz gently placed Mystica Knorn, on the ground, their was a mixture of deep elation and thankfulness that warred across her elvish face, vying with her storm cloud emotions of vivid shock and anger. She was grateful for the rescue and curious about the strong, manly, divine being that had rescued her. However, Mystica was frustrated and angry because, strangely, she had so little control of her body. She lay on the tiles, curled in a fetal position, shaking like a leaf pummeled by a brisk breeze.

As Malek Jazz stepped away from Mystica, he seemed to walk in graceful, larger-than-life, slow motion. The movement mimicked the low-angle, increased frame rate, slow speed play back, filming technique, meant to create a dramatic powerful presence, for heroes, in high-budget fantasy movies.

Malek Jedd, the other entity, stepped forward, cat-like, in the same, flowing, majestically slow, heroic style, onto the embattled, bloody environs of the ancient temple top.

Mystica was not the only person flopping like a frightened fish out of water. Both Rangers Kai and Maria, sprawled helplessly on the temple tiles, were doing the same spastic dance. Dr. Kimble, near the eastern rim of the temple top, had also fallen, limbs trembling as if she were under the throes of St. Vitus’ waltz. Big J, Jorge and Gomez, were shaking lightly, but still standing, not far from Daphne. Jose was still hidden, door locked, inside the lime-green porta-potty.

Bard felt the wounds on his body closing, as if he had the same regeneration power of the Cryptids. He surveyed the battlescape around him. Orlando’s blood was mixed with the blood of the dead Cryptids. At first he could not tell the difference between his blood and the blood seeping from the pile of squatch and wolfman bodies, piled near him. But after a few seconds Bard could smell the difference.

Bard knew then that he had lost a great quantity of blood, but not as much as the decapitated monsters around him. His great Orc-metal hand and a half axe, like the mythical Blade of Severing, in a Dungeon and Dragons campaign, had severed limbs and necks. He was dizzy. As the last wolfman, of his enemy trio, prepared to pounce, he fell backwards, knees akimbo, dazed, yet feeling his body miraculously beginning to heal.

Just then he saw Makek Jazz, as those unique lavender eyes flashed brightly. Time seemed to stand still. The wolfman that should be biting his throat was still frozen in mid leap.

Malek Jedd quipped, “Well, brother, it looks like we have arrived, for another rescue, fashionably late.

“There were more Snake gods and their hybrid offspring, than we had anticipated,” replied Jazz with a scowl. “They slowed us down, Brother Jedd, but it cannot be said that we bollixed the mission!”

“Hold that thought, Brother Jazz,” quipped Jedd. Jedd was almost a twin of Jazz, but not quite.

Jazz was blond and Scandinavian in appearance, his forehead bold and brooding, over large, lavender, intelligent eyes, ensconced in a chiseled rectangular face.

Jedd’s eyes, angled, almost Asian in appearance, were bright glowing emeralds. The Malek’s eyes often twinkled. That, combined with his customary half-smile, heralded that numerous humorous comments lurked within, eagerly longing to escape, and roll, dry and droll, from his witty tongue.

Jedd resembled a Gypsy king of late colonial Earth. Not only in facial features, but in his style of dress. Too many comical jabs from Jazz in the past, calling his gleaming, neck to ankle plate mail, as over-the-top horse-barding, had led to an upgrade in his battle accouterments. Malek Jedd’s black hair, long, but still significantly shorter than that of Jazz, was tied back in a thickly braided, three-stranded pony. The braided trio, clasped together at the bottom, were positioned with a speckled, camel and fawn, tortoise shell comb. His Caucasian skin, well tanned, was even darker than that of Jazz. Jedd’s face was an inverted triangle, wide at the forehead. Beardless, his strong, narrow chin, did not possess the sharp wedge quality common to the Elves of Carnival World.

Jedd dressed like a nineteenth century Earth Romani prince. His fine, elegant garb, was a combination of the expensive and the practical. The rich flowing fabrics, intricate embroidery and decorative jewelry, were a mix of chocolate brown and forest green.

Over his chest he wore a light, but strong and dense, star-metal vest, etched and stained, in the colors and patterns of peacock feathers. His full cape, also styled with peacock feathers, which ruffled in the temple-top breeze, dropped to his shins. The cloak was fastened, under the neck, with a priceless gold and emerald peacock feathered clasp and again, with a cummerbund, at his waist.

