Calixta, The Vanquishers of Alhambra, a Grimdark Fantasy: The Vanquishers of Alhambra, A Grimdark Fantasy

Calixta

The Vanquishers of Alhambra

By Omayra Vélez

Copyright

Calixta, The Vanquishers of Alhambra Copyright 2019, by Omayra Vélez. The illustration design copyright belongs to Omayra Vélez, all rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced wholly, or in part, in any form, by any electronic or mechanical means, including within information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. Exceptionally, reviewers may quote brief passages not exceeding 0.5% of the whole, which may be pertinent to their reviews.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Vélez, Omayra, author.

Title: Calixta; The Vanquishers of Alhambra / Omayra Vélez

Description: Florida: Omayra Vélez, [2019] | Series: The Vanquishers of Alhambra

Identifiers: ISBN 978-1-5323-9638-0 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-7364473-7-6 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-5323-9639-7 (ebook)

Subjects: Alhambra (Imaginary Place) – Fiction. | Fantasy

Fiction. | Epic fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Fantasy / High. | FICTION / Action & Adventure. | FICTION / Science Fiction / Adventure.

Classification: LCC TXu 2-125-406

Ebook ISBN 978-1-5323-9639-7

omayra-velez.com

Dedication

There are many friends that leave a mark on a person’s life. Some come into our lives for a short period of time, others come to stay forever.

Thank you for your friendship and sisterhood in arms; you are one that will stay in my life forever. My personal heroine,

Nicole R. Cintron-Real, MAJ, US Army

Map of the Kingdom of Alhambra

Table of Contents

Calixta

The Vanquishers of Alhambra

Copyright

Dedication

Map of the Kingdom of Alhambra

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

There is a First Time for Everything

CHAPTER 2

The Box-Exchange Train Station

CHAPTER 3

I Am Back!

CHAPTER 4

It Wasn’t a Dream

CHAPTER 5

Jadro

CHAPTER 6

Calixta’s Light was Diminishing

CHAPTER 7

Oh No, Not Again!

CHAPTER 8

Again, at the Box-Exchange Train Station

CHAPTER 9

I Need to Leave

CHAPTER 10

Escaping Jadro and His Orc Demons

CHAPTER 11

The Shitty Hell

CHAPTER 12

Marquis of Banefield, the First Vanquisher

CHAPTER 13

Calixta, the Vanquisher

CHAPTER 14

Calixta’s Taste of Power

CHAPTER 15

Calixta’s Extra Conscience

CHAPTER 16

They Escaped

CHAPTER 17

The Chase

CHAPTER 18

Fight Through the Night

CHAPTER 19

Mission Impossible

CHAPTER 20

Calixta’s Gift

CHAPTER 21

On the Way to Barshaw Manor

CHAPTER 22

Sacrifice for The Evil One

CHAPTER 23

Training a New Vanquisher

CHAPTER 24

I Knew It: We Were Going to Be Caught!

CHAPTER 25

Ugly Pieces Fall Apart

CHAPTER 26

Calixta’s New Reality

CHAPTER 27

Calixta, the Battlemage

CHAPTER 28

Ariath-Mana and Mahabara, the Last Fairies of the Mountains

CHAPTER 29

The Story is Ripe

CHAPTER 30

Calixta Begs for Grace

CHAPTER 31

The Day After

CHAPTER 32

The Medley of Occurrences

CHAPTER 33

An Open Door

CHAPTER 34

Nartago, the Dragon

CHAPTER 35

Elijah’s Minokawas

Glossary of Terms

If life sink you into darkness, you can start by opening your heart to hope, then open your mind for possibilities. Then maybe there in your darkness a little light of faith will brighten your path enough to show you a different way.

Diana E. Vélez

CHAPTER 1

There is a First Time for Everything

I will never forget the first time I died. You have that memory engraved on your mind for eternity. It was an early morning when my life ended slowly, painfully, and with my last thought focused on castrating the man who killed me. You never know true pain until your lungs fill with blood and you are gasping for air. That morning, I pulled my best friend, Isalia, from the hands of that bastard husband of hers, and my reward was pain. But let me back up a little and start a moment before those events, just to give you a taste of my day and how everything came to pass.