Jedd wore quilted brown, knee-length, leather padded and reinforced woolens. His short pants were held up, by a black, gold threaded, cummerbund, studded with sparkling sprays of small, glinting white diamonds and tiny emeralds.

The green-eyed Malek’s feet were clad in thick soled, shin high, braided Athenian sandals. Jedd did not wear the extravagant, black or brown leather, feathered hat, common to princely gypsy leaders. Such a cap that would have been a natural addition to his attire was absent. However, his fine black hair, not quite reaching the back of his shoulders, contained several tiny braids, held in place by fine jewels, scattered upon his head like glitter.

Jedd pulled out two glowing emerald green energy swords. They hummed and glowed like a Star Wars weapon, but the hum and the pitch were different. The Malek leaped toward the wolfman, who was about to sink his fangs into Ranger Schmitty’s neck. “Not today, Hell Hound! And never again!” snarled Jedd.

Curled in a fetal position, and shaking uncontrollably, the angle of her fall had left Maria’s pretty neck unprotected.

The Gypsy-like Malek did not use his weapons. Upon landing, he simply pivoted smoothly in place, then Sparta kicked the wolfman, away from the lady ranger, and over the edge of the butte.

Padre and Anselm seemed the least affected by the fear and weakness that had paralyzed the adventure team.

Jorge, Gomez and Big J were standing, their knees slightly wobbly. Mentally, the three Latinos were dazed, but not shaking, cool, even in the warm breeze, but not chilled.

Dr. Kimble, like Mystica, Maria, and Kai, was curled up in a fetal position trembling erratically.

Jazz sprinted, faster even than Mystica, when she exhibited her short spurts of Nordic Elf, Super Soldier mode. During those times, when the Nordic Elf genetics augmented her abilities, she could move as fast as a Carnival World Courier using Bracers of Effortless Speed. Except that she could fight; Bracers of Effortless Speed only allowed the wearer to run and resist damage.

Jazz shook his wavy blond hair, and although he was not a lion man, he shook his hair three times, just like a lion shakes its tail before it pounces. From nowhere a great glowing golden shield appeared, held aloft and ready with his muscular left forearm. In his right hand, the Malek clasped, what would have been a two handed lance, to most. The golden lance wuffled, hummed and the blade glowed the color of lavender. Tipping the golden lavender bladed lance, back across his right shoulder, he bull-rushed the wolfman, who was leaping onto Bard. The wolfman launched off from his shield and over the edge of Snake Temple Butte. Jazz dashed like a rocket-propelled grenade, over the edge of the temple, and skewered the wolf-man with a blitzkreig thrust of his lance.

In a flash, Malek Jazz returned. He bull-rushed another group of wolf-men and squatches, that had just amassed along the western edge, sending them all flying and flailing off the Snake Butte Temple.

Jedd quietly walked over to Padre and Anselm, in his legendary, hero-walk style, peacock cape fluttering. He chuckled, “You two can pick your jaws up off the floor, anytime now. I, Favored Fathers, am known for my patience as much as my witty remarks.

“That said, you will need to pull yourselves together, Padre and Anselm! And quickly! Since you are both devoted servants of The Lord Most High, and you have not suffered as much mental and physical trauma, as some of the others, you are highly resistant to our awe auras. To make a fine point even finer, brothers, that means you are expected to tend to the needs of the rest of your team, until they regain their strength!”

Jedd put his energy blades away. They simply vanished. The weapons were replaced by two piles of woolen blankets cradled in his arms. Malek Jedd divided the blankets between the two St. Patrick’s Guild Clerics. “Take these and go place them, at a safe distance, from the Coleman stove. I have taken the liberty to speed up the molecules of the tea and coffee pots, and their contents have been increased. That is to say, dear brothers, I added more liquid and reheated them. The camp chairs in the supply area, which were to be unboxed and distributed at supper, are not safe for the ones with the shakes. Grab several padded sleep mats. They are in the same pile as the camp chair supply stack.