This all happened on the morning of the Day of Stars. It was so early. The morning sun had barely risen. I had to go and have a talk with the high priest at the Sheshlia Cathedral. Women like me can’t be seen in a church during the daytime or evenings, so if we want to pray, we must go at dawn. I didn’t care for prayer. I cared for my coin. I am a businesswoman, or at least I was at the time. Do you know about business? If you don’t, it doesn’t matter. Knowing will not make this story any more surreal.

In any case, one of the older priests had availed himself of the services of two of my youngest girls and he had not paid. You see, I am Madame Calixta Harlow Carlyle, the youngest brothel owner in the port city of Talbert. I owned and managed the Shining Star, the only brothel in Talbert that offered the services of an Exotic—me. I am an exquisitely trained woman, as all Exotics are. I was educated from a very young age in the arts of singing, dancing, letters, numbers, poetry, science, seduction, and sexual pleasures. I was trained to entertain the wealthiest of men and satisfy their every whim, including their sexual desires. Needless to say, Exotics are only available to those who can afford them.

But let’s get back to the high priest. So, the old goat was officiating the service that morning, not his minion who owed my brothel the coin, but who had avoided paying. I thought I might as well go to the owner of the place—visit the head of the organization to save myself time and grief. I love the old adage that says if you want something done, don’t talk to the monkeys, go to the circus owner. I wasn’t about to let a sniveling little mongrel get away with a free ride, no pun intended. There is nothing free in this world, and that includes well-paid prostitutes.

My trade was considered undesirable by most of the women of the town, but we are as much a part of our society as the bakers and the farmers. I never cared what any of the Sheshlia women used to say about me. They did not pay my taxes. Society gave me my trade-tattoo and regardless of my prostitute status, being a well-paid Exotic was in the end the same as being a wife; I just had multiple wealthy husbands. So, after spending an hour waiting for the old man to finish his sermon, I walked through the middle of his church all the way to his altar. I did not have to shout or raise my voice. Everyone in the wretched city knew Madame Calixta Carlyle. I went to him and held his hands.

I have never seen you in my parish, Madame Carlyle. Are you converting? Are you contrite of your many sins? asked the high priest.

You know why I am here. Your priest, Fenlo, owes me coin. So, pay up! I said with my head bowed.

Leave my church, sinful whore, said the high priest.

First, I am an Exotic, the likes of which you will never be able to afford, not a lowly whore. Second, if you don’t want me to return during the day and start an Exotic erotic show in the middle of your church and tell everyone the perverted little details of Priest Fenlo’s visits and what he likes to do with my youngest girls, you must pay me the coin he owes me. Now! I held on tight to both his hands, as all believers do when asking for forgiveness, while delivering my threats in a whisper so only he could hear. The old, sniveling man opened his eyes wide and looked at me. I was all dolled-up and beautiful, just like I always am. He trembled, and a drop of sweat fell, tracing the edges of his round face.

Wait, and do not make a scene, said the high priest.

It was all it took. The old man turned around very discreetly, dug into the offerings box behind him, took out my girls’ fees, and paid me. I kissed his hands as was customary and left. To the few in attendance I was a contrite sinner. Hah! What I am is a concerned businesswoman, believe me. I returned to my establishment with the due coin in my purse. And you better believe me when I say I had no second thoughts about my actions.

Anyway, on the Day of Stars—the day I died—I was walking back from the church to my establishment, when I saw from a distance up the road that some type of brawl was taking place. I heard loud screams and people shouting. I ran the last few steps to my brothel. When I entered my home, I found mayhem.

All you puttanas must step away; this doesn’t concern you. Isalia, come with me now! demanded Todd, her abusive husband. Todd pushed Miomi to the brothel floor. He had a firm grip on Isalia’s arm, pulling her out from the group of women’s hold. He was manhandling her, not appearing to care about her welfare or her clothing tearing in the process.

You thought you were taking my bambino from me? Todd spat on Isalia as he talked.

The morning bouncer was fighting two other men who had come with Todd. Chairs were flying, splinters of wood littered the floor, the men were punching each other, and the smell of sweaty men filled the entrance to my brothel.

Todd, desgraciado, let her go, said Miomi from the floor.

Todd walked straight into me at the entrance, while he was still pulling my dearest friend, Isalia, by her arm. I had the element of surprise, so I pushed Todd as hard as I could and pulled Isalia out of his grasp at the same time. Todd fell, but quickly stood back up.