“Both of you work together and aid those who cannot walk themselves, like Bard, Kai, Ghordo, Daphne and Mystica. It will take Gomez, Jorge and Big J a few more minutes to acclimate, but they will help Daphne. Orlando Bard is not suffering from the fear shakes, but he lost most of his blood, and several wounds are quickly healing. That is to say, Padres, he’s as weak as a proverbial kitten. And his strong will is a kinder, gentler version of Ghordo’s. When it is time, he, too will benefit from your assistance.

“Put these blankets over those who are in poor condition, and when they are ready, give them coffee or tea. Brother Jazz will provide a hot beverage that the young elf princess may drink.”

Jedd bowed once, and then his glowing emerald long swords reactivated. He performed a long spectacular leap, and landed, crouched, just in front of Ranger Maria. Her bleeding had ended and her nose was no longer broken.

However, another wolfman had crested the western rim, and was loping on all fours towards her. The green-eyed Malek snapped, “Ho there, Hell Hound! Prepare to be hoisted on your own petards!” Jedd, as the wolfman leaped, once again, Sparta kicked it over the edge of the butte rim. Leaping high into the air and somersaulting once, Malek Jedd leaped over the edge and ended the life of the falling, howling wolfman.

Padre and Anselm, right behind the Malek, walked Maria first to the camp area. She cooperated when they put the blanket over her. When Anselm asked her if she wanted coffee or tea, she responded in her characteristic manner, “#(+^’n let me stop shaking first. Then tea. Thanks.”

Padre and Anselm walked over to Mystica. They tried to help her up, but she resisted. Even though it was difficult, Mystica kept forcing herself into a sitting position and stared over the rim of the temple. She eagerly watched the two Maleks jump and spin and kick their way through the monster men hoards. Finally, no matter how hard she tried, Mystica was too tired to sit up when she fell over. Her shaking became more agitated and she valiantly fought her tears.

Anselm offered soothingly, “There is nothing wrong, senorita, with having a needed cry. We have all been through a hard time, Mystica. But the Lord Most High sent his angels and we are protected.”

Mystica, although shaking uncontrollably, brushed away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. She tried three times to speak, but her mouth was dry and her tongue resisted its natural use. Finally she yelled, “Uhhm. Basically! I am not crying, Anselm! I’m just mad!” She coughed and rolled into a ball, then demanded “Uhhm. Just help me walk over to the camp! These effen legs have no right NOT to work. And my body has NO effen reason to shake, either!”

Padre rumbled deep in his chest, shook his head like a wet dog, and grumbled, “Ya arrre oot of yer mind, ya wee beastie!”

Mystica scowled at the Dwarf Cleric, then just ignored him.

Padre and Anselm walked Mystica over to the long sleeping pad, then gently lowered her onto it. After they dropped the next woolen blanket, a purple one, the only purple one, over Mystica, they sprinted off. Padre huffed and puffed like a locomotive as he attempted to keep up with the wiry Anselm Cruze.

Carnival World Chapter 57

Padre and Anselm discussed their situation. The result of their parley was that it would be too difficult for them to help Kai walk back to camp. It was a hard pull, but Anselm and Padre grabbed Ranger Kai by his combat vest, rather than pulling him upright and helping him walk. When they dropped him, next to Maria, he whispered hoarsely, “I want coffee, but hold the cup for me to drink! Give me a swig or two, then sit it down, and then keep on doing, whatever you are doing, to aid the others.”

Padre and Anselm walked over to Bard. Orlando said, “Give me a few minutes and I think I can make it on my own. Get Ghordo first. He is not dead. I can hear his heart beating and his breathing. Take him over to the camp area, then come back for me.”

Anselm nodded.

Padre, the Dwarf Cleric, replied, “Aye Laddie. What do ya ken of an angelic rescue mission?”

“I am at a loss for words, Padre. I am well aware of Second Kings chapter nineteen and Isaiah chapter thirty seven.If you need to, Padre and Anselm, we can talk about it later, when I host my once per month fellowship meeting at my inn. For now, go get Ghordo. I must say, though, I am really glad Mystica isn’t dead. Thank Creator, I thought she was a goner!”

Padre replied, “Aye Laddie, aye too, thought the wee lass was kilt by that Nickie-Bens wolfman!”

Anselm mumbled a prayer of thanks, then went over to Ghordo.

Padre, squatted, fiddled with his beard, and then laid his ear across Ghordo’s chest. He quickly utilized his very basic medical training to quickly observe Ghordo from head to toe. He listened. “Right as rain, Bard was. Ghordo’s heart is still pumpin’, but he’s oot cold.” He added, “Aye want to pull his helm off, but it is stuck good and hard.”

Anselm felt Ghordo’s wrist, “I don’t know what a Half-Orc’s pulse should be, Brother, but his skin is cool and the pulse seems slow for a human.” The Latino Earth man, carefully using good English, after he gently probed Ghordo’s neck, offered, based on his very basic medical knowledge, a patient summary. “I am not a doctor, but I have had one year of what Earth calls First Responder medical training a few decades ago. No bruising. Nothing seems to be broken. He’s carrying a couple of new claw scars, just like Bard, but they are healed! I think we can risk moving him to the camp area, Padre.”

Padre lifted his head up from Ghordo’s chest and then stood up.

“Gracias, Jesus,” whispered Anselm.

“Aye, Brother Anselm, Creator and His Son be praised!” intoned Padre.

With just as much effort as they had hauling Kai, except that they walked slowly, each grasped extra leather loops and metal rings on Ghordo’s combat leathers. After a great effort, they hauled the comatose Half Orc back to the camp area.

When they returned to Orlando Bard, he was trying to stand. Wobbling like an hour old foal, he kept collapsing.

“I have been in worse situations then this! I shouldn’t have to crawl!” lamented Bard.
“Listen to ya, Laddie!” snapped Padre. The Dwarf Cleric added, “Ya just kilt a stacked pile o’ monsters, Orrie, me boy! And ya lost about four fifths of yer blood to the claw rakes of those monstrous Nickie-Bens beasties! What do ya expect? Are ye oot o’ yer mind, Orlando Bard?”

Padre and Anselm squatted and then stood under Bard’s armpits. With mighty grunts they forced themselves upright. Bard arose slowly and they walked him to the camp. They carefully helped Bard sit down. Using his arms, Bard pulled his legs into a Native American leg cross. He pulled the proffered blanket into place. “I’ll take a coffee, please. What would I do for a hefty jolt of French Vanilla Creamer right now? Hopefully the mess crew will have some when they come in the skip jack.”

“Coming right up, Brother,” offered Anselm, “Sorry, Bard, unless Bruce the Moose is willing to part with some of his recently traded sugars and creamers, coffee or tea is hot and black only.”

Big J and Gomez, when they had recovered, while Padre and Anselm had been helping the others, had, at last, assisted Daphne. Dr. Kimble was sitting up, legs delicately folded to her right, crying softly, and sipping the hot tea. Anselm grabbed a coffee, holding it with both hands, breathing in the bitter aroma, soaking up the warmth, and sat near Daphne, Big J, Gomez and Jorge. Even though the sun and the breeze of Carnival World was toasty warm, the angelic awe aura had cooled the adventure team, Padre and Anselm the least. Kai, Maria and Mystica had been chilled to the bone and had only slowly regained their natural warmth.

“Wherrre is that wee beastie, Jose?” asked Padre. “Did he fall over the edge of the cliff?”

Big J replied, “No. He locked himself in the outhouse, amigo.”

Padre snorted, guffawed, then quipped, “So that was the big bang aye heard earlier.” He added, “With a bahookie as small as his is, and no board tied to his nethers, the wee beastie prolly fell in!”

“Very funny, amigo,” chuckled Big J. “All the same, unless someone has to take a dump or a whiz, lets just leave the stereotypical Latino lover in there. I don’t think he will be working for me when we get back to earth.”

Gomez snapped a series of photos around the group, including the outhouse, and gently dropped his camera, to hang by the straps, back onto his chest.

Suddenly, Malek Jazz appeared, with not a drop of blood or soil on his body. “Just rest,” he said seriously, “consume your hot refreshments and you will all be fine. When Dr. Kimble is feeling better, there are a couple of those high tech dog collars, for her to examine, laying by the Bard’s victory pile.”

Malek Jazz sprinted so quickly that his body was a barely visible blur, and leaped off the western end of the temple butte. Just as suddenly, he reappeared, pointed at Bard, with a grin on his handsome face, his lavender eyes twinkling. He laughed, “Don’t shoot me with your bow, Orlando Bard!” And then he was gone.