Get out of the way, puttana. ¿Isalia, vieni adesso? You are not taking my son from me. Todd pulled out a gun as he spoke and waved it, indicating I should move aside.

No, she stays here. I will not let you hurt her, I said, as I pushed Isalia behind me and tried to keep my voice firm and stood tall.

BANG! He didn’t ask me to move again or say another word. He just fired his weapon. I recall Isalia was tucked safely behind me, and there were some Sheshlia women walking on the other side of the road who stopped and watched the scene unfolding through the wide-open door of my house of sin. He must have caught me at an angle because the force of the bullet pushed me back a few steps, but I didn’t bump into Isalia, although I still clung to her. No … I was somehow turned around and propelled toward the doorstep. I touched my chest. Blood was on my hands. Todd tried to pull Isalia from my hand, but I could not and would not let go.

NO! LEAVE! My voice came out strong. But I was losing my footing and put out my free arm to steady myself, touching Todd’s chest in the process. He looked down and saw my blood on his shirt and then realized there were people watching from across the street. His face changed from showing anger, to shock. He stepped back, away from me, and ran out the door. That’s when I finally lost my balance. I staggered down the steps from my brothel, trailing drops of blood; one, two, three steps and so on, and then the last, onto the sidewalk. My hat flew off and pulled out the bindings of my hair. Another sin: hair being loose in public. My chest hurt.

First, it felt like a fire-ant bit me in the center of my chest. Then a sensation of cold sweat springing up on the back of my neck overtook me. I could feel liquid flowing, which I thought was sweat, but it was my blood. After the initial shock—pain. I hurt so much, like someone had kicked me in my chest. And then I started to feel as though I were drowning. My lungs filled with liquid. I was drowning in my own blood. I could breathe in shallow breaths, but could barely breathe out.

Strangely, I can remember my last moments with vivid clarity: my hand on my chest, blood, feeling disgusted, a metallic taste in my mouth and the smell of cordite in my nostrils—a memory that stays with you. The smell of gunpowder. And then a sensation of release, even feeling the blood oozing from the bullet hole. A trembling body, hands shaking uncontrollably; so cold. Both my hands and feet were icy. Everything was happening fast, and at the same time my ears rang with a constant, high-pitched binging noise and little dots of colors floated over my eyes. The bing turned to bang-bang in my ears. There were more bullets; scuffling and shouting all around me. Screams, more bangs—so much noise. Two other men left the brothel, pushing my women out of their way and running. They clambered into a horseless carriage where Todd was apparently waiting and shouting at the men. Finally, Todd left, but Isalia and her unborn child were safe. My one friend of many years was safe.

Calixta’s shot! Miomi, come over here, fast. She’s hurt, said Isalia, as she ran down the steps toward me.

The finite moment of life and the awareness of imminent death came over me suddenly. I remember sitting on the sidewalk. I remember my hands were covered in mud, but I recall thinking how it hadn’t rained in days. Someone had urinated in front of my brothel—it was urine-mud.

Hate filth … hate dirt, I whispered. And then I fell sideways, watching a woman running toward me. I blinked. All around me turned endlessly, and I seemed to turn around the world. I tried to breathe. Pain … my chest … was covered in blood, then the smell of urine and mud.

Filth, pain, muck. I could barely breathe; my lungs could not draw in enough air. Now I could no longer breathe in or out at all. I gasped once, twice. Miomi held my head. Isalia was crying; her tears were falling on my arm. I blinked.

I was so tired. I closed my eyes, and it was all…

…

…

…

But then, I was pulled out of my body. I could see my head and the backs of people surrounding me. I rose above and saw my beautiful friend, Miomi. She was holding me. Other women, who were not associates of my brothel, ran away or toward my body depending on their nature, but I kept watching as Miomi and Isalia held me in their arms. I saw the entire street, the tops of the buildings, the town, clouds, the world, and a maze of stars—until I got to a train station. It was there my life changed forever.

And this was the first time I died!

CHAPTER 2

The Box-Exchange Train Station

Calixta woke up to a bright light; she was lying on a wooden bench. She opened her eyes and in front of her, high above a set of stairs, there was a sign with royal-blue letters on a white backdrop which read the Box-Exchange Train Station. However, this train station was no ordinary train station. The Kingdom of Alhambra did not have anything resembling this place.

Calixta fully woke, and she remembered the gunshot to her chest. She recalled all the blood and her hands and dress covered with mud. She startled herself with her own memory of the look on Todd’s face when he had shot her. Her hand immediately went to her chest. She looked down, expecting a bloodied dress, but what she found was a lovely light-purple tunic which extended all the way down to her knees. Her sleeves reached her elbows, and she was barefoot. Why?

Her annoyance at being dressed as a peasant was short-lived, replaced by her surprise when she noticed her trade-tattoo was gone. Her right arm showed no trace of the prostitute-tattoo she’d been branded with from a tender age. Then she lowered the front of her tunic and looked at her left breast. Her Exotic-tattoo was also gone from her breast.

I am free! Calixta’s eyes shone, and her very being was overjoyed by the sensation of freedom. She sang a quiet song. She loved to sing; it was her one pleasure in life. She sang often—usually to bring her sad spirit back from dark places—but here and now she just sang for joy.

When Calixta’s song was done, she sat with a childish grin and new eyes. She looked around and could see the walls were decorated in different shades of white and light-gray. There were accents of yellow and very pale orange as the light coming through the windows shone in from outside. The ceiling was so high and seemed to be made of glass. Calixta could see the sky, with beautiful fluffy clouds. She was in awe of her surroundings.

Calixta sat on the bench she had woken up on for a long hour, trying to understand the place and her circumstances. She wasn’t a religious woman. In fact, she had no religion—no one had ever taught her any tenets. She had lived in slavery as a prostitute, and it was all she knew. But here she was in this train station, full of light. She understood she had died. She had left her body back in Alhambra. She had been shot, and here her chest had no bullet wound and no tattoo of her trade.

Joy, freedom, smiles, and happiness. No binding trade, eyes shining, reality accepted—she was a happy dead person. But now, the next question was: where was this place? The location made a difference only from the perspective of her eternal destination. But this train station was a very peculiar one. What did she have to do? She didn’t know where to go. No one came to her and there were no train attendants walking about whom she could ask for instructions. There were no signs to tell her what to do.

Calixta stood up from her bench. She looked around, and she saw many people all dressed in white, with a few exceptions. Some had red, blue, yellow, and green tunics. She saw Humans, Desert-dwellers, Morai, Elves, and even a group she could not identify. Men, women, and children of different ages walked about with boxes in their hands.

Some people had very large boxes, others had small boxes. Some had boxes full of books, other boxes were full of fruits; others had plates or tea cups, but many had boxes which contained broken things, and still others had rotten fruit with shattered pieces of glass. There were even some whose boxes were empty, but from the empty boxes sounds came forth, like laughter and music, happy chatters and the sounds of birds.

She kept looking for banners, advertisements, and stores. But the only thing she found was an enormously long ticket booth, with many, many, windows. There were as many windows as there were countries, cities, and towns in the world. The lines moved quickly, with dozens of lines per city.

However, there were only two train platforms and two destinations. The lines moved very fast. All the people in the lines had their box or boxes in hand.

As a person reached the booth, they would talk, give their box, and get a ticket. Once they had their ticket, they would go through one of the respective revolving doors to a separate platform, to the respective waiting train.

Calixta got a little worried because she had no box, but she was happy to be there. She was free and maybe they would tell her what to do about her box. She found the section for her kingdom, and then the section for her town with a short enough line. So, she figured she had to join the line. She watched the children with their little boxes full of lovely sounds. Some of the people standing in line ahead of her had boxes full of smells and sounds. It made Calixta think of children playing and summer gatherings by the lake, and she wanted to stand next to them, but she would not cut in line.

It was her turn to step up to the ticket booth. She stepped forward to collect her ticket, and there she found the booth worker. He was a strong-looking man with light-brown hair, cut very short at the back and sides, but with longer bangs in front. A handsome man, but with brown, grumpy eyes and small lips. On his head, he had a funny white-and-blue hat, which made Calixta think of a baby’s bonnet or possibly a sailor’s cap. He looked around but not at her. He focused solely on his book.

And this was where her story got complicated.

Hello, where are the trains going? asked Calixta of the booth worker.

The booth worker went on looking at his book and writing things in another.

One goes to a place where all travelers end up as miners, the other train goes to a place with different types of parties. The people are told which party they are going to once they get to the destination. The working train people are told which type of mine they are supposed to work in once they get there, and that will be their destination for eternity. Now, enough with your questions. Tell me your full name, date of birth, place of birth, date of death, place of death, and the best thing you have ever done in your life, and don’t try to lie! Be–c–au–se if you lie, I will know. Once you are done, place your box on the counter. Start talking and make it snappy. My back is hurting! said the booth worker, looking under his desk for more papers.