Just as quickly, Jedd appeared, emerald eyes scintillating. He grinned even more broadly than Jazz. “Just rest every one. You are all safe now. And Ghordo, Thank the Lord Most High, Father of Jeshua the Christ, Orc’s have hard skulls! That massive Sabe fist, even with the helmet, would have broken a human head like a chef cracks an egg!”

He paused, knelt beside Ghordo, and rubbed the dent on the golden, red fanned, helm. The bent metal popped loudly startling everyone present. The Malek removed the helm. He waved his finger at Gomez, “Be careful now, Gomez Reyes, when you take photos. Ghordo needs more air and this helmet is not conducive to that necessity.” Jedd smiled, “Don’t be afraid. Ghordo is in a coma, and he will not awake until tomorrow afternoon. But, I assure you, and I am a Malek, spelled M-A-L-E-K, not a Malik, spelled M-A-L-I-K, so I do not lie. Ghordo will be fine.” Just as quickly, he somersaulted over the edge of the cliff.

Jedd immediately returned, “By the way,” he laughed, a mischievous twinkle in his emerald green eyes, “I wanted you to know something, Padre.”

After a pause, Padre blew his lips like a horse, then asked, “What did ya want me ta ken, angel?”

Jedd laughed, “That lone potion in your pack of Cryptid Stun liquid—”

Padre snorted and huffed, “Aye thought ya said you were an M.A.L.E.K. Malek!”

“Did you look in your, pack, favored little Dwarf?” replied Jedd.

Padre grumbled loudly, then pulled around his strapped potion pack. He blew irritatedly through his lips once more, then growled, “How can this be? Aye used up all of the sky blue potions! Aye do not ken this tricksyness!”

Jedd laughed once more, “Don’t throw that potion at me, Padre, when my back is turned!” He laughed merrily, then bowed lightly to Padre. Then, so fast you could not see him, as Padre blew through his lips like a stallion, Malek Jedd rejoined the field of battle beneath the temple butte.

Jazz left the fighting and appeared. He laughed, lavender eyes sparkling, and asked, “Did you think we were going to ignore you, Anselm? You are also highly favored, because of your compassionate heart, and because you narrated both an American English Audio Bible and an audio Spanish Bible. Both became best sellers on Earth.” Suddenly, Malek Jazz vanished and then reappeared. “Don’t wave your finger at me, Anselm, like Padre’s grandfather and father would do!” He laughed and slapped his knee.

Jorge asked in Spanish, “Where are your wings?”

Jazz bowed lightly toward Jorge, then answered in fluent Spanish, “I am not that kind of angel, Jorge.”

Malek Jedd appeared, and answering in Spanish as well, he added, “The only time Jazz and I wear wings, is when we attend the formal Divine Council meetings. And those aren’t real wings, just costume attachments for our formal gowns. It would not be proper to wear what we are wearing to a Divine Council meeting!”

Jazz chimed in, “No! Brother Jedd is correct! It would not be proper. It would be bad form, dear friends, to wear our warring angel gear, to a Divine Council meeting!”

Jedd continued, “We are not Cherubim or Seraphim and we do not have wings.

“And when people take pictures of us, if we appear at all, we may be flowing lights, rather than what you see before you with your own eyes. Because of that, you may mistakenly say that we have wings. And, friends, don’t believe every wind of rumor! We do not have head-butting contests with bisons and aurochs! We are not that kind of angel! We are ministering, message and warrior angels.”

Jazz interjected. “We could! But we won’t! Not proper! Bad form! Maliks spelled M-A-L-I-K perform such childish sensual shenanigans! Not Maleks like Jedd. Not Maleks like me.”

Jedd added, “As you can see, dear friends, we don’t need wings. We can control gravity, psionically, better than a Naga Snake Warrior!

“Malek Jazz does not have real wings. I don’t have real wings! Jorge, cherished child of Jeshua Jesus. And that is Jesus, pronounced Gee-zhus, not Hey-soose.” Jedd chuckled, then bowed lightly to Jorge.

Once again, both Maleks vanished. Those who could, watched them in the distance, as they battled the remaining dog collared wolfmen and sasquatches.