My name is Calixta Harlow Carlyle, I never met my mother, and my father said I was born on the eighteenth of Enuo, 3768. My father told me I was born in the middle of the road between the cities of Harlow and Nhava. I died on Marz twentieth, 3799, in the port city of Talbert. And the best thing I’ve … Calixta could not finish her sentence.

Wait, start from the beginning with your name, but this time slowly. I must find your name on the lists! You are here, so your ticket has to be here somewhere, said the booth worker. The booth worker had a book with dates of birth and the names in alphabetical order. He looked at the line of names, dates of birth, and places of birth. He had a ruler, which he held below each line and covered the names below the one he was reading. He slowly drew the ruler down the page, which helped him see one name at a time. Then he looked at another book with the place Calixta gave as her place of death.

Your name is not in the book of your place of death, either. He asked her to repeat the date of death and place name of where she had died, and during her second recitation the man stopped her again.

In an aggravated tone he asked, How did you die? The booth worker looked for yet another book; he pulled it out from under a pile of books behind him, at which moment his ruler fell under his desk.

I was shot in the chest, said Calixta.

But how did it happen? asked the booth worker, looking under his desk for his ruler.

My friend’s husband had a gun and was threatening to kill her. She was pregnant and my only family, I had to help her. I pulled my friend from him and placed her behind me, and he shot me instead, said Calixta.

Where is your box? Give me your box, said the man as he was rising from under his desk.

I have no box! said Calixta.

WHAT? NO BOX! shouted the worker, banging his head on his desk. He looked at Calixta for the first time. When he took a good look at Calixta and her tunic, his eyes opened wide and he stood up tall. He was a giant, a ten-foot-tall man stood behind the booth. Calixta refused to be intimidated and simply stood her ground.

This is not happening. You have a purple tunic. Let me see your arms.

The booth worker did not have a nice attitude in the way he made his demands. But regardless, Calixta showed him both her arms. Cold sweat dripped down her spine; they were going to arrest her for tampering with her trade-tattoo.

"Move to the side and come with me now. Come! Stop looking around like anyone could give you a box and move … fast. Hurry, I don’t have all day!

I need a replacement for my booth and an emergency audience with the Twenty. We have one of the Vanquishers from Alhambra, said the booth worker in a loud voice. He walked along behind the booths of four other workers until he reached a small door. He opened it and Calixta saw it led between booths to whatever space was behind them. He opened the door to let Calixta into the back rooms.

Calixta had never seen anyone so tall. In utter astonishment, she said, What did I do wrong? I did not lie. When I arrived here, I had no tattoos or a box. I swear.

The booth worker grabbed Calixta by her left arm and dragged her through a maze of hallways. Left and right and left again. All the turning made Calixta feel dizzy. Her feet barely touched the ground; she needed to free her arm from the grumpy ten-foot man’s reach. No one manhandled her in such a fashion, not even when paying her large amounts of coin.

When the grumpy man pulled her into a brightly lit room, she had to blink several times. The room held twenty chairs, arranged in a semicircle in front of a table. She was about to let the tall, nasty man know what she thought of him when five men and five women entered the room from a door in the left corner of the brightly lit room. Then ten tall beings resembling bears and walking upright entered from the opposite side of the room. They moved in pairs, each pair with different colored fur, arranging themselves alongside the men and women in front of Calixta.

They must be very ugly because their faces are covered by veils, thought Calixta.

Like the booth worker, they were over ten feet tall, but each of these creatures wore silver-plated armor and carried a sword in their right paw. But unlike bears, these beings had wings. Calixta had had no idea any creature such as these existed.

Two of the ten-footers were blue, another two were red, two more were white, two were yellow, and the last two were green.

Calixta had never seen anything like this before. The men and women were all dressed in white and light-gray pant suits, but they kept strange company with the giant, veiled beings. This grandeur made Calixta’s hands sweaty. And if this was supposed to be heaven, then these were not angels, because according to what she had heard of angels, they were supposed to be happy and loving beings, always ready to help. This place made no sense to Calixta.

The booth worker standing next to Calixta cleared his throat and gave his salutation. Hello Wise Ones, thank you for the audience.

Hello Orra, what is the emergency? We heard a rumor, but you tell us firsthand, said one of the red beings in a thunderous voice.

Number three from Alhambra just arrived. Her name is not on any of the Dark Tunnel Mining books, but it is not in any of the Peace or Joy Palace books either. Her name is not even in the Halls of the Mighty in the Palace of Joy, said Orra.

How can that be? asked the oldest of the men.

She said she died while saving two lives, a mother and that of her unborn child.

But I thought she turned her back on the task, said the youngest-looking woman.

There was no information in the books where her name should have been. Her name appears in none of the volumes of the book of life. It’s like she has never lived. She has no trade-tattoo and she arrived without a box, finished Orra.

Huh? Oh! Do you think we are in trouble? asked one of the men.

Why? We did nothing. It was her decision not to carry out her task, said one of the women.

FATHER will not accept this and—

What happened? Why did you turn your back on your task? Why did you not listen to your teacher, your magic master? asked the old man.

My magic master? What? You are asking me what happened? I don’t know who you are or what you are talking about. What task? asked Calixta. She was looking from one to the other. They were making no sense.

Why did you turn your back on your task? Why did you turn to evil? asked one of the men.

Calixta had had it with the place. She had no idea where she was; if this was heaven, this was not like the rumors, she had heard about it, and if she was in hell, this was a nice type of hell. Plus, she always made a point to know the names of those with whom she talked.

What task? I told you. I don’t know what you are talking about. I’ve had many teachers in music, singing, dancing, letters. I am not a mage; I’ve had no magic master. But first, who are you? And second, what is this place? Calixta gave them an attitude, ensuring she stood tall and confident, with her hands on her hips.

She doesn’t know us! What is going on, Orra? asked one of the women.

Wise Ones, the books of destinations are blank on the matter. Not even her name appears in those. And in the book of life, only her name appears, there is nothing else. She has a clean slate. I know as much as you, Wise One, said Orra.

Wait! said one of the white creatures. Stepping aside, he walked to where Calixta was standing and looked down at her. Calixta was happy she could not see his face. But she would not let the being intimidate her. He had a crown of white baby’s breath flowers visible over the veil on his head, but the being exuded an aura of authority which completely overwhelmed her.

Hold my hand, said the being in a loving voice.

Calixta obeyed, more out of reverential fear than obedience. She soon calmed, as from his chest a projection of Calixta’s life appeared on one of the walls of the room. And Calixta saw herself die again. They all watched; from the moment she was conceived to the moment she died. They saw every moment in rapid progression—all the little moments of happiness, every hurt, every tear, all her evils and all her moments of weakness. They saw everything, every time she slept with men and women and when she had helped others integrate into her lifestyle. Calixta became embarrassed and angry.

When the story of her life was over, all twenty turned and looked at Calixta. It was an unexpected feeling. Their eyes were on her and their gazes were like rays of heat that penetrated the depths of her chest, through to her inner being. She could not understand how she could be chastised without words and loved without a touch, nor how these two things could be done at the same time.

Now we know what happened to you. You saved two lives before you died, but you also saved many lives throughout your life by feeding and helping those in need. You have had many instances of selfless actions. But above all else, it was the way in which you died at the end that redeemed you. You had a destiny and a task. But your instructor for the path of the Vanquisher, the master weaver of magic, died before you were born and instead you were lost to darkness when you were a child, said one of the red veiled giants.

Yes, well, that does not tell me who you are and where I am. Calixta was more respectful in her tone but she was still angry.

We are the virtues. I’m Lady Wisdom, said one of the women, looking at her with a frown.

Wait, wait, a minute. What do you mean you are the virtues? I know I am dead, but this is bound to give me a headache. Explain, please. I have never heard of you. I am not religious. I don’t believe in any god. And I am not doing anything for free. There is nothing free in Alhambra, said Calixta. Anger was still holding her resolve, and her lack of belief in what she was witnessing.

"I’m Lady Justice. You were not supposed to have the life you lived. You were never supposed to be a slave. You were supposed to have had a master, a teacher, to guide you in how to fight and vanquish all which isn’t holy. But instead, you were sold into slavery, given to darkness, and then you lived a debauched life as an adult. But in the end, you died saving the life of another and a child. Your last act, and your acts of mercy and your selfless